Carlos was getting used to this whole sneaking-through-the-vents thing. He was actually getting pretty good at it. So, he set out for the floor above the one where he was hiding, just to see what was there, and to see if its cafe had been picked clean yet.

He found himself inside the walls, with an opening to his right that came out about eight feet above the floor. Pausing to look out and down, Carlos stares -- why was there a wax museum here? Who were these people? Who had they been? What did they do to merit wax effigies in this massacre arena? From the look of their clothes, they were from all kinds of different places -- they didn't have that painted, too-bright look he'd observed about local fashion. Old contestants? he thinks. Ones who didn't make it?

Lost in thought, Carlos won't hear anyone approach until they're in sight.