If one knew precisely where to look, and were on exactly the right access filter, they might hear scratchy, serene music: floating notes from a piano, almost too faint to hear. A half-drunk champagne flute sits utterly still, without a single ripple to disturb the bubbles as they rise to the surface. A record player running smoothly, without a single skip, the same words, over and over and.

Nobody's there. The piano gleams blue at the edges, its glossy paint catching the light that fills the space. The source of the light is a colossal, spinning ring-shaped doorway, and the console beside it displays a bar that is nearly, nearly full. A digitized female voice speaks her warning calmly over the record: Coordinates located. Barrier ingress in 5...4...3...2...

But all that's somewhere else. Somewhere no one knows to look. Not yet.