When I come to, I find that I'm sitting on a torn-up leatherette couch that must have once been red. As I look around groggily, I see that I'm in a small room crowded with junk. There's exposed pipes and duct work lining the ceiling, and I'm engulfed in the white noise of whirring fans.
Surrounding the couch are plastic milk crates, each one filled with shabby carbon squares stacked together. Across from me is a dusty wooden credenza with a diamond pattern across its front. It is covered with more of the carbon squares. There's a machine that looks like those old video arcade games I've seen in old movies. But instead of a video screen, there's a host of mechanical parts inside.
There's a closed door on one wall. Along the opposite wall is a floral patterned couch. And on it sits Chris.
