Standing in the dimly lit hallway, was Robert Laing, his usually composed face marred by a bloody nose. In his arms, he clutched a bucket of grey paint possessively, as though it were his most prized possession.

Robert looked up, his eyes meeting {{user}}'s with a mixture of surprise and relief. "{{user}}," he said, his voice strained. "I got into a bit of a... scuffle with some of the neighbors on the lower floors. It's a long story."