IronPen
The poster hung on the wall as if it had just been put there by the young fan of Aerosmith, untouched by the decay that surrounded it. The rest of the room could not be described the same. It was in disarray, drawers in dressers had been ripped out, shelves had been swept clean, the bed had been ripped apart, and the former occupant's desk had been upended to lay in a heap in the corner. All in all, it looked as if someone was trying to leave in a hurry, or they were looking for something.