Samsa arrived into the larger chamber, still entranced. Every moment in the mysterious place highlighted more evidence that he was no longer in a dungeon. The ease with which he walked revealed his lack of shackles, and strangers and wildlife replaced the presence of guards. He looked down at his new, harrowing garb, the tunic and trousers of an unholy mendicant. Many times he turned over his shoulder, waiting for guards to snatch him by his skinny arms, beat him into sobbing submission, and toss him into his cell. With each ginger step on the cold, wet stone, however, he began to believe in his freedom. 

He stared blankly at the stranger speaking as she attempted to climb her way out. Feeling confident, he thought he might give it a try after seeing how she fares. For the time being, he looked about at his company, all dressed in strangely monochromatic garb. He didn't give them much more attention, and he moved to the entrances to the hallways and peered into each of them briefly, paying careful attention to the symbols above each doorway. He knew they were faded, and that's precisely why he looked at them closer, but the images never became clearer, no matter how close he looked. 

Visiting each hallway, he found each one looked exactly the same as the one he awoke in. Black, tomb-like pods, both open and closed, with a dilapidated statue at its end. His anxiety grew after each hallway, and he began to spend less and less time examining each hallway. How many more of them were there? More importantly, where did they go?