As they creep down the hallway, looking for a sign that they had reached their destination, Moroe is gripped with a distinct feeling of unease. The place was nearly deserted, but there was an omnipresent feeling of being under a microscope, like they were being watched. The constant mechanical humming of the harsh florescent lighting certainly didn't help. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of walking, one of the signs catches Moroe's eye:
PSYSHIELDED CONTAINMENT UNIT
FOLLOW ALL CONTAINMENT PROTOCOLS
Underneath the sign was a pocket with a small booklet labeled PSYCONTAINMENT PROTOCOL. The door it hung from had a curious blue sheen to it, no doubt constructed of some psionic damping alloy, and there was a small observation window set into the wall nearby that gave a strange, distorted view into the room, as though viewed through a soap bubble. A steel slab was suspended from the wall, with a few sheets and a pillow messily thrown onto it, forming a bunk, and three spools of industrial titanium cable were stacked against the wall nearby. A folding table sat in the center of the room, a deck of playing cards splayed out on it, a game of what appeared to be solitaire half-finished.
Movement catches Moroe's eye as she squints through the glass, and she notices a lumped up sheet, cocooned around a figure rocking back and forth in the corner.