Inside the meeting room is a forest. Oaks rise up into the gray sky overhead, and brown leaves coat the forest floor at your feet. It is apparently autumn inside the Nostradamus Room. Somewhere out of sight, you can hear the sound of a running stream and the cry of a cuckoo. The forest stretches on as far as you can see, way past the point where the room's plate-glass window should be, holding you back from a long drop down to the street below.
You take a step back, into the corridor. Aside from the Nostradamus Room, the interior of MetaHuman seems unchanged. The walls are gray and solid; the floor is carpeted. You hear the dull ping of an elevator from the far end of the corridor.