You drop to one knee and yank open the emergency kit, fingers scrambling through the contents as Riggs taps his foot impatiently. The medical supplies won't help, but your hand closes around a palm-sized glowrod and a roll of industrial tape. You stuff them into your uniform pockets just as another tremor shakes dust from the ceiling.

'Smart thinking,' Riggs mutters, shining his own light into the dark duct. 'That crawlspace is black as a black hole.' He helps you squeeze into the narrow opening, your shoulders scraping against the cold metal walls. The glowrod casts eerie shadows as you army-crawl forward, the sounds of distant explosions muffled through the ship's hull.

Halfway through, your light catches something glinting up ahead - a severed power cable dangling from the ceiling, its frayed ends sparking dangerously. You freeze, heart pounding, as the cable swings mere inches from your face. Behind you, Riggs curses. 'That wasn't there yesterday!' He passes forward a length of conduit from his tool belt. 'Use this to push it aside - carefully!'

The duct trembles as you prod the live wire aside, the smell of ozone burning your nostrils. Sweat drips into your eyes as you inch past the hazard, finally reaching a circular access panel. Through the grating, you see the dim blue glow of auxiliary control - and the shadowy figure moving near the override console.