Mik lit the lamp, holding it out in front of him to show the way as he walked into the chemical block. The purveyor of not-so-fine goods flashed him a smile, but otherwise left him be.
Inside he took a moment to look around. The place had been well and truly gutted, a heavy layer of soot coating the surfaces and the odd bit of rubble strewn here and there. The elevator was obviously out of service, so the only way up was the stairwell.
(Gunner:
)
The three of them head upstairs, Crisis' footsteps being virtually silent next to those of his fellows, Mikolas in the lead to search out the nearest fire. He found it a few floors up: a metal drum, the top hacked off crudely and an unpleasant smell wafting out from whatever was being burnt inside. Gathered around it was a trio of dregs, two appearing to be a young couple garbed in tattered clothing. They both cast a wary glance at the intruders before looking over to the third individual: a young man, no more than 18 or so, clad in ragged looking hides and patches of leather, a length of orange cloth tied around his right arm, just below the shoulder.
"Whatcha want?" he asked sharply.