The mess hall is the place where we guests of A Cerebral Prison go to eat and socialize. The walls are almost a radioactive white, to match the ceiling and the floor. If the windows didn’t peak to the outside, one would think this was a padded room. Maybe it was at one time, I don’t know.
I felt a bit sad for the new houseguest. I wanted them to cheer up some. It’s already bad enough that we’re stuck here, crying about it isn’t going to help matters. On the other hand, I did feel the newcomer’s pain of being brought to a place to unfamiliarity and uncertainty.