Climbing down the ladder, you are met with swinging hospital doors that open without any need for force. It's a long hallway lined door to door. None of the doors have handles but you can hear people groaning on the other side. Some are crying. Some are screaming. Some barely make a sound. The walls between each door is a seafoam green with wooden panels reaching about halfway up. Its the kind you would only see in children hospitals. You notice one room at the far end of the hall open.

Inside the room is a heart monitor, beeping in a sinus rhythm with a cot right beneath it. Wrapped in plain white sheets is a diaphonized fetus sitting in a jar ontop of the pristine coverings. At the end of the cot is a blue blanket and a chart with the name "Gemma ∎∎∎∎"

In the right most corner of the room farthest away from the door is a brown counter. Inside is a stainless steel sink with an elongated faucet that feels oddly threatening. Towards the wall is plastic container with three layers, filled with about every size you would need in a surgical glove.