The first thing we saw was that unmistakable sigil. The twin S’s of the Sentinel banner as they entwined like caduceus upon the starched lapels of its field operatives. Standing in a semi-circle as though they had been expecting us, from their jack-booted midst he strode - instantly recognisable from the portraits that hung in the cavernous Sentinel lobby. Clovis Derleth - the head of the Sentinel himself.

It was clear to us now what pawns we had been. The arch signals of ambition etched into his features said it all. Despite all his talk of benign discovery, it was not an altruistic end that bent his hand in sending us to plumb these perilous chambers. His eyes flared wildly as he gazed upon our transformations with unbridled avarice. But the machine had other plans for us now, as indeed it did for him.

As yet more Sentinel operatives appeared from the shadows, it became apparent that our new symbiosis with the machine was granting us a passage that would be denied to these interlopers. Their own transformations were swift, and ghastly to behold.