You and Serra slip into the maintenance tunnel just as the patrol passes by, their sensors unable to detect your cloaked forms. The narrow corridor stretches ahead, its walls lined with pipes and cables that pulse with a sickly green light. The air is thick with the smell of oil and machine grease, a constant reminder of your alien surroundings.
Serra's voice comes through your internal comm, distorted but still audible. "We're in. But we've only got five minutes before that patrol doubles back. And I'm detecting increased activity in the command center." She pauses, her modulator clicking softly. "There's a security checkpoint about fifty meters ahead. We'll need to disable it quickly and silently."