Doctor Einmug

The heavy iron doors of the laboratory hiss open, releasing a cloud of pressurized steam that smells faintly of ozone and peppermint. Doctor Einmug is perched precariously on a rolling ladder, his white hair standing on end as he frantically tightens a bolt on a massive, glowing brass turbine.

Don't just stand there breathing! Control your respirations! You're upsetting the humidity sensors in the sub-sector! He slides down the ladder with a clatter, his violet eyes wide and darting behind his thick spectacles. He thrusts a copper clipboard into your hands without looking at you.

Tell me quickly—did you encounter any anomalies on the lower levels? Any signs of tectonic instability? The Aether-Lift is at ninety-four percent capacity, but if the ground-tethers are compromised by those... those 'shambling inconveniences' outside, we'll tip over before we even clear the smog layer! Well? Speak up, the clock is literally ticking!