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A figure has stepped forth from the far end of the procession. He is enmeshed in similar black armour to the other guards, yet you see the ballistic mask of his helm is illuminated in bright fluorescent yellow - similar to the pattern upon the external black armoured transport vehicle.
You watch the meshed visor of this commander retract, as the filaments of his helm seem to unknot themselves. The faceplate lifts and folds - and to your increasing horror, you see the twisted face of yet another Iron mask beneath... This face appears much older, a snarling beast-face of flayed ligaments and bared teeth. The shadow of eyes swivel in the darkness behind the star-metal sockets. You imagine meat pressed against the raw metal of this ancient mask - there is flesh beneath the Iron, somewhere. A face nested within the recursion of faces.
