There is a large, thrumming device that greets you when you go through the doors. Surrounding it, is a vat of indiscernible hot liquid that steams up with the scent of rust and rot. Sometimes, in the liquid, you can see it, visions of your loved ones, frozen in time, though sometimes if you gaze too long they will begin to move, doing whatever it is you recall them doing with their days. If you try and reach for them, they seem too far away for you to grasp, but if you fall into the liquid, well, you should probably get out quick. It's hot. And red. And unpleasant.