As Brian walked up the stairs to the apartment, he swung his bag around in front of him, stuffed the two elongated clips into his left pocket and took the sturdy machine pistol in his hand, stock now unfolded. Everywhere he looked, the walls and floor melted away, leaving only outlines of density. Water pipes, electrical lines, the bones of pets, everywhere the familiar shapes of rooms assaulted him. That is a kitchen. There a toilet. Everything was old-style, but still he looked out for any electrical workings. Cameras, pressure sensors, or any other security apparatus seemed glaringly absent. He dialed the Ultrawideband radar back down to nothing, causing walls and floors to close in at the corners first as the sphere contracted. "This house... is clee-ah." B.B. said, approaching the door.
The room itself was that typical pit inhabited by those who just can't be arsed. The stale smell of moldy sex and spilled alcohol. Too many bodies, not enough air. Stains on top of stains. There had to be a stash somewhere in here... but there was no time to waste on that for now.
"Shall I wake Mr. Merkowski so that we can talk business? Or, would you rather I tracked Hannibal's commcode? If he has gone missing, the sooner we find him, the better."
