The first thing that hits you, upon walking into the cavern, is the smell--blood, old and fresh, layers upon layers of it, metallic and cloying. As dry as the command room was, there is suddenly dark liquid sloshing around your feet, up to mid-calf. In the dim lighting, it looks black, but you know with a deep, unpleasant certainty that it is blood.

The smell seems cumulative, too; it starts out as tolerable, but the longer you stay, the more and more overwhelming it becomes. You can hear whispers all around you, fierce angry hurting snatches of conversation, though it is impossible to make out actual words. It feels like there are thousands upon thousands of eyes watching you, and every single one of them wants you worse than dead.