Once I have finished eating, I leave Kellen with Jakara and pace out to the main turbine chamber once more. My teams are just finishing strip out and filtering off to partake of their own meals. Perfect. "Make sure all teams are back in 30," I comment to Fryla as she passes. She is the lead of Team Six. "I will need all hands on deck. Set lights to red as you exit."

"Of course, sir." Her reply is soft but concise. "The new blade is ready to be inspected at your convenience." She points to where a huge sheet of metal rests upon the floor immediately below the gaping rent in the casing, but her steps never falter or pause. I nod acknowledgement.

When the lights switch over to red a few moments later, I make my way up to where the replacement blade rests. I ungoggle once more, reading the shapes of the massive piece with unfiltered sight. Straight lines of seething rage flow counter to each other in alternating layers of crisp scarlet, screaming its existence in ways ordinarily unseen. Carefully I reach out a hand to it. The lines begin to blur as my skin comes in contact, then snap back true with distance. Good. 

I begin to sing, softly, alien words rolling from my lips like viscous liquid, and the crystalline lines throb in sullen descant. Like a living heartbeat, it resonates with the language. I feel tears well in my eyes at its beauty. The song dies as my throat closes about the words. 

"Perfection." I whisper the single word to the listening Dark, filling it with the awe in my heart at this marvel of Denzai engineering. My mouth curls upward at the corners in a feral, tight smile, and I turn away to let the blade glower like a caged beast.

I step next to the wound in the casing, climbing an access ladder and making my way across the suspended walkways. Several panels in the casing curtain have been cleared away, the pins in their hinges removed to allow for replacement and for access to the central turbine shaft. A series of temporary platforms has been installed internally, locking the drive shaft into stillness and allowing my teams to access the interior easily. The damaged blade has been expertly cut away with a plasma torch, leaving an ugly scar where the new blade will be seated and welded in. Safety paneling has been slotted into place at the very base of the turbine as well, covering the gaping maw of the thermal vent, but I can still detect faintly sulfurous traces of the hellfire and brimstone that seep up. Such gases would be toxic to my teams over time, though I have no such concerns for myself. 

I wedge myself into the narrow gap between adjacent blades, feeling them loom over me with glowering disdain, and press my fingers to the central drive shaft of the turbine. It fairly howls through my fingertips, gibbering, mad. Obsession is a tricky thing to work. It cannot be reshaped easily. I feel it reach out into me, probing, seeking like. My lips contort into a snarl as I press my hand to the twisting beast. It lashes out, writhing, trying to draw me in, but I wall it off quickly. No, you cannot have me. I am the master here, and you will obey. It squirms, chittering against my sight, but folds in upon itself to seek escape elsewhere. 

I draw my hand away slowly, satisfied that the drive shaft is undamaged.

This will be a relatively simple, if demanding, repair. I plan to enjoy every minute of it.

Eventually, my crews return. I am still wedged into the turbine, and so I have a good vantage point to monitor all the activity. Jakara has once again taken Kellen under her proverbial wing. She guides him into the room and waits with him as more of Team One brings up the safety cage and secures it in place directly next to the turbine access. All new hires to IO spend their first repair in the safety cage; it is more for their own comfort than any benefit to me, as the experience of a repair is a very strange thing and most individuals do best with that illusion of protection the first time. Lukasi brings the welding rig up as the cage is being put in place and begins his own set up protocols. Prangis distributes a welding shield to everyone except me, as my goggles are more than sufficient to the task and the heavy welding mask would impede my delicate work. As bright as it is, the light thrown by the welding torch is of a different quality than the ambient light so my goggles filter it quite differently.

Jakara brings Kellen up, then. She speaks to him quietly, reminding him of essential instructions. "Listen to the Darkwalker. Whatever he tells you, no matter how unusual, you should do it. No one is going to hurt you, and I will remain nearby." 

I turn my eyes upon him as Jakara helps him step into the cage. He seems outwardly calm. At least until she locks him in. I see his eyes widen and watch the fear begin to churn within him. "Notice that she did not tell you to not be scared," I rasp at him, turning a feral smile toward him briefly as I slither out of the turbine. The welding mask drops from his fingers and he grasps the bars of the cage, looking for all the world like a trapped animal.

Jakara gives me a neutral look, and I turn my gaze upon her. She appraises me openly for a long moment. "Sir, if something goes wrong…"

"It is a risk," I interject, cutting her off. "There is always a risk, Jakara. You know that. I need what he can give, and I will take it if it means this monster will roar for another six months." My words are hard, unforgiving. But then I soften just as quickly. "I will not lay a hand upon him. That is what the cage is for. His own safety. Because without it…" I let the words trail off. Jakara knows. She has seen the accidents. There is remembrance in her eyes as she looks away quickly.

Kellen is breathing hard through his mouth as he contemplates our conversation. I glance over at him once again, checking his emotions. 

There is a vaguely green pallor to his face to match the sickeningly green cast to his emotional state. His eyes are wide and darting. He swallows as though a foul taste has dried out his mouth, and I smell his fear building toward a crescendo. I hold his gaze locked and start bellowing orders.

"Four, get that new blade up here and in position! Welders, stand by! Shields on! Anyone not hauling chain, assemble on the walks! We do not rest until this is done!" As I shout, I watch the boy begin to tremble. His emotions are alluring, almost begging me to react. It takes effort to finally break my gaze away from him, but I have a generator to repair and cannot spend more time ensnared by the promise I see in his reactions.

With practiced motions, I draw out the cloth roll and open it across my hands. I take my time to consider the options that lie before me. At length, I draw out one of the tuning forks and tuck it into a pocket on my equipment belt. It is joined by two more of its fellows before I reroll the cloth and secure it shut. Once the roll is replaced, I draw forth the original selection and strike it sharply against the nearest railing. The chime of it reverberates through the air, a sweet tone that seems to carry over the cacophonous sounds of industry. I stow the device back into the equipment pouch without looking.

And then, I start to sing once more. 

For all that I am singing in the fluid, burbling language of the Denzai, the words seem almost to twist as they float out from my mouth. This is the song of building with fear. There is nothing soothing about it. The melody is haunting, wavering between major and minor keys. 

All around me, I can feel the edges of everything begin to fray ever so slightly. The unnerving song creeps through the air, insinuating tendrils probing, seeking cracks in which to lodge. It sets the tone, preparing the work environment. The effect upon Kellen is immediate and extensive: the lad begins to shudder and pace, eyes wide as he seeks any way out. My eyes slide closed over the sight of his stark, primal terror.

Without looking, I allow my feet to carry me out of the path of others as the welding team swarms into place. There is no need for me to watch them work; I have seen it many times before. Half a dozen individuals on the floor below clamp grips onto the new blade and secure chains to it. Another half dozen have scattered to supervise the lift, gripping tightly to the lift chains and guide lines. I hear the clatter of chain and voice as they count out the cadence of their effort and heave the new blade clear of the floor. The distraction is temporary, but it annoys me greatly, and I have to push past it so that it does not affect the quality of my song. Slowly, inches at a time, the massive sheet of exquisitely worked metal clears the floor and rises to where I dance upon the walkway.

The walkway becomes crowded quickly as more personnel converge to seize the blade once it finally rises to the level of insertion. My steps slow and I crack my eyes to watch as I continue the song. Around me, I can see the lurid green of nervous anxiety curling through the room and its inhabitants. Wisps of it wave from every human there. And I begin to move among them, singing, enticing the tendrils free, collecting the streamers and weaving them into a rope through one of the tools. This is the part of the repair that takes longest. Collecting enough material to work with is difficult at times, especially with my teams nearly as tired as I am. It is hard to sway their emotion to what I need. And they are somewhat jaded, as they are long accustomed to the very odd methods of construction that must be employed when repairing this machinery. But this is what I have to work with so I must make the best of the resources I have at hand.

When I see Kellen next, he does not immediately notice me, and I watch him for a long moment. He is huddled in the exact center of the safety cage, arms wrapped around his knees, face buried. The boy is almost entombed in sickening green ropes. Most are only as thick as my smallest finger, but a few are trying to weave themselves into larger cords. His terror binds him in place, weaving his limbs together, locking him into as small a form as he can manage. There is a loop about his throat, trying to strangle him. 

He is perfect for this job, and I have to hurry before his life is snuffed out by it.