His ship all but staggers into the satellite's bowels. At first, he attempts to support his mangled gait by leaning against the wall, but the sensors that make up his system of touch are quickly overwhelmed by the mass of tangled, half-corroded wires, sending a terribly painful jolt through his shoulder and shooting him away from the wall. His outer layer must have been damaged in that area...

Fortunately, leaning his other shoulder against the opposite wall, equally canopied in masses of unkempt wire, produces only minor discomforts. His touch sensors detect forty-three unique varieties of wire as he heaves himself further into the satellite.

If Herta weren't its architect, it would be a miracle that the massive machine even functions.

"Screwllum!" Her figure careens out of an adjacent hallway, wreathed in floor-length pale brown hair She nearly trips over a mass of cables on the floor, her pale legs bent awkwardly and trembling with effort. Their strength gives way beneath her just as she reaches him, sending her careening to the floor—but the dexterity of her gnarled hands is firm and steady as she lifts a mechanical tool from the bag thrown over her shoulder.

"Vision: shut down," Screwllum softly commands. The cavern of cords and cables blinks instantly into darkness, but the reliable grasp of Herta's human fingers remains.