Letters from Hoth 2: Return of the Prince's Hired Help

Dear friends, my journey continues to be both dangerous and mysterious.
Yesterday I went through secret underground tunnels that connect the halls. There are deep cravings in the walls, I can't make out exactly what they mean. With the help of Miss Contact (she got to chose her codename) I've been decoding them. There's some sort of burial rites and... something else, something after. I feel a breakthrough is close but not yet.
Days ago I glimpsed something outside my room. I've taken to staying, locked, in my room. I now know it is no longer safe to stroll outside. Students have taken to prowling outside, hair bursting out of flannel jackets. I'm not sure what they're looking for. Prey? Occasionally they fight over territory. Some are so bestial you can't tell that they'd been human before. Inside the Halls you can see students begin the transformation. They start to wear flannel jackets and grew beards "For the cold".

Except for a direct run to Miss Contact's car-sled I stay inside my room, locked off from the rest of the world, surviving on care package food. I spied something odd through my binoculars hours ago however. Men. Teams of them in all white parkas. I wouldn't have spied them through the gales of snow except for their dark, dark glasses. For the past two hours they've been piling excavation equipment into a maintenance shed. I might have even excused their presence as workers finally doing their jobs. However there are two things that made me question the men's actions. The first is the seer number of white clad workers piling into the small, small shack and not coming out. Secondly, the guns. Every fifth worker had an automatic weapon in hand.

Granted campus is dangerous, with the crazed students pushing down trees and mauling people but... not for a small army. I've contacted Ms. Contact and we've agreed to investigate as soon as possible.
This might be my last letter. Let my family know I went down in a blaze of glory, searching for the truth.
Give my TV to Peachy,
Mr. R9NE