It started as a rumor you heard at a local kook-spiritualist meetup group. You didn't give it a second thought until you found a diary among the effects of a recently deceased colleague bursting with references to the same object, even some notes on its construction. And a little note in the margin that once deciphered turned out to be the key to the inventor's identity; Ida Craddick, life-long resident of your own city. If it was anywhere, it was here, right under your noses. You and your brother cross-referencing old city streetmaps and sewer department work orders, years spent poring over stacks of paper. Narrowing it down. A decade-long process of elimination until at the end of this alley, this doorway opens and you step into this white-tiled room and you have found it, at long last you have found it, here it is.
You found the pain chair.
Do You need to study the chair further, or do You sit in the chair right away? Maybe you should Leave the pain chair alone and leave here. Shoot a selfie in the pain chair. Steal the pain chair. Destroy the pain chair