Floor three, going down.
With a crack, the old elevator creaks open. Possibly being for long years out of repair, its door goes half-opened but stuck in the middle. The girl has to hold the frame with both hands, and pulls the door open with all her strength. All of a sudden, a mixture of alcohol, marijuana and inferior perfume drifts into the air out of the passage.
“What a hell hole...” the girl whispers, “I won't live here any longer, ever!”
Surviving is one thing, but everybody has the right to keep the blossom among bread. Nevertheless, after searching around her wallet, she drops her head in dismay: anyway, this building boasts a very romantic name, “Das Rosenmeer”, is proved to be the cheapest apartment here. Rumors said it houses some of the most dangerous desperadoes, who murders people for appetizer. Well......she supposes, that she must be in list, because she not only eats them, she drinks their blood up for thirst. Others said several people get killed, right in the room she settles in, the blood is still covered by three layers of carpet. Well......that's why the €100 per week comes from, right?
Anyway, who gives a shit. Danger won't come if you showing no fear, and act worse.
The girl, in a wry smile, gropes the fungi wall and walks along the passage. The dim lamp over her head flickers on rapidly and gets her dizzy with tearful eyes. “306...307...” She mutters, squints her eys, identifying the number on the plank.
"308... is here!”
The girl let out a smile, visibly relieved, and takes a stretch willfully. She takes out the room card from her wallet, and swipes it freely beside the sensor.
"Click—” The sensor sounds an alarm and flashed red.
The girl puzzles. She picks up the card and checks it again
No trace of damage, unlikey being demagnetized either.
She tosses it and swipes again.
“Click—,” another annoying alarm. The girl scratches her head, sneaking a peek at her side. Under the dim light, there is no slightest sound in the passage, as quiet as a graveyard.
Her suspicious nerves tenses instantly: a trap. If the card had no problem, it may indicate:
The door of her house has been hacked.
The girl takes a deep breath. She looks down at the doorknob, pretending to be very much bewildered. Her right hand flaps down quietly in an imperceptible gesture, leaving the carbon-alloy dagger out of the cuff.
She catches her breath, waiting for a dangerous signal. If only she hears any unfriendly footsteps. No, even a shadow breath! She would strike the first blow without hesitation. After all, life is your own.
"Ding—"
The girl turns her head. The elevator stops at the third floor again.
That's right! She pinches the dagger tightly, moving step by step towards the opening. More than ten minutes, since the curfew at six o'clock, no one would come up right now!
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
She murmurs, growing more certain.
The best way to deal with danger is to wipe it out in the bud.
A glimmer of light flashes through the crack of the half-opened elevator door. A long shadow is dragged on floor tiles of the passage.
“Hello, is anyone there?”
The girl's arm trembles slightly, and her fingers on the handle unconsciously loosened. The dagger drops with a clatter onto the floor. The one in the elevator seemed to notice that.
“Excuse me, is anyone nearby?” a squeaky voice threads its way through, “I'm sorry... this elevator seems to be stuck... Could you open it for me?”
Is this also a trap? The person may distract her attention and drop her guard, and then let a partner attack her swiftly from behind. Perhaps, put the rope around her neck upon her unawareness, or cover her nose and mouth with an anesthetic-stained towel, or straightforwardly cut through her throat?
The third call come from the elevator, interrupts the girl’s meditation. She fixes her mind, bends over and picks up the dagger on the ground, then wipes the sweat from forehead with cuffs, and creeps to the elevator.
“Ach, vielen danke,” that person sighed after the girl pulled the elevator door open. “I don't know what’s wrong with this old elevator. And no one is going to fix it. I just thought I had to sleep all night in it…Thank you so much.”
The girl shot a glance at the speaker. This is a young woman, around 25 years old, with a blonde hair flowing to her waist, a spotless beige coat, and a scarf imprinted with Germany flag firmly around her neck. She's surprised that the woman’s appearance seems completely incompatible with D37: an elegant white-rimmed glasses lightly placed on her dainty nose, if coupled with the small handbag in her hand—although she stays vigilant of what was in the bag, in her eyes, the outline was very much like a pistol—she would even regards her as a lawyer, might from the Immigration Bureau, who had cast an eye over her for some time.
“What's going on? Are you okay?”
The girl looks up and sees that woman smiling at her, with childish roundness and two shallow dimples on her face.
“No, nothing...” The girl begin to hem and haw, hiding the entire face in the shadow of her hood, preventing the woman from seeing her face.
She is definitely not someone who should appear in this zone. Her accent, dressing as well as outer appearance all reveal that she must come from a well-off middle class family.
A fair-skinned hand gently extends out to the girl, and interrupts her cranky thoughts.
“Hello,” says the young woman graciously, “My name is Weiss, Weiss Valentine.”
The girl hesitates for a moment, and barely reaches out a hand to shake hers.
“Natasha... Well, call me Natasha.”
“Nice to meet you, Natasha. Are you Russian?”
“Well, closely......”
“So you can speak Russian! I started learning Russian six months ago, but until now, I can only say hello, something like Привет, Рад вас видеть…." She keeps talking Russian in a stumble voice, for a minute, " Well, these are all I can speak... How does it sounds?”
“Good... I mean, um, like a real Russian."
“You are so courteous, quite different from others here," Weiss giggles, "May I ask, do you live here? I wonder maybe we can contact more often, or drop around in the future. You know, I’m totally new here. I was heavily dizzied by these winding streets in the zone, and the cash in my pocket was unknowingly stolen by someone else…I think it may take a few more months for me to adapt to this place.”
“If necessary, I might give you a hint, about this place,” the girl fudges, “But I suggest you better leave first, before you know. It's not places for excitement.”
“Doesn't matter, it will be a short term.” Weiss takes out a door card from her handbag, “Look at this passage, so dark and creepy…Where should I go?”
“This is true,” the girl holds the door frame of elevator, ready to leave, “Um…Watch out that floor clock in the middle. You may easily be tripped up.”
“Thank you, Natasha! You are so nice,” Weiss sends her a grateful smiling, “Tomorrow is exactly weekend, and I will be available most of the time. If you don’t mind, would you love to come to my house and try some snacks I made?”
“Ah…Whatever, I mean… Of course, sure,” the girl has never been treated so passionately by strangers, she is somewhat at a loss, “So…Where do you live?”
Weiss points with a finger.
“308.”
The girl’s finger stops. She is just about to touch the floor button.
“308?” she feels a chill crawling over her at every pore, “Do you live in Room 308?”
“Yeah, though I’m not clear where they arranged my room…It seems to be located at the end of the passage. Is it here?” Weiss scratches her chin, pointing here and there in uncertainty, “Or over there?”