Lost
Henry had come to Pripyat for some peace and quiet. Aside from a few stubborn old women who had refused to leave their homes after the meltdown and the occasional guided tour of the abandoned city, the place was guaranteed to be devoid of human life. He wasn't worried about the radiation, really--he'd been living on borrowed time anyway, so things like an increased risk of cancer decades down the line wasn't really on his radar--and the local wildlife provided all the company he could want.
Still, things could get boring. Henry took to exploring the abandoned town one building at a time, never disturbing anything he didn't absolutely need to but still investigating every nook and cranny that was still accessible after decades of neglect. Today's target was an apartment building, the upper floors of which had mostly collapsed in on themselves, leaving only the first two floors stable enough to enter.
The ground floor went by without incident, aside from an encounter with a very grumpy feral dog who was trying to nurse a pair of puppies in a side bedroom. He gave them a wide berth and proceeded to the crumbling stairs in a corner of the building that was unusually clear of debris and graffiti. Perhaps there had been some kind of photo shoot there recently? He'd seen a few young art students exploring the city a week or so prior, after all.
The second floor was impassable after the first few apartments, but the one closest to the stairs still had its door intact and closed. He tested the knob; unlocked. Curious, Henry opened the door and, suddenly, the floor shifted beneath him and pitched him forward across the threshold.
In the moment it took him to regain his footing, the door slammed shut behind him. Henry turned to open it again and found only a blank wall behind him.
What the fuck?
Henry turned again--
and became acutely aware that he was no longer in an abandoned apartment building in Ukraine.
Well, shit.
