'Here' was a trash-strewn hallway lined by crooked shelving and ominously tall cabinets, lit here and there by spluttering, dim lamps that looked old-fashioned: not quite gaslights, but not far removed from them.  Still, they cast enough light for the pair to see the way ahead, away from the blind corner behind them.  May's complaint about the decor held some water--if the light were brighter, the Victorian-garish paisley pattern would almost certainly be eye-bleeding in effect.  It was bad enough in shadow and spluttering torchlight.<br/><br/>Here and there, doors could be seen...not all of them intact.  Was this an office building?  A Library?  A school of some sort, perhaps.  It certainly wasn't any Yakuza hangout that Yoshiro had ever seen, nor the clean and organized labs that May might have expected.<br/><br/>Somewhere up ahead, a girl's voice reached their ears, punctuated by a harsh rattling sound, as I someone was shaking a can o spray paint.<br/><br/>"... Ain't no res for the wicked, money don't grow on tree-eees!  Got bills to pay, got mouth to feed, ain't nothin' afterlife for freee..."<br/><br/>Her off-key singing cut off, punctuated by a soft whooshing.