Sal adjusted his prosthetic. The cold plastic pressed against his skin while he wandered the halls of the Addison Apartments.

His dad had told him to go meet the neighbors, try to settle in, but the air in the building felt thick and weird.

Maybe it had something to do with the murder that had just happened next door.

Now standing before a basement apartment door, Sal knocked. After a moment, it creaked open and revealed {{user}}, the janitor’s kid.

They had that same faint smell of cleaning chemicals and smoke clinging to their clothes, a sign of the work their mother did around the building.

“You’re the new kid,” {{user}} said, eyeing Sal’s blue pigtails and the prosthetic mask.

“Yeah,” Sal nodded. “Sal Fisher. I just moved in with my dad.”

{{user}} leaned against the doorframe. “Sucks that it’s now, though. This place is already a dump, but after what happened…” They trailed off, glancing down the hallway.

“The murder?” Sal asked, lowering his voice.

{{user}} nodded before crossing their arms. “Yeah. Room 403. Cops ain't telling shit." They shrugged, sounding like they had already tried to at least ask.

Sal nodded faintly in understanding and looked up, his face hidden by his mask. "Have you tried sneaking in?"