"...we call them<em>Augurs</em>."<br/><br/>The weight with which the unnamed soldier had said the word instilled a long silence.  It hung in the freezing air like a puff of hot exhale, following them through the rattling belly of this plane.  The silence chilled the warmth in your chest, and it fled in a sudden rush of cold.  The silence persisted, and he did not break it.<br/><br/>Swaying slightly with the gentle rocking of the airplane, you followed the squad deeper into its bowels.<br/><br/>At the end of the catwalk were three doors, black letters stenciled onto the grey metal: one in front, one to the left, and one to the right.  The door on the right read "<strong>HOLDING AREA</strong>" while the left door bore, "<strong>STAGING AREA</strong>".  It was through this latter door the soldiers went through, one of them degloving their right hand so that they could press a thumb on to the biometric scanner.<br/><br/>Ahead of you, Kai paused, her stance uncertain.  The unnamed soldier who had offered to answer your questions punched a button on the keypad, and the door on the left slid closed with a muted rattle.<br/><br/>"Best you come with us," he said quietly, almost worriedly.<br/><br/>Kai said nothing.<br/><br/>There was another look between them, two visors -- one opaque black, the other cracked and fractured, exposing skin beneath -- peering across a half meter of Antarctic air.  The silent exchange barely lasted two seconds; easily missed, but long enough that an attentive observer would see the significance.<br/><br/>The unnamed soldier turned away.  He was tall, just about two meters, and had to lower his head as the rattling ceiling sloped low before the central door.<br/><br/><strong>TO CIC VIA HOLDING AREA OBSERVATION</strong><br/><br/>He opened the door with the keypad, allowing the metal to slid into its holding.  As he stepped through, the plane began to tilt.  It was a banking turn at a very slight inclination, no more than what one would experience on a commercial flight.  As it began, you felt your eardrums tighten with pressure: you were descending.<br/><br/>The unnamed soldier lead the way.  Kai, her hand resting on the stock of her rifle, made a point of waiting until you were though before following.  She brought up the rear, much like a guard escorting prisoners between cell blocks.<br/><br/>The corridor you found yourself in was of the same proportions as the last and dimly lit by diffuse strips in the ceiling.  It was much shorter, and seemed to be more of a slightly long room than a hallway.  The grated floor ended at the doorway, now replaced with a simple layer of black rubberized material.  The left wall was nondescript plastic sheeting, no doubt separating you from the staging area.  Monitors were set into the walls, their screens flashing in rhythmic synchrony:<br/><br/><br/><strong>Primary Alert!<br/>Hull Compromised, Section C2!<br/>Payload Disengaged!</strong><br/><br/><br/>Before you looked away, something changed in the text on the monitor nearest to you:<strong>I WILL SHOW YOU FEAR IN A HANDFUL OF DUST</strong>flashed for a split-second, and then the endless flickering warning message resumed.<br/><br/>On your right was a window that ran the four meter length of the room, seperating you from a dozen or more men and women dressed in the same style of arctic clothing you had discovered earlier.  Upon closer examination, you may recognize some of their faces; these were the same people who had been in the rooms adjacent to you a few minutes before.  Most sat on the rubberized floor, unable to stretch their legs in the cramped space.  Some stood or leaned against the window.  One woman was crying, and another appeared to have a bloodied nose.  The wall behind them was apparently the hull of the fuselage, given the curve, but there were no windows to see through.<br/><br/>None of them paid you any notice, and the unnamed soldier likewise ignored them.  He continued walking at a steady pace, helmet forward, hands on his rifle, aiming for an identical door at the end of the room.  Three letters were stenciled on it at eye-level:<strong>CIC</strong><br/><br/>Your MONA buzzed impatiently, uncaring of the chaos of the past five minutes:<strong>ALERT</strong>: A new item has been added to the<strong>Brief</strong>(https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=206965.msg10149985#msg10149985).