The lights turn on and off. People come and go. Computers click away and go dormant. Every so often, the tubes are drained so tissue samples can be collected from the specimens. Years go by. One of the tubes doesn't get drained anymore, the contents forgotten. More years go by.

Then everything changes in a shriek of shattering glass, fluid pouring everywhere, and the touch of a human being. Gravity shifts and turns, all the scenery starts changing wildly and keeps changing at breakneck speed. Months go by. A thudding feeling begins, faint and slow at first, from inside. More months go by. The first tiny puff of air flows in from the outside, then back out again. The air is as harsh as the bright light that appears and disappears, as rough as the hard jabbing surfaces that press back when gravity pulls down. More months go by.