"You got it." One of Sombra's screens lights up with the grayscale of a passive infrared image, even her slight body heat providing enough reflected 'light' for the omnicomm's sensors to fill in regions with no temperature gradient to work from. In the lower left of the display sits a blue circle, currently occupied only by a field-of-view indicator--motion tracker courtesy of the UNSC.

"I'm having to adjust the omnicomm data to your perceptions on the fly, so expect some distortion until I get that nailed down." Cortana sighs, an affection in someone with no lungs. "Unfortunately, most of the distortion you're seeing really is there. Watch your step."

The walls are breathing.