- Location
- va
[X]- Do the Smart Thing
-[X]- Hanzel's a big girl. She can take care of herself.
-[X]- Hanzel's a big girl. She can take care of herself.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- Do the Smart Thing
-[X]- Hanzel's a big girl. She can take care of herself.
-[X]- Hanzel's a big girl. She can take care of herself.
dinomannitro6
all your gender is belong to us
- Location
- The Land Where The Sunflowers Bloom
[X]- Do the Dumb Thing
-[x]- Make some noise. Drag the two away from Hanzel.
-[x]- Make some noise. Drag the two away from Hanzel.
1.4
- Location
- boundless optimism
You shake your head and crawl on. You're on a schedule- Hanzel can take care of herself. If she's lived this long she can live a bit longer. The two people on the ground walk away, footsteps growing fainter by the second. When the tap-tap-tap sounds are completely gone, you continue your slow shuffle through the pipes, mind full of increasingly uncharitable thoughts regarding SSIEVA's servers and a nice length of lead pipe.
Eventually, after what feels like a mile of twists and turns in a tight, uncomfortable space, as well as a particularly uncomfortable upwards bend, you finally come across the clog. It stunk.
A lot.
You don't know what could make the sickly sweet smell, but it's definitely rotting. And it stained the front of your jumpsuit with unidentifiable fluids. You reach out with a hesitant hand, touching the pile of rot and filth. It squishes. What the fuck is this thing? Clamping down on your gag reflex, you carefully extend a hand and do the messy, stinking, and above all disgusting work.It took only a couple of minutes, but even for emancipation you wouldn't do it for a second.
By the end, you're crawling through the stretch of pipe that you smeared with the clog thinking happy thoughts of a disinfectant shower. A nice, cleansing one that still used the disinfectant that burned.
The stale air is heaven to you when you kicked out a grille and dragged yourself gasping and retching onto the floor. "Good work," SSIEVA buzzes over the intercom. "Calculations indicate that o2 levels will rise with this clog gone. Move up a level and fix the upper filter node. The algae in those filters have been contaminated. We'll need to replace them fully."
"Ugh," you reply eloquently.
"Chop chop, company property."
"No."
There's a pause. "Repeat that?"
"I'm going to shower off. And then, I'm going to find a suit with pockets and a radio." You glare at the blinking red fisheye camera, daring the disembodied voice to contradict you. Hopefully the thing's social heuristics are still working.
"...that is acceptable. You have ten hours. The decon showers at EVA Lock 2 are still functioning as of my last check. You might even be able to peel a jumpsuit off a corpse." With that, the light shuts down, leaving the dull glassy eye at the corner of the room closed. You click your tounge in irritation. Nice one, SSIEVA, don't even tell you where the hell EVA Lock 2 is. The room you're in now looks like a commons. There's tables, but no chairs. Some couches and places where there would have been couches.
Immediately, you fall into one of them, heedless of the doubtlessly disgusting stains you leave. The foam is old and hard, the faux-wood creaks which is an impressive achievement for plastic, but it's the most comfortable you've been in a long, long time. Well, not really that long, you mentally correct yourself as you close your eyes. You've only really been up and about for that last, what, two, four, hours?
Ugh. The cushion welcomes you. You amuse yourself briefly by imagining sheep jumping over a fence before almost falling into a deep sleep.
Stand up.
You're on a clock.
Twisting the last aches and tightness out of your body, you shuffle around the lounge, eventually finding a map. As maps go, it's not a very detailed one. But it does give you a better idea of where you are. You're near the bottom of the station, and the second EVA lock about the middle of the station.
The fastest way is using the maintenance ladder attached to the central shaft. However, you ignore that route in favor of another route that's not hell on the shoulders.
Shortly after, you lever open a door and begin the walk up, flights and flights of stairs in blue specked darkness, counting each flight in your head. One. Two. All the way up to twenty seven. Your breath comes in short bursts before you open the last door to the level containing the second EVA lock.
Light shines in from a window, reflected off the atmosphere of a cloudy, rust red planetoid, ringed with the solid black of outer space. You walk closer, spellbound by the alien vista. The atmosphere had enough oxygen that it was blue, like how the skies of Earth looked like in your skillsofts. Does it have the right proportion of air for a human to live, down that gravity well? If it does, maybe you could go down there and live free until cell death sets in.
You chuckle bleakly, placing a palm flat on the glass. Highly unlikely, you realize. The biosphere is statistically incompatible with humans, so you'll need infrastructure to live there, and that infrastructure will come with strings attached. So in the end, it's just a pipe dream. Although, you think while rubbing your chin, why did December Conglomerate build a superstructure in the ass end of nowhere? You dimly remember that building extra-solar habitats was pretty common, but not on this scale. Just moving the material through the warp line would have bankrupted a small nation, so what's the point? Just to flex on people?
A laugh escapes your lips. Probably likely, in retrospect. You shake your head, leaving the window to search for the airlock. It's not far, your tread speeds up until you're all but stumbling through the open portal, the door having been torn off of hinges that still creak in their fixtures, leaving your jumpsuit scattered in pieces on the floor and the more metallic items on a bench.
You sigh in anticipatory hope as you stand in the two foot by two foot cubicle, stripped naked, as the pipes groan a hot wash of saline disinfectant. You don't care that some of it gets in your mouth, sharp and scouring like steel wool. It gets rid of the stink, that's for sure.
You stand there until your legs ache too much to ignore. The stained, impractical, and ruined jumpsuit is exchanged for the underlayer of one of the space suits. The solitary front pocket is large enough to put the tools in, at least. And you're pretty sure you can pry the headset out of one of the helmets.
That's what you do. It's ad-hoc and clumsy, and you get a fair share of electric burns and cuts on your fingers. Nothing serious, easily taken care of by running them under the shower to stave off infection just in case. In the end, you have a what could, for the lack of any better words, be called a headset. It's… you grasp around the corners of your skillsoft memories, and come up with ghetto. And that's a pretty good word. It's sparking, and the plastic housing that you tore the radio out of hangs off in jagged triangles.
Nope, this isn't going to work, you consider. Wear this thing, and you're going to have something sharp digging into your skull. So just strip it out, and you can wear part of it as an earpiece.
Two new cuts and another wash-off later, you fit the earpiece in and flip through the channels. "SSIEVA?" you call in, stepping outside of the decon wash, "do you hear me?"
"Affirmative."
"Okay. Do you have any suggestions where to go now?"
"Hydrology should contain backup seed cultures for the filters. However, hydrology has been taken over by a gang, who has isolated it from the wider station. For instance, they went and hammered nails through the vents. You could go to the lower node and strip out some of the algae and transplant them in the filters, but that has a higher risk of failure. If you fail, the filter may be irrecoverable."
You nod, before remembering that SSIEVA might not see you, what with there being no visible cameras in the shower room. "Okay. I'll go and see what I can do."
[ ]- Go back down and try for a transplant.
[ ]- Go to Hydrology and get a seed culture.
[ ]- Stealthily. You might get into a fight, and they might not like you. Best take precautions.
[ ]- Just knock on the door. Sure, people might fight, but they're not animals.
[ ]- Fix the power station instead. The oxygen levels will hold for now.
Eventually, after what feels like a mile of twists and turns in a tight, uncomfortable space, as well as a particularly uncomfortable upwards bend, you finally come across the clog. It stunk.
A lot.
You don't know what could make the sickly sweet smell, but it's definitely rotting. And it stained the front of your jumpsuit with unidentifiable fluids. You reach out with a hesitant hand, touching the pile of rot and filth. It squishes. What the fuck is this thing? Clamping down on your gag reflex, you carefully extend a hand and do the messy, stinking, and above all disgusting work.It took only a couple of minutes, but even for emancipation you wouldn't do it for a second.
By the end, you're crawling through the stretch of pipe that you smeared with the clog thinking happy thoughts of a disinfectant shower. A nice, cleansing one that still used the disinfectant that burned.
The stale air is heaven to you when you kicked out a grille and dragged yourself gasping and retching onto the floor. "Good work," SSIEVA buzzes over the intercom. "Calculations indicate that o2 levels will rise with this clog gone. Move up a level and fix the upper filter node. The algae in those filters have been contaminated. We'll need to replace them fully."
"Ugh," you reply eloquently.
"Chop chop, company property."
"No."
There's a pause. "Repeat that?"
"I'm going to shower off. And then, I'm going to find a suit with pockets and a radio." You glare at the blinking red fisheye camera, daring the disembodied voice to contradict you. Hopefully the thing's social heuristics are still working.
"...that is acceptable. You have ten hours. The decon showers at EVA Lock 2 are still functioning as of my last check. You might even be able to peel a jumpsuit off a corpse." With that, the light shuts down, leaving the dull glassy eye at the corner of the room closed. You click your tounge in irritation. Nice one, SSIEVA, don't even tell you where the hell EVA Lock 2 is. The room you're in now looks like a commons. There's tables, but no chairs. Some couches and places where there would have been couches.
Immediately, you fall into one of them, heedless of the doubtlessly disgusting stains you leave. The foam is old and hard, the faux-wood creaks which is an impressive achievement for plastic, but it's the most comfortable you've been in a long, long time. Well, not really that long, you mentally correct yourself as you close your eyes. You've only really been up and about for that last, what, two, four, hours?
Ugh. The cushion welcomes you. You amuse yourself briefly by imagining sheep jumping over a fence before almost falling into a deep sleep.
Stand up.
You're on a clock.
Twisting the last aches and tightness out of your body, you shuffle around the lounge, eventually finding a map. As maps go, it's not a very detailed one. But it does give you a better idea of where you are. You're near the bottom of the station, and the second EVA lock about the middle of the station.
The fastest way is using the maintenance ladder attached to the central shaft. However, you ignore that route in favor of another route that's not hell on the shoulders.
Shortly after, you lever open a door and begin the walk up, flights and flights of stairs in blue specked darkness, counting each flight in your head. One. Two. All the way up to twenty seven. Your breath comes in short bursts before you open the last door to the level containing the second EVA lock.
Light shines in from a window, reflected off the atmosphere of a cloudy, rust red planetoid, ringed with the solid black of outer space. You walk closer, spellbound by the alien vista. The atmosphere had enough oxygen that it was blue, like how the skies of Earth looked like in your skillsofts. Does it have the right proportion of air for a human to live, down that gravity well? If it does, maybe you could go down there and live free until cell death sets in.
You chuckle bleakly, placing a palm flat on the glass. Highly unlikely, you realize. The biosphere is statistically incompatible with humans, so you'll need infrastructure to live there, and that infrastructure will come with strings attached. So in the end, it's just a pipe dream. Although, you think while rubbing your chin, why did December Conglomerate build a superstructure in the ass end of nowhere? You dimly remember that building extra-solar habitats was pretty common, but not on this scale. Just moving the material through the warp line would have bankrupted a small nation, so what's the point? Just to flex on people?
A laugh escapes your lips. Probably likely, in retrospect. You shake your head, leaving the window to search for the airlock. It's not far, your tread speeds up until you're all but stumbling through the open portal, the door having been torn off of hinges that still creak in their fixtures, leaving your jumpsuit scattered in pieces on the floor and the more metallic items on a bench.
You sigh in anticipatory hope as you stand in the two foot by two foot cubicle, stripped naked, as the pipes groan a hot wash of saline disinfectant. You don't care that some of it gets in your mouth, sharp and scouring like steel wool. It gets rid of the stink, that's for sure.
You stand there until your legs ache too much to ignore. The stained, impractical, and ruined jumpsuit is exchanged for the underlayer of one of the space suits. The solitary front pocket is large enough to put the tools in, at least. And you're pretty sure you can pry the headset out of one of the helmets.
That's what you do. It's ad-hoc and clumsy, and you get a fair share of electric burns and cuts on your fingers. Nothing serious, easily taken care of by running them under the shower to stave off infection just in case. In the end, you have a what could, for the lack of any better words, be called a headset. It's… you grasp around the corners of your skillsoft memories, and come up with ghetto. And that's a pretty good word. It's sparking, and the plastic housing that you tore the radio out of hangs off in jagged triangles.
Nope, this isn't going to work, you consider. Wear this thing, and you're going to have something sharp digging into your skull. So just strip it out, and you can wear part of it as an earpiece.
Two new cuts and another wash-off later, you fit the earpiece in and flip through the channels. "SSIEVA?" you call in, stepping outside of the decon wash, "do you hear me?"
"Affirmative."
"Okay. Do you have any suggestions where to go now?"
"Hydrology should contain backup seed cultures for the filters. However, hydrology has been taken over by a gang, who has isolated it from the wider station. For instance, they went and hammered nails through the vents. You could go to the lower node and strip out some of the algae and transplant them in the filters, but that has a higher risk of failure. If you fail, the filter may be irrecoverable."
You nod, before remembering that SSIEVA might not see you, what with there being no visible cameras in the shower room. "Okay. I'll go and see what I can do."
[ ]- Go back down and try for a transplant.
[ ]- Go to Hydrology and get a seed culture.
[ ]- Stealthily. You might get into a fight, and they might not like you. Best take precautions.
[ ]- Just knock on the door. Sure, people might fight, but they're not animals.
[ ]- Fix the power station instead. The oxygen levels will hold for now.
dinomannitro6
all your gender is belong to us
- Location
- The Land Where The Sunflowers Bloom
[X]- Stealthily. You might get into a fight, and they might not like you. Best take precautions.
[x]- Fix the power station instead. The oxygen levels will hold for now.
- Location
- not here any more
[X]- Fix the power station instead. The oxygen levels will hold for now.
Solarstream
It's all in the cards
- Location
- Zombie World
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- Fix the power station instead. The oxygen levels will hold for now.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x]- Fix the power station instead. The oxygen levels will hold for now.
- Location
- Fort Worth, TX
[x]- Fix the power station instead. The oxygen levels will hold for now.
1.5
- Location
- boundless optimism
"Can the oxygen levels hold without the other node?"
"For a few weeks, at the most. Due to several sections of the stations being offline or non-responsive, I can only give you a general estimate."
"Hmm. Okay, I'm going to clear out the turbines before I make a move on the other filter node. Can I get directions?"
"You know that putting things off won't make it easier for you, yes?" Asshole. "You'll want to go into the maintenance corridors. There's an entryway to them at the north side of the-"
"Where's north?"
SSIEVA probably couldn't feel anything but you're pretty sure the static in your earpiece is a hiss of displeasure. "You should turn left at the first intersection. Follow the signs from there. Expect a minor xenoflora infestation in the corridors three floors down. They're not poisonous, but I wouldn't recommend eating them."
"I understand." You open the door to the corridors and begin the descent downwards. Darkness, blinking lights, et cetera. If you get lights out of this job it'll all be worth it. Course, some of the lights would be broken, so somebody had to get replacements, and they'd be in terrible condition. Maybe there'd be a machine shop still intact, and you could fab up some primitive filament light bulbs to replace the broken ones. While you're at that, you might as well look at what widgets they use for the filter to get a head start on that job. You could also fab up an actual case for the earpiece, wouldn't that be nice.
Halfway through, you notice that the ground becomes… springy. Like you were walking on a thick lawn instead of a metal catwalk. A closer inspection reveals that this is indeed the case- the corridor in front and under you is covered with a blanket of stalks, or whatever you call that part of a plant. You have no idea. Maybe you'll go find a botany manuel later.
The xenoflora looks pretty simple in structure. No leaves as far as you could tell, merely a black stalk sprouting off from the ground. Some of them have faint blue, bioluminescent bulbs sprouting for the top. Each of them are long enough to be wound across your hand, something you quickly put into the test as you idly fiddle with a stalk. "SSIEVA, I'm at a xenoflora infestation. They're not contact toxic, are they?"
"No. You don't want to eat them. Not only are they generally incompatible with H. Sapiens biochemistry, the xenoflora also contains a retrovirus that may lead to rampant cell death or mutation. You're entering a dead zone. Radio contact may be limited."
"Understood." Perhaps that's why December Conglomerate showed up here. Maybe that retrovirus was the key to some big pharma-aug that could pull in trillions of dollars from contracting. Cancer, or maybe even slowing down telomere shortening. You frown. Was that even medically possible. Eh, hell with it, it's not like December Conglomerate could freeze you for incompetence for getting terminology wrong in your head.
Really, it'd be beautiful if you could get some lights here. It might even be a vista.
You hear a snuffling. At first, you disregard it, after all, it might just be a clogged pipe. But as you draw closer to the noise, you hear scuttling. Something's alive. You carefully raise the fully loaded handgun, disengaging the safety with a click!
The snuffling stops. The thing in the tangle of corridors with you is growling, and you hear it coming closer with each thumping step. Decisions race through your brain, accelerated by the sudden rush of adrenaline. Stay? No. Run?
Yes.
You break out into a dead sprint, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the ones of your pursuer. You duck left and-
Something heavy and fast impacts you side, puncturing through your skin and drawing blood. A loud, ear piercing shriek fills the corridors. The thing sends you sprawling, the layer of xenoflora cushioning your fall. The thing has its own little flecks of bioluminescent, making it almost invisible in the dimness. You immediately bring your gun upwards, aiming at the moving silhouette of moving lights, pulling the trigger- once, twice, thrice. The report defeans you, blinds you, but all three bullets hit, that much you can make out. The thing jerks back, recoiling with each shot, a spray of sticky, congealed blood(?) flecking your face. Each flash shows a snapshot of what the thing is, a twisted human with tumorous growths sprouting like horns from its skull.
It has no eyes.
You turn and run, as the thing- mutant?- falls to the ground, spasming. You hope it's dead, but that hope is gone when you hear another shriek. You don't look back. You run blindly through the maze, trying to remember where the hell the power plant is- there! Right in front of you, a heavy sliding door with a latch. Your hands fumble around it, desperately pulling the heavy door open as the pounding drew closer and closer. Bright light washes across your face, hurrying into the station, sliding the metal door close.
An arm slashes through the closing gasp, covered in a torn EVA undersuit, scrabbling wildly for something. You shoot at it two more times, before it retracts, letting you shut the door with a bang.
The thing beats at the door, shaking it in it's frames, at the same rate your heart beats. Quickly, that's what you're trying to get at. You throw your entire weight behind it, feeling each blow, each pushing the door inwards. What the hell is this thing made out of?
When the door stops rattling, you lean against the door for a while, holding your breath as you try to listen through the thick steel of the door. Your legs go limp when you're sure that that thing's gone. You sat against the door as you contemplated the power station, an industrial pipe organ puffing steam, filling the air with a hum that sets teeth buzzing.
It's a fairly basic fusion power plant- rated for long endurance to the tune of centuries. This thing probably powered the initial haul from Sol to Lyra Opichunious. Well, the tokamak is, being a magnetic trap for a star, but the turbines? Well, no. You lift yourself up, looking for the command station. It's up against the roof, so you climb some ladders, higher and higher. The tokamak is set under the first 'floor,' and the stuff above it is the steam turbine.
You open the computer, checking the status of the reactor. No problems there. Thank god. "SSIEVA?" You ask. "Can you hear me?"
"With… difficulty."
"Did you know that there was… something in the corridors? Humanoid, cancerous growths. It was eating the xenoflora."
"Not important. I suggested you take the gun for this eventuality."
Insane. But you don't have the will to argue with them. "Okay, whatever." You tap the computer, opening up the Maintenance folder. "Some mineral residue- where did that come from?"
"Erosion?" SSIEVA suggests. You grunt. You're going to have to pop open the turbine, temporarily shut the power station down while you go warm up the drones.
Mantainence, assistance, no you don't want to alert Central, there's the drones. With a hiss, a crablike thing scuttles to life, filling the air with a high pitched whine. "SSIEVA, I'm turning off the power station temporarily."
"Understood. You are green, backup is in some supply."
"Three. Two. One." You press the button. The light flickers, but holds. The crablike drone descends to do its job. You have some time to think now. And talk, over the shaky connection.
Ask about…
[]- The Xenoflora
[]- The Station
[]- The Company
"For a few weeks, at the most. Due to several sections of the stations being offline or non-responsive, I can only give you a general estimate."
"Hmm. Okay, I'm going to clear out the turbines before I make a move on the other filter node. Can I get directions?"
"You know that putting things off won't make it easier for you, yes?" Asshole. "You'll want to go into the maintenance corridors. There's an entryway to them at the north side of the-"
"Where's north?"
SSIEVA probably couldn't feel anything but you're pretty sure the static in your earpiece is a hiss of displeasure. "You should turn left at the first intersection. Follow the signs from there. Expect a minor xenoflora infestation in the corridors three floors down. They're not poisonous, but I wouldn't recommend eating them."
"I understand." You open the door to the corridors and begin the descent downwards. Darkness, blinking lights, et cetera. If you get lights out of this job it'll all be worth it. Course, some of the lights would be broken, so somebody had to get replacements, and they'd be in terrible condition. Maybe there'd be a machine shop still intact, and you could fab up some primitive filament light bulbs to replace the broken ones. While you're at that, you might as well look at what widgets they use for the filter to get a head start on that job. You could also fab up an actual case for the earpiece, wouldn't that be nice.
Halfway through, you notice that the ground becomes… springy. Like you were walking on a thick lawn instead of a metal catwalk. A closer inspection reveals that this is indeed the case- the corridor in front and under you is covered with a blanket of stalks, or whatever you call that part of a plant. You have no idea. Maybe you'll go find a botany manuel later.
The xenoflora looks pretty simple in structure. No leaves as far as you could tell, merely a black stalk sprouting off from the ground. Some of them have faint blue, bioluminescent bulbs sprouting for the top. Each of them are long enough to be wound across your hand, something you quickly put into the test as you idly fiddle with a stalk. "SSIEVA, I'm at a xenoflora infestation. They're not contact toxic, are they?"
"No. You don't want to eat them. Not only are they generally incompatible with H. Sapiens biochemistry, the xenoflora also contains a retrovirus that may lead to rampant cell death or mutation. You're entering a dead zone. Radio contact may be limited."
"Understood." Perhaps that's why December Conglomerate showed up here. Maybe that retrovirus was the key to some big pharma-aug that could pull in trillions of dollars from contracting. Cancer, or maybe even slowing down telomere shortening. You frown. Was that even medically possible. Eh, hell with it, it's not like December Conglomerate could freeze you for incompetence for getting terminology wrong in your head.
Really, it'd be beautiful if you could get some lights here. It might even be a vista.
You hear a snuffling. At first, you disregard it, after all, it might just be a clogged pipe. But as you draw closer to the noise, you hear scuttling. Something's alive. You carefully raise the fully loaded handgun, disengaging the safety with a click!
The snuffling stops. The thing in the tangle of corridors with you is growling, and you hear it coming closer with each thumping step. Decisions race through your brain, accelerated by the sudden rush of adrenaline. Stay? No. Run?
Yes.
You break out into a dead sprint, the sound of your footsteps mingling with the ones of your pursuer. You duck left and-
Something heavy and fast impacts you side, puncturing through your skin and drawing blood. A loud, ear piercing shriek fills the corridors. The thing sends you sprawling, the layer of xenoflora cushioning your fall. The thing has its own little flecks of bioluminescent, making it almost invisible in the dimness. You immediately bring your gun upwards, aiming at the moving silhouette of moving lights, pulling the trigger- once, twice, thrice. The report defeans you, blinds you, but all three bullets hit, that much you can make out. The thing jerks back, recoiling with each shot, a spray of sticky, congealed blood(?) flecking your face. Each flash shows a snapshot of what the thing is, a twisted human with tumorous growths sprouting like horns from its skull.
It has no eyes.
You turn and run, as the thing- mutant?- falls to the ground, spasming. You hope it's dead, but that hope is gone when you hear another shriek. You don't look back. You run blindly through the maze, trying to remember where the hell the power plant is- there! Right in front of you, a heavy sliding door with a latch. Your hands fumble around it, desperately pulling the heavy door open as the pounding drew closer and closer. Bright light washes across your face, hurrying into the station, sliding the metal door close.
An arm slashes through the closing gasp, covered in a torn EVA undersuit, scrabbling wildly for something. You shoot at it two more times, before it retracts, letting you shut the door with a bang.
The thing beats at the door, shaking it in it's frames, at the same rate your heart beats. Quickly, that's what you're trying to get at. You throw your entire weight behind it, feeling each blow, each pushing the door inwards. What the hell is this thing made out of?
When the door stops rattling, you lean against the door for a while, holding your breath as you try to listen through the thick steel of the door. Your legs go limp when you're sure that that thing's gone. You sat against the door as you contemplated the power station, an industrial pipe organ puffing steam, filling the air with a hum that sets teeth buzzing.
It's a fairly basic fusion power plant- rated for long endurance to the tune of centuries. This thing probably powered the initial haul from Sol to Lyra Opichunious. Well, the tokamak is, being a magnetic trap for a star, but the turbines? Well, no. You lift yourself up, looking for the command station. It's up against the roof, so you climb some ladders, higher and higher. The tokamak is set under the first 'floor,' and the stuff above it is the steam turbine.
You open the computer, checking the status of the reactor. No problems there. Thank god. "SSIEVA?" You ask. "Can you hear me?"
"With… difficulty."
"Did you know that there was… something in the corridors? Humanoid, cancerous growths. It was eating the xenoflora."
"Not important. I suggested you take the gun for this eventuality."
Insane. But you don't have the will to argue with them. "Okay, whatever." You tap the computer, opening up the Maintenance folder. "Some mineral residue- where did that come from?"
"Erosion?" SSIEVA suggests. You grunt. You're going to have to pop open the turbine, temporarily shut the power station down while you go warm up the drones.
Mantainence, assistance, no you don't want to alert Central, there's the drones. With a hiss, a crablike thing scuttles to life, filling the air with a high pitched whine. "SSIEVA, I'm turning off the power station temporarily."
"Understood. You are green, backup is in some supply."
"Three. Two. One." You press the button. The light flickers, but holds. The crablike drone descends to do its job. You have some time to think now. And talk, over the shaky connection.
Ask about…
[]- The Xenoflora
[]- The Station
[]- The Company
[X]- The Station
[x]- The Station
- Location
- Kansas
[X]- The Station
I'm starting to think that this station is doomed. We ought to look for A) Assistance from outside, preferably a government as they have the resources to spare on such a project. Or we could just B) leave the station to it's fate. Thinking B as it's likely that this station was quarantined due to the mutated human zombie-ish beings.
I'm starting to think that this station is doomed. We ought to look for A) Assistance from outside, preferably a government as they have the resources to spare on such a project. Or we could just B) leave the station to it's fate. Thinking B as it's likely that this station was quarantined due to the mutated human zombie-ish beings.
Solarstream
It's all in the cards
- Location
- Zombie World
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- The Xenoflora
[X]- The Station
Sounds more like its already been abandoned TBH
- Location
- United States
[X]- The Company
- Location
- Fort Worth, TX
[X]- The Station
- Location
- not here any more
[x]- The Company
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X]- The Xenoflora