The Tripoli Lab: Bowels

A short and quiet affirmation from communications and command back with the Saschen is all that's needed before the elevators are opened; this one doesn't require a keycard at all. Whoever uses this lab must be assuming that the NO UNAUTHORIZED note was being respected.

There's no elevator music as the five men make their way into the elevator itself. Along with the gentle blue light of the spacious, white-paneled elevator, the silence gives an air of oppression to the atmosphere. And something else no one can quite put their finger on. The silence between the five heavily-armed, black-outfitted men is broken only with the ding of the elevator doors opening, showing a room that lights up row-by-row as the elevator doors slide open. At first glance, it resembles a war hospital, with the vague forms of beds and private shutters cordoning off specific rows.

As the men step out further, the resemblance turns more to a prison.

Some kind of thickened, dark glass, painted with red symbols and the same mixture of languages seen on the first floor, create individual cellblocks on either side of the room, lined up at least a dozen long for both. There's what appears to be some sort of filtration system attached to each cellblock, and this room is lined with even more monitors spewing out incomprehensible strands of data - though there only appears to be one workbench on this floor, with some paperwork and a handful of tightly-sealed mixtures. Styrbjorn, one of the special operators with Kahler, is carefully examining the mixtures when a sudden THUD turns all attention towards the nearest glass cell, five guns raised with a simultaneous clicking as each operator snaps to attention.

The flashlight beams that shine into the cage itself reveal two wide, yellowed eyes that dart around the five of you in a dull, blank way, attached to sunken, gaunt cheekbones and a bizarrely pale sort of body - his matted black hair and the splotches of dark skin indicate that this man was likely a native at some point. You don't have any time to consider exactly what the hell is going on here before the man starts to scream at the top of his lungs, wailing and pounding on the glass walls of his cell with a shriek that penetrates through the glass walls just enough to sound cripplingly loud to your ears.

You don't know if they can hear you down here or not, but your men don't so much as spare a glance before springing into action. They know what you're going to tell them to do.

>WDYD