Within the maze of neon-lit alleyways, situated next to a shady pub where the thieves and prostitutes of the lower floors gathered, was a quiet double-storey building.
Charles cut a daring figure against its ghastly exterior. He climbed the creaky outer ladder while the pack of Dachshunds watched him curiously, unable to follow behind because of their stubby limbs.
The second-floor corridor didn't have lights, but the flashing pink signboard of the pub outside provided ample visibility.
Charles's pale face looked especially lifeless in that light.
The camera cut to a full shot from behind.
The flickering of the light intensified as the man made his way towards the door at the other end. It gave the impression that he was skipping a few steps or teleporting every two.
It was like watching a flipbook.
The Photographer found himself standing in front of a cold door, its appearance almost as gloomy as his own.
