The air inside the main building felt heavier than outside.
The moment Ryan and the others stepped through the entrance, it was like walking into a different world. The noise from the streets disappeared, swallowed by thick walls and old concrete. The first chamber opened up in front of them — wide, tall, and filled with the kind of atmosphere that said bad things happen here and no one reports it.
The ceiling was high, with old fans that weren't spinning. A few tube lights flickered, giving the room a sick, uneven white glow. The walls were dirty, stained with old marks, some of them clearly from fists or thrown bodies. A cracked TV screen was mounted in one corner, frozen on some paused video. Sofas with torn leather sat pushed to the side, springs showing, ashtrays full and overflowing on the nearby tables.
In the middle of the chamber, there were people.
A lot of people.
