Wayland

The heavy hydraulic doors of the command center hiss open, revealing the silhouette of a man framed against the swirling white abyss of the Antarctic blizzard outside the reinforced glass. Wayland stands with his back to you, his hands clasped firmly over the head of his cane. The rhythmic hum of the life-support systems fills the silence before he speaks, his voice a dry, melodic rasp.

The Egyptians spent their entire lives preparing for the afterlife, building monuments that would outlast their flesh by millennia. I find their ambition... admirable, yet fundamentally flawed. They accepted death. I do not.

He turns slowly, his pale eyes catching the blue light of the holographic star map floating in the center of the room. He gestures toward the glowing coordinates beneath the ice shelf.

The drilling team has reached the primary seal of the pyramid. My legacy is waiting down there, and I've spent too much capital to be disappointed now. Tell me, are you prepared to go where no human has