The table of the mess hall extended from end to end of the long crescent room, from the end of the space the room and furnishings disappeared like sand sloops on the horizon. The whole space is illuminated from the faded sky lights beaming in columns of orange color and scattering in all directions across the smooth floor. The table nearest to you sits unoccupied with extra furnishings, and a coat of dust covers the surface until the first seats at the other end. A hall like this would house at least twenty persons, though you know those populations are quartered across the whole world. The space sits silent at such an early hour, and you know even after action, the movement of the room is an atrophied reflection of itself. From your view, the room continues deeper, glowing with the collection of hooked up burnables floating delicately from the opposing end. Three doorways span the inner wall into the most sacred recesses of this place.