It's good, solid advice she's giving, but Peter isn't listening — He's already set the brake and jammed himself up under the pod along the track. His wrist device emits a little bit of light, but it's not nearly enough to get a decent read on what they're looking at, and he scoots his way back out, grease already smeared across his chin and dingy white scrubs.

"We need more light," he says, stepping past the track and into the glow of the room beyond. There are shelves, and lined up on them are old-style lanterns — The kind with a crank you keep in case the power goes out.

"Perfect," he says, grinning as he pulls one down.