What Penelope Found
Your head is silhouetted by light.
Your shockingly red hair is given a glowing aura in the dark room by the sludgy greens and grays pulsing from the hologram. The lingering smell of funereal incense lends an eerie-but-somber feel to the chilly room. You've never gotten over the neurochemical trigger of that incense. Scar tissue.
You hear someone entering the room behind you but your eyes do not stray from the 'gram, which looks like some amorphous, snakelike entity surrounded by brownish-black: a soil study of the riverbed.
With a gesture you again call up the hologram's legend, and text appears. You know enough about the periodic table to be able to read the disturbingly-flashing-red-because-they're-too-high numbers for Hg, Cd, Pb, As, Cr.
Hundreds of times, orders-of-magnitude-too-high numbers.
You know your body well enough to know your pulse, respiration, temp and BP are all elevated, and it takes a few seconds of concentration to bring them in line.
You ask yourself questions:
How to translate this to the faithful? What kind of sermon or epistle is required? What is our mission now? How much does Org know about this?
And mostly: How am I going to get out of this place alive?