08-09-2016, 02:16 PM
Carmelita’s background in mechanical and electronic repairs was rather... second hand. Bentley and Murray had shown her some of the ropes, but she’d never really needed to pitch in properly with the two of them around. Then she’d rescued Chip and had just as readily allowed the girl to take a place that Carmelita had no business being in.
At the end of the day, that meant that Carmelita was not the person who should be fixing high-tech escape pods. It didn’t help that it was soon clear that the inoculation was definitely not a cure, as while she never dropped back into that low, near useless dry-heaving, she still had the worst headache imaginable.
With this in mind, Carmelita changed her plan of attack. She was clearly not suited to fix up a proper cure, nor was she suited to retrofitting an already damaged escape pod into being a crop duster. What would be a more appropriate aim would be to repair the escape pod enough to get somewhere which had those facilities and the experts to use them.
The Inspector set about following the instructions on screen, pulling apart the damaged pods for their components and fuel supplies and repairing the nearly ready one as best she could. Tightening bolts and attaching fuel lines was not outside her understanding (she did own a squad car back in the day) and while she might not know what the circuit boards did she was perfectly capable of wiring them in correctly.
In between stints of working on the escape pods, she snuck through the facility, salvaging what files and documents were available from computers and filing cabinets. She dodged fungal spores, scrounged food and water from an overlooked supply closet, and after avoiding a territorial display between ghouls she settled back down in the escape pod bay for a bit of light reading with a tin of beans cooked over a welding torch.
It was dark, dark reading, to say the least. Every horrible thing on the island had stemmed from the disease, it appeared. Some were afflicted mentally, going steadily more and more insane before being driven to cannibalism, or worse. Others were mutated, being horribly deformed beyond the point of survival, or entering comatose states from which they would arise as zombies. Those who suffered from both had been made into the monsters and ghouls she had seen. All of it stemmed from the raw, untreated Omnilium ores mined here. All of it could be directly attributed to the poor ethical judgement of Syntech and, consequently, its head honcho, Karl Jak.
It was cold comfort to Carmelita. A cure at this stage seemed unlikely, in her unprofessional opinion, not for those who were far gone. Amber would have to be put down, and hopefully revived at the fountain, and the zombies would need to be euthanised as well. The cannibals might still be treatable, the mental damage might be curable. The ghouls and monsters would probably fall into the former category rather than the latter.
A lot of death, that was what Karl Jak was responsible for. Carmelita pondered the escape pod thoughtfully. From the diagram, it would produce wings, wheels and jets in order to escape the island before setting down in the water and using a solar powered turbine to go the rest of the way to syntech headquarters. There was no reason she couldn’t set down by the town hall, grab a copy of the census data for the island and use that as evidence when she brought Karl Jak up on charges of mass manslaughter.
Her thoughts decided, she returned to repairs with a vengeance. After the light finally turned green, Carmelita climbed aboard, secured the bucket of raw Omnilium and the inoculation briefcase, checked her eyepieces and the data contained within, and prepared for lift off.
A loud klaxon sounded, red lights flashing on each wall. The escape pod she was in lit up from the outside, floodlights illuminating the vertical tube with the guide rails along it and, in the distance, a large hole opened in the side of a mountain, sunlight and blue skies visible as a faint speck at the end of the tunnel.
Carmelita clutched her seat tightly as a rumbling began beneath her. A flare could be seen behind the glass as acceleration clenched her gut, pulling her down viciously. Up she went, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed before roaring out of the tube in a great flare of light, up into the air and ready for her to wrestle the flight path round to land in the town.
At the end of the day, that meant that Carmelita was not the person who should be fixing high-tech escape pods. It didn’t help that it was soon clear that the inoculation was definitely not a cure, as while she never dropped back into that low, near useless dry-heaving, she still had the worst headache imaginable.
With this in mind, Carmelita changed her plan of attack. She was clearly not suited to fix up a proper cure, nor was she suited to retrofitting an already damaged escape pod into being a crop duster. What would be a more appropriate aim would be to repair the escape pod enough to get somewhere which had those facilities and the experts to use them.
The Inspector set about following the instructions on screen, pulling apart the damaged pods for their components and fuel supplies and repairing the nearly ready one as best she could. Tightening bolts and attaching fuel lines was not outside her understanding (she did own a squad car back in the day) and while she might not know what the circuit boards did she was perfectly capable of wiring them in correctly.
In between stints of working on the escape pods, she snuck through the facility, salvaging what files and documents were available from computers and filing cabinets. She dodged fungal spores, scrounged food and water from an overlooked supply closet, and after avoiding a territorial display between ghouls she settled back down in the escape pod bay for a bit of light reading with a tin of beans cooked over a welding torch.
It was dark, dark reading, to say the least. Every horrible thing on the island had stemmed from the disease, it appeared. Some were afflicted mentally, going steadily more and more insane before being driven to cannibalism, or worse. Others were mutated, being horribly deformed beyond the point of survival, or entering comatose states from which they would arise as zombies. Those who suffered from both had been made into the monsters and ghouls she had seen. All of it stemmed from the raw, untreated Omnilium ores mined here. All of it could be directly attributed to the poor ethical judgement of Syntech and, consequently, its head honcho, Karl Jak.
It was cold comfort to Carmelita. A cure at this stage seemed unlikely, in her unprofessional opinion, not for those who were far gone. Amber would have to be put down, and hopefully revived at the fountain, and the zombies would need to be euthanised as well. The cannibals might still be treatable, the mental damage might be curable. The ghouls and monsters would probably fall into the former category rather than the latter.
A lot of death, that was what Karl Jak was responsible for. Carmelita pondered the escape pod thoughtfully. From the diagram, it would produce wings, wheels and jets in order to escape the island before setting down in the water and using a solar powered turbine to go the rest of the way to syntech headquarters. There was no reason she couldn’t set down by the town hall, grab a copy of the census data for the island and use that as evidence when she brought Karl Jak up on charges of mass manslaughter.
Her thoughts decided, she returned to repairs with a vengeance. After the light finally turned green, Carmelita climbed aboard, secured the bucket of raw Omnilium and the inoculation briefcase, checked her eyepieces and the data contained within, and prepared for lift off.
A loud klaxon sounded, red lights flashing on each wall. The escape pod she was in lit up from the outside, floodlights illuminating the vertical tube with the guide rails along it and, in the distance, a large hole opened in the side of a mountain, sunlight and blue skies visible as a faint speck at the end of the tunnel.
Carmelita clutched her seat tightly as a rumbling began beneath her. A flare could be seen behind the glass as acceleration clenched her gut, pulling her down viciously. Up she went, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed before roaring out of the tube in a great flare of light, up into the air and ready for her to wrestle the flight path round to land in the town.