Fog shrouds the waning moon as you slip around the side of Wild Chester's Lasagna Armory. Peeling posters announcing the five foot "Cannonolis," monstrous confections of pastry shell and ricotta cheese, still cling to greasy windows. The stars disappear from the sky one by one as the clouds creep in. Fortunately, you are right where you need to be.
Your crowbar proves unnecessary for prying open the back door; somebody else has beaten you to it. The stairway behind it descends one flight after another into the dim half-light of ancient halogen bulbs. You find yourself walking far deeper than you had expected when you took this job. You'd assumed, based on the location and sparse details whispered to you over the phone, that you were stealing some employee files or a secret lasagna recipe (with sauce almost certainly made with gunpowder). But the restaurant, and even its basement, are now five storeys above you, and the stairs descend further still.
Finally, you reach their bottom and find a vent covering, helpfully jimmied open and laid to the side. There is nowhere else to go.
You shimmy through.
(This was an entry to IntroComp, and is thus incomplete.)
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