I went on an explore today. I will not be coming back here for a little while. If you are wise, you will stay away from this location.

I got a call from my buddy Red this morning. We were both bored, and itching for a buzz. So, we decided to do what any aimless young men would do: we explored an abandoned factory complex. Red had never visited an abandoned building before; I noted his remarkable skittishness as we walked by the tracks leading to the complex. As we entered the courtyard, I stopped to let him soak in the majesty of the scene. He seemed distracted, and chose instead to fuss over a mud puddle and shoe print. I abandoned my attempt to show him the beauty of the scene, and led him into the complex.

We began to pace about the various foreman's rooms and factory floors, the infirmary and (unbeknownst to him) moving toward the roof, speaking in hushed tones the entire way. We reached the second floor of the west building, and crossed an open bridge to see the laboratory in the central building. After a short jaunt through the lab, and a peek at the porn locker, we turned to leave for the west building. That's when I heard a sound. It was unlike any sound I had ever heard in a building like this. It was the ring collect sound from the Sonic games. It echoed through every hallway and down every stone wall, breaking the sound barrier in its brilliance. We both froze. I pivoted and stared at Red, who had taken on a pale, pinkish color.

"PLEASE TURN OFF ALL BEEPERS, PAGERS AND CELL PHONES," I hissed loudly.

Whether it was my scolding or the ringing that caused the next sound is still debated. Nevertheless, the silence was once more broken with a *ping* of a screw being kicked across a floor. Red and I both looked down slowly. The floor was bare. Our eyes met again, and we wordlessly agreed: it was time to go. We began a tiptoe toward the bridge back leading to the west building and the only staircase I knew of. With a stumble, Red began a full sprint to the bridge. I bounded after him, trying to keep him from getting us both spotted by whoever was with us. I reached the halfway point of the bridge to find Red staring downward toward a first floor promenade. There he stood.

Our new friend was an older man, mid fifties, with a scruffy grey beard and a light blue baseball cap. In his large, intimidating arms, he held a box filled with wire and pipe, no doubt scrapped from the harder to reach places in the factory. He looked up at us with black eyes, wide yet squinted in a fearsome grimace.

"YOU KIDS ARE IN A LOT OF TROUBLE," he growled threateningly.

Red began to tip forward, his body still rigid with fear. Then, like a machine snapping to life at a switch's flip, his knees kicked into action and went into a full sprint toward the staircase in the west building. I followed suit, stalling just long enough to see Scrappy Doo ditch his box of booty and run toward the stairs to intercept us. We raced down the steps, gliding two at a time, until we reached the main floor again. Grabbing Red by the arm, I directed us into the blackness of the processing floor. A few haphazard turns through unknown doors and passages lead us into a bathroom. The clattering footsteps of the scrapper grew louder. Red looked at me with frantic eyes. I looked up to think of a next move, when I spotted a nearby urinal, adorned with a familiar sticker. This was the Ayatoilet! The sticker that bore the face of the Ayatollah was placed here shortly after the outbreak of the first Gulf War. I first seen it on my first visit to the factory! Pointing to the first familiar door in what seemed like ages, I directed into a hall and to an entry point.

We scrambled out the doors and back into the courtyard. The footprint Red had noted remained squished freshly in the mud. How stupid I was to ignore such a blatant sign of trouble. I caught up with my partner, and began to run ahead of him to ensure that we took the quickest path back to the streets. Suddenly, he was sprinting ahead of me again.

"SHIT, SHIT, RUN!"

I looked over my shoulder. The scrapper had come out of the factory, menacingly brandishing a knife. That was all the convincing I needed to run faster. Back through the foliage and alleys we snaked, before hitting the streets again. Safe at last, safe at last.

We celebrated with some Five Guys. Stay out of Watson for a while. The scrappers mean business.