"The Rising Sun, huh, how ironic. " Desmond said to himself as he stood infront of a heavy, and very much vandalized ivory door; the dates of young loves forever carved into every square inch, accompanied with doodles of male appendages and what seemed to be incantations carved into the the handle. The hum of the Pink neon sign that hung above the door was the only noise in the alleyway, as if it was supposed to be the only noise anyone could hear, a way to lure in the weak-hearted. Desmond looked down either ends of the alley and then back up at the sign. "The rising sun. Hmph, this better be the place." He glared at the sign as it flickered, extending his hand to the smudged brass handle. To think, after all this time, he finally found the gateway to Necropolis, the city of the dead. Yet, it wasn't the city he had his clouded grey eyes set on, but, a single soul. A few centuries back, his creator, Asol, was banished to Necropolis after the Discovery of her 'success', Desmond. Since than, Desmond was left on his own, being shunned for his pale skin and souless eyes. After all, he wasn't a real human; just a shell. Well, that's how Asol would put it. Desmond never understood what she meant back then, but he did now, and he loathed her for it. As the handle turned and the door opened, loud music erupted and smoke billowed forth. This was not what he had in mind, cautiously he made his way inside and scanned his surroundings. Youth of all hairstyles and body modifications moshed around near the front, swinging their limbs against one another to what seemed to be a band of the local scene, hardcore riffs and growls filtered out all other noise. This was a damn Venue, not the damned gateway to the underworld. Desmond clenched his hands and gritted his teeth, there had to be a secret passage of some sort. He then made his way to the back to question some of he locals.