'Buddy, you are NOT a chatty type, huh!' After the gazillionth attempt to start up a conversation without getting a reaction, the Cautus worker in a yellow pair-o'-ears helmet stops operating his control panel and gives the man beside him a pat on the shoulders. With the machine kicked into auto anyway, it's not like it needs nannying. Seeming to recognize as much, the man finally turns his head. His eyes are hidden behind a black visor, barely discernible. He remains silent, and simply extends two fingers on his right hand and gives his own helmet a few taps. 'Go on and say somethin', will ya? Saaaaay—woooords—' Throughout this temporary worksite echoes the rumble of Originium electronics, more often than not a soundboard to rival a nomadic plate's engine layer. But the voicebox of a Rim Billy worker, like the workers themselves, is filled with a power that cuts through just about everything. The man appears a little confused. He feels around behind him, then unexpectedly pulls out a mirror. He takes a glance at his own reflection, then raps on his helmet again in the same manner as before. The worker doesn't get to respond before he sees, out of nowhere on the man's visor, a smiley face positioned right between where his eyes would be. There's a line of Victorian text below too, split by his nose into halves. The left side reads 'I'M SHY,' and the right, 'AND QUIET.' The worker tries as hard as he can to keep a straight face. His lower lip twitches side to side, his teeth grind over each other, and he doesn't leak a single word. But soon, he can't hold in anymore, snorts, and begins to laugh. 'Probe has reached scheduled depth. Drill decelerating. Prepare to turn off and take samples.' That's an announcement from Control Center 2. It sits 80m straight above them, and 50m above that are the natural caves of Camp 2 and tracks to the auxiliary shafts. Another 600m up is the surface, and outside from there are the Targangils Mountains for miles and miles forever. The drill mentioned in the announcement is a fair way deeper into the earth than they are. '—Hold on, Number 2 is too deep. Abnormal tremors in 2's shaft walls. Calling emergency stop!' The second announcement comes hot on the heels of the first, as if some kind of prank. Something unwelcome has been welcomed. The worker throws himself onto the control panel, pounding a fist on the largest, roundest red button of them all. It's the one to emergency-dump the drill and inject extra polymer prep into the shaft walls. But the injector doesn't respond, and the Originium electronics continue to roar. A ginormous thud echoes through the worksite, seemingly not from deeper depths, but from times long, long ago. One thud becomes two, then three, then a string of them. The two watch as even the wall outside them finally begins to experience its own fierce tremors. Number 2 has drilled too deep and awakened something, and that something is heading for the sunlight. 'Detonating all Cluster Charges!' The worker's never heard this voice before, but in an instant discerns that it has to be the man's shout. Perhaps because of this shout, or perhaps because of what it triggers elsewhere... The tremors cease. Silence seems to reign again for a while, until there comes another announcement urging evacuation. 'Your tender said 'use of Originium explosives forbidden', so here I am.' This may be the second time the man's opened his mouth today, and his voice is far quieter than a moment ago. 'There's issues with your emergency injector system. Once we're up top, come with me to tell them, and then I'll take a look.' 'Er. Right. You got it.' After experiencing an accident whose true severity will only be known later, a conversation finally ensues. '...What's with that light-up stuff in your visor though, eh? That's one hell of a lark, buddy.'