The familiar Room 308, which served as the class homeroom this year, with almost the correct layout of slightly too small desks, all aligned a bit less than perpendicular to the wall-to-wall whiteboard in the front. The arrangement is, in fact, uncanny. The desks are too perfectly askew, all at precisely the wrong angle in such a way that would never actually happen in reality. This not-quite-right simulacrum of reality gives way to many strange glitches that plague the otherwise familiar setting. For example, in certain places, the textures that make up certain classroom assets will instead melt away into clearly featureless polygons. In other areas, physical movements will stutter and lag; the body seems half a second behind the mind as it follows commands. The lights never seem to cast shadows the right way; if one pays close attention, their notice will draw quickly to the overly sharp and sterile shapes that follow in their wake.

The first floor of the West Wing features large rooms, all able to be reprogrammed with administrative permission to suit the needs of the school's most active clubs, which tend to compete for the artificially-limited space and resources. For the most part, these rooms have been left untouched by the terrorists, and if one searches, they may find many materials useful for the game—if they look hard enough, anyway. Any existing applications that require access to the HUD or a PC no longer function, though, all clearly disabled by the class's cruel captors.

The West Wing's second floor housed the Junior Year (11th Grade) homerooms. It feels like only yesterday that they belonged to you. At the core of the school's literature and language programs, each was once decorated wall-to-wall with works of poetry and shelves of books. Now, however, the rooms are left in ruins, utterly trashed; the tables are flipped or crushed, posters torn to shreds, walls spray-painted with vulgarities of all kinds—even the windows have been smashed in, with sharp, knife-like shards of glass dotting the dirt-smeared floor like clear crystal caltrops.

The West Wing's third floor housed the Senior Year (12th Grade) homerooms. Your home away from home, once—now, you've never felt farther from it. In contrast to the substantial changes seen across the other halls, this one looks the same as always, untouched and unchanged by the terrorists—as if nothing terrible had happened here. It almost looks like ordinary classes might start up again at any moment.

If only.