Greed grabs one of the boards nailing the entrance shut. A few yanks gets it out, spitting nails to the ground as he does so. "Doesn't look like it. At least, not permanently."

Another board comes loose easily enough with the help of a claw or two. Greed scratches at the side, willing it out before he grips the upper-bend of the entrance. The stairs leading down below are covered in debris; old newspapers, a few cups here and there.

And of course, the bullet casings. Those hadn't been disturbed.

Greed shuffles inside, slipping down the small stairwell. There's more evidence to what really transpired here all those years ago. The claw-marks brisking and bouncing down the walls; like a language all on their own. He ignores them. Though unlike their small bout on the train, the Sin's face looks a tad more grim.

"Hurry up - before anyone notices, hmn? Not really interested in the company."

At the bottom, a ladder hangs loosely. It's screws have seen better days and the metal making up the entirety of it's littered in rust marks. Making patch-work on the surface and some of the outer-casing is frayed back. Like paper peeling away. Greed takes hold of a rung, hoisting himself up. A few shakes test its integrity and it's fine by his account.