Fractured (Part 2)
Dr Tanaka suggested you to talk to Wren Harper in her camp, far southwest from Aniid Kin (location 6,13)
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~ start Keahi
Keahi ignores you, absorbed in his work.
fimWren Harper maintains a research camp far southwest of the Aniid Kin, outside the safe area.
He waves dismissively.
Go bother her and leave me alone
quest: accepted
Now leave. Some of us have actual research to conduct.
fimquest: declined
Suit yourself. The CELL fragment stays here regardless.
fim~ start Wren
A woman in her mid-thirties looks up from a makeshift workbench covered in salvaged electronics and handwritten notes. Dark hair falls loosely around her face, and her green eyes hold the focused intensity of someone constantly solving puzzles. She wears practical field clothing - a worn jacket over simple work clothes.
She blinks, as if pulled from deep concentration.
Oh. Hello. Can I help you with something?
Her attention sharpens immediately.
Keahi sent you? That's... unusual. He doesn't usually bother with civilian referrals.
She sets down her tool, wiping her hands on a cloth.
I'm Wren Harper. Senior Researcher, CELL phenomena specialist.
She gestures to a worn stool near her workbench.
What did you need?
conclui a missãoGenuine curiosity crosses her face.
You found one? Where?
She immediately pulls out a worn notebook, starts sketching a rough map.
Salt Flats region. That's outside the known distribution pattern.
She looks up.
And Keahi just... confiscated it?
She shakes her head slightly.
He does that. Institute protocols. I'm sorry - I can't get it back from him. Chain of command is complicated.
She sets down her pencil, meeting your eyes.
But if you're interested in CELLs because of potential compensation... the Institute pays well for intact discoveries. Even partial units. A working CELL? That's life-changing money.
She leans forward slightly.
You've got a sharp look about you. Maybe you can help me.
Her face lights up.
oferece a missão Fractured (Part 3)She nods, understanding.
Fair enough. You've had a long journey from the Salt Flats.
She gestures vaguely toward the settlement.
The offer stands whenever you're ready. I'm usually here.
fimA woman in her mid-thirties sits at a makeshift workbench, completely absorbed in her work. Dark hair falls loosely around her face as she leans over salvaged electronics, her green eyes tracking minute details. She wears practical field clothing - a worn jacket over simple work clothes, pockets bulging with tools and notes.
She's carefully adjusting something delicate, muttering calculations under her breath. She doesn't look up.
After a long moment, she seems to sense your presence and glances up briefly.
Oh - sorry. I'm in the middle of something delicate. Can this wait?
fim