Hours passed in a fevered haze somewhere between waking and sleep. The rain outside had lessened to a drizzle, but the air inside remained damp and cold, yet doing little to soothe the unnatural heat radiating from beneath the bandages on his side. His makeshift bandages felt stiff and damp, and the crude splint seemed to dig painfully into his swollen forearm.
When his consciousness returned more fully, it brought with it a fierce, pounding headache. His thoughts felt sluggish, disconnected, like wading through thick mud, but the last clear idea he'd had before succumbing to exhaustion remained: Fix it. Make the broken parts work again.
With his good left hand, he fumbled for the items he'd scavenged earlier, the few intact data chips, the coil of wiring, the burst power cell. Useless junk, mostly, in its current state. Then his fingers brushed against the cold, smooth metal of the Atlas Corp server casing he'd dragged into the shelter. Tilting it to catch the faint, eerie green light filtering in from outside.
He ran his fingers over the dented Atlas Corp casing. High-quality alloys, shielded, designed to protect precious data. Ironically, the sturdy box was now potentially more valuable than the data it held, at least to him. Inside were components: processors, memory modules, power converters, heat sinks. Delicate, complex technology.
He thought of his little figurines, the intricate joints he could make move. Could he build something similar, but stronger? A mechanical brace, maybe, powered by salvaged parts, something to hold his broken arm steady and maybe even help it move?
Staring at the sealed Atlas Corp server box, the reality of his situation crashed down. He had no tools beyond his bare hands and maybe a sharp piece of rubble. No reliable power source. No clean workspace. His only functioning hand trembled with weakness, and his mind struggled to stay clear. How could he possibly open this reinforced casing, let alone salvage micro-components and assemble something as complex as a powered splint, while shivering and weak in the middle of a ruin? It was absurd. Yet, despite the overwhelming odds, Tristan shook his head and set his mind to the task.
"Analyze the problem: Sealed container, limited tools, physical impairment."
He ran his trembling fingers along the edges of the Atlas server casing, searching for seams, access panels, locking mechanisms. Atlas Corp hardware was notoriously difficult to tamper with. He found the culprits, several recessed hex bolts, tiny and specialized.
He examined the hex bolts closely. High-grade steel, probably hardened. His eyes scanned the floor of his shelter. He selected a piece of rough, broken concrete, its surface gritty and uneven. Then he found another piece of rock, smaller, with a thin, relatively sharp edge.
Using his good left hand, Tristan dipped the edge of the rough concrete chunk into a small puddle of rainwater that had collected nearby. He positioned the wet, gritty edge against the head of one of the tiny hex bolts. Then, slowly, painstakingly, he began to rub the concrete back and forth across the bolt head. It was awkward, tiring work.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
The sound was faint, almost lost beneath the dripping water and his own ragged breathing. Progress was agonizingly slow. He had to keep dipping the concrete in water to make a slurry that helped grind away the metal. Tiny metallic filings, barely visible, mixed with the concrete dust and water.
He focused entirely on the task, trying to ignore the growing heat in his body, the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. He was trying to grind a simple slot across the top of the bolt head, deep enough for his makeshift flathead tool, the sharp rock, to get a grip.
After what felt like an eternity, pausing frequently, he thought he'd made enough progress on one bolt. The hex shape was marred by a shallow, rough groove across its center.
Once the wave of dizziness passed, he picked up the sharper rock, positioned its thin edge carefully into the groove he'd ground on the bolt, took a deep breath, and tried to turn it. The rock edge bit into the metal slot. He applied steady pressure with his thumb. The bolt resisted for a moment, then, with a faint grating squeak, it turned! A small, fierce surge of triumph shot through him.
One down. Several more to go.
Time seemed to lose meaning. Tristan worked with a single-minded focus, stopping only when exhaustion or waves of dizziness forced him to rest his throbbing head against the cold concrete. Bolt by painstaking bolt, he repeated the process: grinding a rough slot with the wet concrete, then carefully using the sharp rock edge to turn the marred fastener. His left hand grew raw, his muscles burned, and the feverish heat in his body seemed to wax and wane like a faulty thermostat. Sometimes his vision blurred so badly he had to wait for it to clear before continuing.
During the forced rests, his fingers would return to his meager pile of scavenged scraps, sorting, cleaning bits of wire, trying to visualize how they might connect. Every tiny victory was fuel, each moment spent handling the components, however damaged, kept the hope of staying alive at the forefront of his mind.
Finally, after what felt like an entire day had crawled by, the last bolt gave way. His hand was trembling almost uncontrollably now, slick with sweat and grime. With immense effort, he pried the heavy access panel off the server casing. It came away with a low metallic groan, revealing the tightly packed components within.
He peered inside, his breath catching despite the pain. Circuit boards dense with microchips, fiber-optic cables, processors, memory banks, a power regulation unit, heat sinks. All top-of-the-line Atlas Corp tech.
He slumped back, exhausted. He looked from the sophisticated Atlas components to the pathetic pile of junk sorted beside him. The Atlas server held the high-quality parts, the potential. His scavenged scraps were the immediate reality, the tiny building blocks he might need for connectors.
Finally, he had something, a shot at survival. Now, he just needed to figure out how to make it.