Jimbo nods grimly and darts back the way he came. For someone who had been a snorkeling instructor before the Combine came, he's not bad at this. Ten Boom moves to cover the group's rear, but it's not really necessary; the thundering footfalls they're hearing are headed in other directions.

And shortly after, Jimbo stops, and indicates a sliding panel on one wall for Voodoo to look through.

The room on the other side must have been some kind of central facility for the original crew of this station to meet and do massive maintenance, judging by its size. Most of it is taken up with... equipment. Jointed, black metal rigs hang from the ceiling at regular intervals, looking like some kind of nightmarish control chair; there are tubes and wires and massive cables running from the ceiling down to each of the chairs, and the unoccupied ones give off a sickly pale glow....

Oh, yes. Yes, there is that. Many of them are currently occupied by what must have surely once been humans; what they are now is debatable at best. Every last one of them is pale as a week-dead corpse, where they have flesh at all. The abdominal region is almost entirely mechanized, by the look of things. Fat, pulsating cables are connected to ports on the immobile figures' necks and the sides of their torsos. Their faces, mercifully, are blocked entirely by the uppermost parts of the rigs.

Every so often one of them twitches.