The old townhouse at 11 Notch Street had stood empty for years - at least for people. A chair with a broken back, a porcelain teacup with faded gilding and a rusty basement key, called Old Key by everyone, belonged to the house's inhabitants. Every night, as the moon squeezed through the dirty windows, the subjects met in the large living room to discuss matters of importance and lesser importance. But on this night, a disturbing note hung in the air. A porcelain teacup shook slightly on the windowsill and the Old Key spun round and round with a quiet rasp. At midnight, there was to be a meeting the likes of which the tenement had never seen before. - Did you hear that? - asked the teacup quietly, looking disbelievingly towards the foggy corridor. - Someone has moved in! He left his bag on the stairs and.... radio! The radio the teacup was talking about was brand new - shiny, quiet, but with a flashing blue LED. It had not yet spoken, had not answered any of the occupants. Mysterious, unknown and suspicious. The subjects suspected that it brought with it news from a distant world, perhaps even danger. - 'We need to determine if he can be trusted,' the Chair spoke up, straightening up as befits a lady. - 'He's waiting for something. Maybe for... the owner? The living room became quiet. A shadow flitted around, as if the tenement itself was listening in on the conversation. Then, just before the stroke of midnight, the radio shone with intense light and....