You awaken to the sensation of something damp and viscous covering your face and body. Your first reflex is to wrench two, thin tubes from your nose and open your mouth to extract a small pipe which apparently kept you from drowning in the thick gel now draining through the bottom of an enclosed cylinder supporting your upright body. A harsh light shines from above as you wipe more of this unknown substance from your face and eyes, and your muscles feel weak and uncertain as you push open a transparent window-like door to release you into the room beyond.
Eight, similar cylinders greet your eyes, all arranged along the room’s four, stone walls, forming an irregular octagon. Each one appears constructed of a thick, durable, organic material except for the transparent doors which swing open from the front. Fibrous roots snake down from the 15-foot ceiling overhead, attaching to the top of these cylinders, and a metal plate bolted above them illuminates the room. To the north stands a door bereft of hinges or handles, while a green, three-inch circle slowly blinks on the wall next to it.
Looking about, there are several others awakening in much the same condition. You do not know who they are, and more disturbing, you have no idea how you came to be here, or how much time has passed since your last memory of home.