We arrived at the power station in the late afternoon. It was an awkward afternoon, as two friends getting used to just being friends, we climbed the fence together, and headed for the easiest entry. At that time, it was a window on the second floor up. We found a steel pole with enough grooves to grip to, and made our way up, with backpacks and cameras in tow. It felt like the scene of your favourite horror movie. There were planks to walk across and massive drops from the fourth floor to the pitch black basement. A grand staircase rose up from the ground floor and forked off into two smaller ones, leading us along corridors and to rooms filled with tags and paintings of those we knew and those we didn’t. The air was filled with tension, amongst the stench and the dust. It carried us through this place like we were in a dream, until we bumped into each other in the darkest of rooms and found ourselves standing at a crossroad. What happened next changed everything. Perhaps we shouldn’t have gone there.