It is eerily quiet. How long ago was it that people ran screaming through it, breaking elevators and setting things on fire and climbing up the walls? Those things happened, didn't they?

"That you did," he said, opening the door with little fanfare and tugging her through.

His room is, to his knowledge, the same as it's always been. Furnishings in the style of his home, save the confusing little anachronistic touches. A coffee maker. A plastic binder. There are jeans in the wardrobe, too, which he goes to and begins rummaging through, looking for any saved girls' clothes.

"Make yourself at home."