Eventually the train arrives; a rickety and rusted looking series of five cars that have been heavily tagged and defaced. The enforcers scan each acolyte's forged ID badge, eyeing each with marked suspicion, Orla especially. She and Milo are the two with the least familiarity with this ride. They are shuffled onto a car, joined by a pair of enforcers, who do their best to stay on the opposite end of the car. Inside is just as dilapidated as outside, an unwelcoming and vandalized ruin. Plastic seats line the windowless propaganda covered sides of the car, chairs covered in garbage and in some cases human excrement. The smell in the train is an unrelenting and unforgiving stew.

Moments after the acolytes and the enforcers have boarded, the doors close with a ding. Moments later the engines whine and the train shudders to start, vibrating and rocking as it picks up speed. The continuous sound and motion would almost be lulling, if it where not for the occasional screech of metal, or sudden jostling of the cart, causing all seated to nearly take air. Up and up through the bowels of Hive Haphaestein the train ascends.

After almost an hour the train screeches to a halt. Stopping off in the midhive. As the acolytes exit, their cards are again checked by enforcer security. The acolytes find themselves back in the midhive, not too far from their compound, but by now it is evening and the gas lights have been dimmed to signify the setting of the sun. They make their way with haste to the compound to arrive before curfew. They pass into the compound with after several computerized security checks, including a scanning of their cards. Though a relatively plain looking hab building from the outside, inside the compound is an austere and lavish home base. Though not as ornately decorated, or richly furnished as Drimmle's own apartment, the compound is all tall ceilings and creature comforts. The moment they make it through the door, they are greeted by Interrogator Ezekiel. A handsome man in his early thirties, The Interrogator is dressed in a fine green tailcoat. In one hand he clutches a book under his arm, and the other he keeps clasped on his belt. He grins roguishly as the group enters. Addressing the group he says, "Welcome, welcome. You were gone long. I hope you were successful." He eyes Marcella, casting an almost cold if not impish stare. "That was... an interesting means of communication," he says, the grin returning to his face, "Perhaps we will need to work on an alternative form of reaching each other over longer distances." He then turns to Orla, "And you must be our newest... friend." All this security, and the strangeness of the compound must surely be raising further alarm bells for Orla, but the Interrogator does not give her a chance to speak. Instead he says to the group, "I take it you have... briefed the little mouse on what we are doing here? You know The Master requires absolute secrecy in our activities.... I suppose she can be silenced, later if necessary."