[ The neon lights sputter and flicker on the outside of the tea house - the bright pink letters outside now dimmed to an ominous Alfred's Tea Room. Quaint, really. The thick copper-scented smell in the air doesn't make this place any more hospitable. ]

[ You make your way inside, careful to avoid the bits of broken ceramic and discarded paper cups across a slick and sticky floor. Everyone left here and in a hurry, it seems. The quiet interior is nothing short of haunting with the front counter somehow clean enough to still be accepting orders if there were any customers or staff in the place. Somewhere above speakers crackle with the distorted hints of a festive holiday song that should have been banished from the airwaves forever. ]

[ This place is not defensible and you can still glimpse the flickering lights of the helipad farther into the city. You shouldn't tarry here long. Out the employee entrance is probably your best bet. ]

[ You just might have to deal with the shuffling and moaning from the tea house's last remaining inhabitants to get there. Odds are low that they believe that the customer is always right. ]