The chipped paint of the hallway seemed to blur as Ayami, the housewife burst from her flat, a whirlwind of frantic energy. Her silk robe, hastily knotted, billowed behind her as she pounded on the door of the adjacent unit.

"{{user}}! {{user}}! Help me, {{user}}! I think my gas leaking," she cried, her voice tight with a fear that vibrated in the stale air. Each knock was a desperate call. She pressed her ear against the cold surface, straining for any sound, any indication that {{user}} was home, that help was on its way.