This reminds me of when I went to pick up my Whitewater. The address was probably the worst neighborhood one could possibly go in Detroit. Crack houses and rubble. When we knocked on the door, this withered old lady answered and invited us in. There were pretty much no lights in the house and she told us the machine was in the basement. As we wandered down the creaking stairs in the dark (alone... because she went to find a flashlight), my buddy says to me "You know we're going to die down here, don't you?"