The musty, crumbling building is filled with stacked crates of glassware and complex apparatuses of twisted copper and steel. Deep within the labyrinth of disorganized ingredients and equipment, a foul stink of ammonia and sulfur creates choking fumes that thicken the air. Floating amid the swirling fog is a translucent figure dressed in the attire of an alchemist, flasks and vials orbiting its outstretched hands like the moons of Caen. Suddenly it notices you amid the clutter, glassy eyes snapping down to pin you in place. Behind you the door to this place—the only door—slams shut with a sound of finality, and the specter begins to drift closer.