The bad side of town is a shrinking sphere. Hemmed in and constricted by new development and redevelopment, half a block of urban decay languishes near the hills. On the street a small leather goods store underneath a brothel displays a meagre selection of wares behind dusty barred windows. An overweight middle aged woman can be seen talking and laughing in the starkly lit offices of a taxi company.

At the far end, where tall buildings once stood, now a scattering of empty gravel lots, there stand two structures, slowly merging. A street facing early 20th century brick office block, sinking into a strange cavity in the building behind it, a nondescript low-rise. Sheer grey concrete inset with small square windows. Anyone investigating will find this building inaccessible from ground level.

What will immediately strike an observer about the state of the brick office block is that it appears to be either leaning, or collapsed against the building behind it. Though it seems intact the suggestion of sag and of having settled irreversibly in it's current position is impossible to shake. Though stained with a century of filth bands of yellow brickwork complementing the red are still clearly visible along with a white stone inset bearing the building's name 'Sanctuary House'.

There is a 50% chance of there being some on site fencing to bar public access. Often this will be found either pulled away, or cut through, by unknown parties. If found intact it can be easily overcome by someone with modest climbing abilities.

Once past the fencing it can be seen that the entrance (a pair of double doors at the top of a terse and unadorned set of concrete steps) had once been boarded shut. The thin ply board now has ragged hole torn through it that will easily admit a full grown man.

Inside the building has been stripped of all furnishing leaving plain, empty hallways and hollow, grimy rooms. Anyone ascending will find evidence of massive moisture damage. Mouldy ceilings. Off white paint peeling from the walls in large sheets like loose skin. The walls bowed and bulging toward the back of the building. By the time the 7th (and final) floor is reached it becomes obvious the floor is no longer level.

In a back office here there is an empty window frame that opens onto a similar void in the low rise behind it. It takes moderate levels of perception to notice this passage, or that there are signs it is in regular use. In spite of appearances there is no danger in crossing between buildings. A rusty but sturdy fire escape crushed between the two buildings means there is no danger of falling.

Upon entering the low rise explorers will find themselves in an unlit corridor. The walls here push in from the sides and the ceiling, engulfing anyone using the corridor and exerting a gentle pressure on anyone passing through. If it were possible to see anything while travelling down this corridor it would be noted the walls are a velvety red material. If no one is talking the sound of a pump can be heard keeping them inflated. Heading either way down the hallway will exit into a darkened theatre, which was once a cinema. The seating has been unbolted from its sloped floor, the walls are free from adornment.

Shimmering figures move in the air, composed of pale light. This is footage of the dead, projected into 3D space. The colours are washed out, their edges soft. They are compiled from large archives documenting their subject's lives.

They feel emotionally convincing, like being the presence of a living person, despite the fact there is nothing sophisticated underlying them. They cannot carry out a conversation, merely exchange pleasantries, and enact expressions of joy, pleasure, and excitement. Execute loops. Perform postures of recreation.

Even on the part of the living there is a distance here between what is spoken and what is heard.

What is spoken:

'I wish you could be here to see me when I am dead'

What is heard:

'I wish we could could have been at Lake Waihola together, that would have been cool'.