Zero's locker room was much like the man himself, surreal, odd, out of the norm. How ever you wanted to put it. The alternating black and white paint on the ways, swirled around to create a spiral, though the lines weren't painted to perfection, as it was Zero's belief that Perfection did not exist so when he painted, he would purposefully make his artwork imperfect so as not to shatter his entire belief system. The furniture was seemingly built by a madman, as nothing sat straight, there were couches with one seat being at a different level than the others, a television that seemed to warp and bend as if being view through distorted glass, one side much larger than the other, though it oddly still functioned. There was a mini-bar that didn't have alcohol, and a vending machine that dispense beverages of an alcoholic nature. Truly, the work of a sick, sick man.
((The last part was a joke, the last sentence was a joke. I just felt like saying it was the work of a sick man, though the room is pretty messed up.))
