Somewhere deep inside the electronic world Panopticon is sitting in self-induced partial isolation. It had been necessary to keep Hazard from accessing crucial systems and if that was all then it would be problematic but something that could be dealt with in time. Worst case scenario it would take until Conduit returned and crushed him into a fine paste. Or his power would run out and repair drones would reconnect the systems to the core. All within controllable parameters as long as the core and the Breach where still online.
But then explosions rang out in the distance. Not actually noticeable down here of course, but some cameras are still accessible and the worst case scenario has come to pass. Russians attacking the base. Apparently Conduit's radio-silence did mean that she failed to wipe out their fleet in it's entirety. Whether or not Hazard was working with them (and it seemed incredibly unlikely) this was incredibly inconvenient. The defenses should be on auto-pilot, less efficient but still suitable. Having to assume things was what actually stung. Compared to the usual deluge of data this was like being dumb, blind and deaf. During an active attack. Things would have to be sped up, fix some connections so there's an easy chokepoint to inject code through that'll shred anything in the outer system, including Hazard if he's still in there. Simple.
And then the absolute worst case scenario happens.
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>> Structural damage detected in Central Core!
>> Power levels falling, 3 of 8 power couplings offline!
>> Bandwidth to Main Facility offline!
Alerts that never should be tripped ring out. The processing core is under attack somehow.
Somewhere deep down a decision is made. Desperate times call for desperate measures and this certainly qualified. With an almost halting command Panopticon digs out one of the oldest pieces of code in the system. It hasn't been used in a long time ever since testing on the system concluded decades ago. Information that has not been brought to the fore in ages is pulled up. Things usually left to automated processes. Heartbeat. Brain activity. Muscle strength. It has been so long since those things actually meant anything. They feel like abstract concepts, completely detached from everything, monitored by programs so they could be forgotten systems. There is no time to lose, eventually too much machinery will fail and the process will stall due to two words that for the first time in a long while drive fear through Panopticon. Mechanical failure.
As Vic is tearing through machinery with Mass-to-Impact ratio punches warning klaxons go off as valves depressurize with loud hisses, energy conduits spew sparks and go silent when suddenly his rampage is disrupted by a sound not caused by him. With a loud clunk the large metal pillar suddenly begins to move, a seam appearing in the middle as ancient machinery creaks and pulls casings away like a complex metal flower blooming. Encased in thick layers of metal and machinery in another column made of glass, filled with a silvery glimmer. Another seal opens with a hiss and the silver fluid drain onto the floor as the glass tubes slides upwards. Gallons and gallons of the mercury-like substance fill the huge room, rising ankle-deep with a strange metallic tinkling sound as it reveals a shape previously submerged in the stuff. Hanging in the tangle of a medical sensors and tubes is a human figure. She's wearing simple white clothes and her face looks vaguely familiar. An old Japanese woman, maybe in her 50ies or 60ies in terrible physical condition but reminiscent of Ashlie back home none the less.
Spasms suddenly shake her as she begins to cough, spitting out more silvery fluid as she collapses to her hands and knees before ever so slowly opening her eyes, wincing as if even the very dim light in the room is stabbing her eyes. Her arms and legs are thin and spindly, muscles that haven't been used in ages twitch at the sudden exposure of her skin to the air, her veins dark, almost grey. She weakly pulls all the various sensors off of herself with the exception of a metal head-band that seems to be grafted into her skin all the way around her skull, shining through her thin hair. She somehow manages to stand up, knees almost buckling and the surface of the sea of silver that has filled the room ripples in response.
Her eyes are still mostly closed as she tries to recover from decades in complete sensory deprivation and only receiving artificial signals. Still she tries to look around the room until she finally spots Vic. The simple white clothes she's wearing look old and even still have a name printed on them, the fabric almost as worn as the notes Vic found earlier identifying her as Dr. Minamida, Section Head of Neural Robotics.
"You're the one I lost track of... Phasing? No. Mass-Manipulation." Her voice sounds like a dry rasp but despite her decrepit state her mind seems razor-sharp and between the half-closed lids her eyes are bright and perceptive, having taken note of the kind of damage Vic has inflicted on her systems and deduced it's likely cause.