The room groaned. A pipe overhead burst, spraying superheated steam that turned to white vapor the moment it hit the floor. It was getting harder to see. The heat was blurring her vision, the suit’s systems struggling to compensate. Andrea Los Olivos Malaga Top
"Status?" the AI asked, its voice sounding strangely distant, perhaps affected by the thermal interference. #имя? [UPDATED]
"I'm losing you," she said, taking another step. The heat was incredible. It felt like her skin was tightening, her blood thinning. She could see the rods—four cylinders of solidified star-coolant—glowing with a pale blue light, the only things in the room not trying to kill her.
"Talk to me, Kael," she said over the comms, her voice strained. "I'm at the threshold."
"Core temp is critical," the AI, a monotonous drone in her ear, announced. "Approaching thermal limit in T-minus ten minutes."
"Not today," Elara gritted out. She gripped the release lever. "Come on, you beautiful, cold thing."