You are in a lobby of some description. The decor looks tired and dated and is caked with a thick layer of dust. Discoloured carpets, bubbling plaster and a musty smell suggests chronic damp. It feels like no one has used this place in quite some time.
There are a few rows of threadbare seats here for non existent visitors to wait for no one. A dirty, flickering vending machine sits in the corner. Trisha is also here, muttering to herself.
The lobby continues south.