Nexus Contractor's Union
The humble men of the NCU wouldn't dare to presume on how PC birthing works. For all they know every kid is delivered by storks from magical lesbian factories.
The inside of the building is much like the outside, vague and only barely described. There are some stereotypically manly lumberjacks in the lobby, talking about the ailing syrup harvest and the next log rolling competition.
The front desk, which seems to have a built in blueprint table, has an old fat foreman with a heart of gold and lungs like a furnace's bellows sitting behind it, puzzling over the schematics for the next... what is that? It looks like an upside down pyramid to the untrained eye.
He looks up at the incoming PCs, a look of near shock on his grizzled face.
"Er, can I help youse?" Even when he's trying to be subdued, his voice is naturally booming and loud. Must be a foreman thing.