There came a heavy thunk from the other side of the door, the sound of a deadbolt or perhaps a metal bar being shifted back into its holding.  This was followed by a rapid series of taps.  The door eased open...<br/><br/>The area outside of the little room should at least be vaguely familiar.  You had been walked up the plane's ramp in South Africa, and found that the voluminous interior of the airplane was largely walled off.  The ramp led to a narrow corridor running down the aircraft's midline, with small doors lining both walls.  You had been led deep into the plane, where you were assigned rooms seemingly at random.<br/><br/>"Get in.  The flight should be approximately three hours," your escort, a grim faced soldier, had said.<br/><br/>As you now looked back through the open doorway, you saw the same cramped hallway with it's metal grated floor and sterile plastic walls and blinding fluorescent lights.  A soldier stands there, momentarily distracted by something occurring to his or her left.  He or she is dressed in the same matte black combat gear and helmet as all the others you've seen, loaded down with ammunition, tactical gear, a radio, and other equipment.  You hear someone barking commands down the hallway, their voice muffled by the distant roar of the aircraft's engines.<br/><br/>The soldier holds a rifle in their hands.  The barrel is pointed at you.<br/><br/><hr/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Zoey Calhoun</span></strong><br/><br/><em>"Yes?"</em><br/><br/>The soldier's head jerks around, the faint outline of eyes barely visible through the opaque visor.  His broad shoulders and tall stature indicate he's a man.  "Dr. Calhoun, come with me," he says in a lilting Mandarin accent, his voice urgent.  Two gunshots boom from somewhere inside the plane, punctuating his statement.  Behind him, the hallway lights flicker.<br/><br/>"The sooner the better, miss."<br/><br/><hr/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Sean Gallegar</span></strong><br/><br/>The door opened with a slam, kicked in by the commando.  He loomed in the doorway, black rifle pointed directly at Sean's head.  "You!  Come with me,<em>now</em>!"<br/><br/>The commando loomed above the archaeologist.  Even though his face was obscured by a dense, opaque mask, Sean could tell by the way he held himself that he was ready to pistol whip him on a whim.<br/><br/>Somewhere in the aircraft, Sean heard twin reports of gunfire.<br/><br/>"The boots can wait asshole.  Let's<em>move!</em>"<br/><br/><hr/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Alec Llewellyn</span></strong><br/><br/><em>"Sorry about that, yes?"</em><br/><br/>The commando pushed the door open and stepped briskly into the room.  Her helmeted head swiveled like a top, but the barrel of her rifle remained trained on Alec's chest.<br/><br/>Her head twitched and she looked downward as she spoke something into the radio inside her helmet.  After a moment, she nodded and looked at Alec.  Two gunshots cracked the chill air, but the soldier didn't seem to notice or care.<br/><br/>"Major Llewellyn," she said, butchering the pronunciation of his last name.  "Your presence is required in the CIC.  If you would..."  She gestured with her rifle, indicating that he should walk out of the room in front of her.<br/><br/><hr/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_u">Rebekah Graham</span></strong><br/><br/>The commando stepped into the room, keeping her back to the door.  "Ms. Graham," she said in a crisp Texan accent.  She glanced out into the hallway and shook her head.  Elsewhere inside the plane, a gun fired twice.<br/><br/>"Ms. Graham, we have to move.  I swear to the Holy God above I'll knock you the fuck out and throw you over my shoulder if you don't start hauling ass<em>right now</em>."