The sound of boots. Not overly dramatic in its own right, but constant. Humans have always worn jackboots and always will, for one reason or another: mostly because they look, and sound, cool. Right now, judging by sound, there's at least a platoon of jackbooted people marching down a linoleum-floored corridor somewhere … well, it's hard to tell, but there are jackbooted people there, so it's probably somewhere that's important in some respect.
A door opens with a squeak of huge, old hinges, a squeal of protest, and the whp of a hermetic seal being broken. Then the noise of a wince comes, and bitching about cold. Someone, maybe a lot of people, are entering a freezing space. The boots fade just a little, and the tone of their fall changes.
There is the murmur of a short, curt conversation between two people, in clipped, military tones, then a series of beeps as of a sequence of numbers being entered into a keypad, which in fact is exactly what it is. The beeping goes on for quite some time, a total of some thirty-two beeps in all – a thirty-two bit code. Then there is a fluctuating scratching sound and the sproing of resonating metal: something being turned one hundred and eighty degrees, then pulled out.
There is another whp of a seal being broken.
And then there is the hiss of air escaping.
And then a man breathes after a long time of not doing so, and begins to cough.
When he recovers his breath, he waits for a few moments. "Who the hell are you?" His voice is deep, quite calm despite his words, and has a ring of authority to it. Also a distinct Australian accent, from when accents mattered.
"Confirm, please," the military tone comes, much clearer. "You are known as the Doctor?"
"Correct," the man – the Doctor – says. "Why am I here?"
"Because, Doctor," the soldier says, "your presence is required once more."