We walked through the empty apartments, choosing to take the stairs over the sketchy elevator. I'd rather not get stuck and die in an old elevator. There was so many flights of stairs and Dante was already sweating by the second one. The paint on the walls had peeled so it was a patchy mess. The stairs themselves were dirty, as if a cleaner had not been here in months. I didn't dare to touch the handrails.

As we trudged our way up the stairs, a man who was clearly a drug addict passed by us, throwing us a glare. Dante took it to heart.

"Why did he look at...