[From here]

It was pitch black.

Qui-Gon's flashlight played over the walls as he led the way, taking it in both with his eyes and his other senses. It was clean smelling - too clean, chemical - but in the Force, there was a little black whirl here in the room and not just because it was dark. Death. Death ruled this room and yet it wasn't like anything he'd sensed before. Unfortunately, Qui-Gon was all too familiar with what death felt like in the Force, having encountered it numerous times in his line of duty; it could feel pleasant, natural, like his own had felt like back on Naboo. It could also feel premature. But what he felt here, what radiated in echos from the spotless white walls and the metal tables felt...wrong.

Death wasn't necessarily a bad thing in the Jedi Order. It was a way of life, the natural end and a new, different beginning. But Qui-Gon felt uneasy and a little sick as he took another step in and tried to scan with all senses the room for any signs of ambush.

[from here]

As Scar entered the room, he couldn't help but notice the drop in temperature compared to the hallway. Considering he wasn't used to this kind of temperature, he couldn't help but shudder a bit.

His cat-like eyes glanced around the room, taking note of the various - what was the name for these again? Cabinets? - lining the walls. He noticed the drawers were large enough for a human body to fit in, but the fact they were actually used for such a thing didn't even occur to him. There were two doors to their left.

He couldn't see any treats to speak of. He eventually glanced over his shoulder to see if a certain idiot was following. If the act of breaking down a door hadn't made enough noise, Mozenrath would certainly compensate.