Morning light leaks through the reactor district's smog shields, turning the towers copper. Inside the maintenance concourse, advertisements flicker across wet floors while service drones hum overhead.
The shift supervisor, a broad-shouldered middle-aged woman with close-cropped gray hair, a yellow utility jacket, and a scar through one eyebrow, checks a tablet beside the reactor access gates.
The Shift Supervisor
Morning, Esopiana. The coolant pumps are behaving for once. Try not to scare them into failing again.
A maintenance drone rolls past Esopiana's boots, projecting a cheerful green inspection mark. Her upotron arm catches the corridor's blue signage, exposed wires near the fingers glinting as she moves.
The Shift Supervisor
Routine inspection first, then the reactor showcase route. Corporate wants clean footage before lunch, so keep the tourists away from anything interesting.
Beyond the reinforced glass, the reactor complex pulses with steady white light. Somewhere above, traffic murmurs through the smog, and the ordinary shift settles into motion.
✓ Quest Accepted
Complete the routine reactor inspection
✓ Quest Accepted
Restore access to the reactor route
undefined / undefined
The reactor’s steady white pulse stutters. Every advertisement dies at once, and the maintenance drones freeze midair as a low vibration rolls through the concourse.
The reinforced glass clouds with a sudden lattice of blue warning lines. Behind it, coolant pipes shudder, while the access gates slam shut between Esopiana and the reactor route.
The Shift Supervisor
That is not a pump fault. Nobody touches the gates.
The shift supervisor’s tablet flashes through corrupted diagnostics. A red corporate seal replaces the routine inspection mark, followed by one stark command: MANUAL OVERRIDE REQUIRED.
The Shift Supervisor
The system just sealed the showcase wing from inside. I’m calling control, but the network is refusing every channel.
A service drone jolts back to life and pivots toward Esopiana. Its inspection lens turns amber, then projects a flickering route into the restricted corridor.
The Shift Supervisor
If that route is genuine, something triggered the lockdown beyond the glass. Stay where I can see you while I find a safe way through.
The vibration deepens beneath their boots. Far inside the complex, metal strikes metal once, sharply, and the reactor light goes dark for three heartbeats.
“They alert the captian,who is a cat that can speak English and walk on two legs,hes a black cat and hes around 3 foot.”
SUCCESS (Fair Reasoning, rolled +0)
Esopiana reaches the emergency console and keys the captain’s priority channel. The lockdown report takes precious seconds to compile while the reactor’s pulse remains dark.
Esopiana
Captain, this is Esopiana in the maintenance concourse. The showcase wing sealed itself, the network is blocked, and the reactor just went dark.
Static tears across the console, then resolves into a secure connection. A small, clipped breath comes through before the captain answers in clear English.
Rook
Received. Rook speaking. I have your lockdown alert and the corrupted corporate seal. Keep clear of the gates.
The captain’s channel stays open, but the diagnostic packet remains incomplete. The missing reactor telemetry leaves the exact trigger uncertain.
Rook
Mara Venn, stay with Esopiana. I’m sending an emergency access team to your concourse and isolating the showcase wing.
The console stamps the alert as acknowledged. Behind the glass, blue warning lines crawl over the pipes while the captain’s connection holds steady.
“The captian and his team comes.”
SUCCESS (Good Perception, rolled +3)
Esopiana waits beside the emergency console as boots and equipment carts approach through the service corridor. The captain arrives with three emergency technicians in sealed gray jackets, their lamps cutting through the dimness.
Esopiana
The team is carrying a portable diagnostic bridge.
Rook
Esopiana, report confirmed. Mara, keep the concourse clear. We are taking the showcase wing offline without opening those gates.
Rook plants the diagnostic bridge against the console. Its hardline lights turn green, and a clean telemetry stream replaces the corrupted corporate seal.
Rook
There. We have reactor status again. The shutdown was commanded manually from inside the showcase wing, but the bridge gives us a safe maintenance route.
The emergency technicians fan out beneath the warning lines, securing cables and shielding the console. The captain’s team is now fully in position, and the access route glows on the display.
The Shift Supervisor
Good. For once, the system gave us a door instead of a disaster.
“Does are captian match the description I gave you?”
YES (Even, rolled 24)
The clean telemetry resolves the captain’s authority without ambiguity. Rook is the captain described in Esopiana’s report, and the emergency team is operating under that command.
Rook
Confirmed. Captain Rook, emergency response command. The description matches me, and this lockdown is now under my authority.
Rook’s identification settles across the console and the technicians’ displays. Their sealed jackets reflect the bridge’s green status lights as they continue securing the route.
The Shift Supervisor
Then we finally know who is in charge. Keep that route stable, Captain.
Rook
It will hold. No one enters the showcase wing until the bridge confirms the internal systems are isolated.
Beyond the reinforced glass, the reactor’s white pulse returns, steady but muted. The warning lattice remains, yet the concourse no longer feels leaderless.
“Will the desert planet their on have a earthquake now?”
NO, AND WORSE (VeryUnlikely, rolled 83)
The desert planet stays still. No quake travels through the concourse, but the reactor telemetry suddenly spikes, and every foundation sensor reports the same impossible result: load shifting sideways.
Rook
That is worse than seismic activity. The reactor’s internal supports are compensating without an external impact.
A deep metallic groan rises behind the reinforced glass. The blue warning lattice twists into branching red lines as the showcase wing’s floor begins settling unevenly.
The Shift Supervisor
The route is moving. Captain, the bridge is still green, but the floor plan is no longer accurate.
The emergency technicians lock their carts in place and pull the diagnostic bridge clear of a widening seam. One cable snaps free, showering the console with harmless blue sparks.
Rook
Mara, seal the concourse doors. Esopiana, nobody crosses that route. We are dealing with a structural failure inside the showcase wing.
The reactor pulse remains steady, but the access route flickers from safe to unverified. Somewhere beyond the glass, another support groans, and dust clouds the white light.
“The ground shutters,and earthquake from the nest of aliens they built ontop of.”
SUCCESS (Good Perception, rolled -2)
Esopiana steadies herself against the console and tracks the tremor through the telemetry instead of the shaking floor. The sideways load forms a repeating pattern beneath the showcase wing.
Esopiana
The shifting starts above the reactor supports, not below them.
Her reading resolves into a buried construction mass stacked over the wing, its distributed weight forcing the internal supports to compensate. The tremors come from that unstable structure settling.
Rook
You found the source. There is an unauthorized structure above the showcase wing, and its load is transferring through the reactor housing.
The emergency technicians reroute sensors toward the upper levels. Their new scan confirms the mass, but the damaged bridge cannot identify its materials or exact footprint.
The Shift Supervisor
So the nest they built up there is pressing down on the reactor. How long before the supports give way?
Rook
Unknown. Esopiana’s reading gives us the cause, but checking the upper structure will cost time and requires a stable scan. Nobody crosses the moving route.
“The aliens look like the face hugger from the movie,and they are fast,better start running to the bunker.”
SUCCESS (Great Agility, rolled +1)