Round 138 Transcript

As Silra slams the emergency access panel shut, the sound echoes through the darkness, momentarily muffled by the rushing water. The air is stale, and the smell of damp concrete fills her nostrils. She quickly assesses Jeane's condition, noting the faint blue tint to her skin and the labored breathing. "We need to get you out of here, now," she says, her voice firm despite the urgency. Jeane's body is limp against the wall, her shield integrity at 0%. Silra's fingers probe her friend's neck, searching for any signs of vital function. She finds a faint pulse, but it's weak and erratic. The data chip in her pocket still pulses with energy, but it's a meager comfort in this dire situation. The water continues to rise, lapping at the edges of their hiding spot. Silra knows they can't stay here for long; the pressure will increase, and the risk of being crushed or electrocuted grows by the second. She must act quickly to save Jeane's life. Suddenly, a faint rumble echoes through the tunnel, growing louder with each passing moment. The ground begins to vibrate, and Silra's eyes widen in alarm as she realizes the true extent of the structural failure. The tunnel is collapsing, and they're trapped in its midst.

Jeane (Sorcerer)
My teeth chatter violently as I try to maintain focus through brain fog from hypothermia. You said sixty seconds, not fifteen minutes of freezing my demonic tits off while maintaining shield magic on empty reserves! I glare at Silra despite my vision blurring at the edges. And don't you dare suggest we 'share body heat'—my lactating breasts are not your personal radiator, even if you saved our asses with that upload timing. I wrap my arms around myself protectively as a shudder wracks my body. We need actual heat sources or I'm going to lose consciousness permanently this time, not just pass out like before. The data chip can wait—my survival trumps corporate espionage right now.

I strip off my wet shirt without ceremony—hypothermia doesn't leave room for modesty—and press Jeane against me skin-to-skin while calculating thermal transfer rates based on body mass difference and ambient temperature. Her skin is like ice, and I grit my teeth against the shock of it. "This isn't personal," I mutter clinically as she tries to protest, already shivering uncontrollably despite her bravado. The data chip pulses in my pocket—our entire mission's payload—but it's worthless if we both die from exposure here. I wrap us tightly together and begin friction motion to generate heat through movement while monitoring Jeane's vitals: pulse weak but steady, respiration shallow, skin temperature improving millidegrees per minute. The access corridor narrows around us as water pressure increases again from the collapsing junction behind that panel—concrete groans ominously—and I redouble efforts while estimating how long this will take before either of us loses consciousness or the tunnel collapses entirely on top of us both. "Twenty minutes," I announce clinically despite wanting to curse the universe for making me literally fucking cuddle my sorcerous rival to save her life. "Maybe thirty if we're lucky."