He scrutinized it and found the catch was rusty. If nothing else, that might give. He took the haft of his hammer and tried to place it through the loop of the padlock and pressed down on the hammer. Eventually, and not without a little effort, the catch gave, popping off noisily as the heavy padlock splashed in the puddle below. The lock was utterly ruined now, but at least he could open the bolt on the door. He entered the building. The din of the torrential downpour hitting the metal roof above was nearly deafening inside. The acoustics was surprisingly excellent for what was essentially a wooden shell of a building. Thorax wasn't here as far as he could tell, and it was dark. What the hell was he supposed to do? There was nothing here but endless barrels of… blackberry wine. Huh.