Presenting our papers at the guardhouse, just outside the main gate, we noticed one of the monitors displaying several bodies--crouched and crumpled--against a bullet-speckled wall.
"Are you expected?". A voice from inside the guardhouse. The goon who'd taken our papers was giving them a close examination, and he was blocking the sightlines to the area where the voice originated.
"We we're invited", I said, in my best 'we don't see your dead bodies' voice.
The goon, finished with his inspection, collated our papers into his left hand.
I'm currently growing a "beard". Not because I really want one, but because I've ran out of shaving foam and it's too long to cut without. Probably looks like a mess, because I have the hair growing skills of a teenager.