As you gaze upward, you notice the high ceiling of the room rushing towards you. The doorway on the south wall is nowhere to be seen. Though you feel no sense of motion, the purpose of this room finally becomes more evident: either you stand in what would appear to be a room-sized elevator, ascending towards some unknown destination, or you are about to discover what it feels like to be squished like a bug. Or perhaps a grape.
You gaze at the floor, noting the two shallow 10 foot long foot-shaped depressions. You do not wish to dwell on the rapidly diminishing height of the room, but morbid curiosity again lifts your gaze upward. When only sixty feet separate you from the ceiling, it begins to open, until you look upwards at a 40 foot square opening.