You wrench the grate and slide belly-first into the maintenance shaft, heat licking your cheeks as the squeal becomes a bone-vibration. Through a slotted hatch you glimpse the quarantine conveyor below: a glittering river of derplings sluicing toward a sticky, caramel-smeared roller. A sliver of broken beaker and a candy-slick twist-tie are wedged in the idler. You brace your knees against ribbed plating, reach down, and pry the shards loose. The roller pops free with a jolt; the belt lurches, the squeal dies, and the swarm surges toward the sterilizer hood. Sterilize Pending shifts to a pulsing amber as a low-coolant icon flares.

A capacitor whine climbs, hot air gusting up the shaft. Behind you, the vent trembles with soft chittering—fresh derplings sniffing sugar in the seams. The sterilizer hums on the edge of firing, but the readouts strobe warnings across the maintenance panel: coolant insufficient, thermal flare risk, power draw unstable. You can force it, fix it, or fall back—fast.