Bobby guided the hover bike through the debris-strewn streets, his body aching from the recent battle. As he approached the warehouse housing Mic's ship, he slowed the bike, careful not to aggravate his injuries.

Mic must have heard the bike's approach. As Bobby pulled up, the gnome emerged from the warehouse, his bushy eyebrows raised in concern.

"Oh! Bobby, you're back! Um, are you alright?" Mic's voice was a mix of relief and worry.

Bobby winced as he dismounted, his muscles protesting the movement. "Been better, Mic. Ran into some trouble out there."

Mic hurried over, his small form barely reaching Bobby's waist. "Trouble? What kind of—oh my! You're injured!" The gnome's eyes widened as he took in Bobby's battered appearance.

"Yeah, had a run-in with some raiders. Nothing I couldn't handle, but..." Bobby trailed off, gesturing at his various wounds.

Mic nodded, already moving towards the ship. "Right, right. Let's get you patched up. I've got some medical supplies inside. Not as good as a proper doctor, mind you, but it should do the trick."

Bobby followed Mic into the cramped interior of the Starling's Gearshift, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. The familiar chaos of Mic's workshop surrounded them, a jumble of alien tech and improvised repairs.

"Sit, sit," Mic insisted, clearing a space on a workbench. "Now, let's see what we're dealing with here."

As Mic rummaged through a nearby cabinet, muttering to himself about antiseptics and bandages, Bobby allowed himself to relax. The adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, leaving him feeling drained and sore.

"Share your battle status with me," Mic said, returning with an armful of supplies, "I'll see if any of this will help."

Status Screen Name Robert "Bobby" Jones Race Human Age 29 Level 7 Class Undefined Title None Exp 2476/2976 Skill points left 1 Effects Lucky Seven - open for more details. Poisoned - Total Health Reduced

A toxic poison is corroding your health. Total health is steadily declining. Antidotes or healing skills are needed to counteract the poison. Burned - Your hands are still burnt from the hot pipe. Beware of infection. Total health reduced. Mana Burn - mana is painful to use, close to burnout. Mana regen extremely slow. Health 135/160 Health Regen Slow Stamina 125/130 Stamina Regen Moderate Mana 7/27 Mana Regen Slow Attributes Strength 8 Perception 5 Constitution 7 Intelligence 6 Agility 8 Willpower 9 Charisma 4 Luck 6*

Bobby's eyes widened as Mic exclaimed, "Oh! You've levelled up again, Bobby! That's another skill point for you to spend." But before Bobby could process this information, Mic's focus shifted abruptly. "Um, but maybe we should deal with these nasty status effects first," the gnome muttered. "Ah, um. This might help." Mic said, offering a jar to Bobby.

Bobby eyed the jar Mic offered him. The glass container felt cool against his fingers as he lifted it to his nose. He took a cautious sniff, recoiling at the pungent odour that assaulted his nostrils. The smell was a noxious blend of rotten eggs and something vaguely medicinal, making his eyes water. He held the jar at arm's length, fighting the urge to gag.

"What in the bloody hell is this stuff?" Bobby asked, his voice strained as he tried to breathe through his mouth.

Mic waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, just a little concoction I whipped up. Smells awful, works wonders. Smear it over your burns, it should clear those right up."

Bobby dipped his fingers into the foul-smelling ointment and applied it to his burned hands. The cool sensation was a welcome relief against his scorched skin.

Without warning, the gnome pressed a strange contraption against Bobby's neck.

"Ow!" Bobby yelped, his hand flying to his neck. In his surprise, he smeared the ointment across his face and neck.

Mic slapped Bobby's hand away. "No, no! Don't touch it. That should take care of the poison effect."

Bobby blinked, as he processed what had just happened. "Wait, what did you just do?"

"Gave you a shot of medicine," Mic explained matter-of-factly. "Should counteract the poison in your system."

"A little warning next time would be nice," Bobby grumbled, still feeling the sting of the injection.

Mic shrugged. "Sorry about that. I find it's best to administer quickly before patients have time to object."

Bobby sighed, wiping the excess ointment from his face with a nearby rag. "What about the mana burn?"

Mic's expression turned serious. "Ah, that's trickier. I'm afraid I can't do anything for mana burn. That'll have to heal on its own."

"Hang on a minute, Mic. Why didn't you offer this medicine stuff when I first came to the ship? I was pretty banged up then, too."

Mic's bushy eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He scratched his head, his fingers disappearing into his wild hair. "Oh? Did I not? Hmm..." He paused for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly. "I suppose I didn't know. Or maybe I forgot. These things happen, you know."

Bobby nodded, flexing his fingers. The pain had dulled, but a residual ache remained. He glanced around the ship, taking in the organised chaos of Mic's workspace. "Well, I suppose… Thanks for patching me up, Mic. Now, what's this important thing you wanted to show me?"

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"Oh! Right, yes. Follow me to the control room. I've made a breakthrough!"

Before Bobby could press the issue further, Mic's eyes lit up with sudden enthusiasm. "Oh! But also, tell me, what did you spend your new skill point on? Something exciting, I hope!"

Bobby blinked at the abrupt change of subject, still bemused by Mic's casual dismissal of his earlier oversight. He opened his mouth to respond, but Mic was already off on another tangent, rattling off potential skill options with increasing excitement.

"Oh, hang on. What happened out there?" Mic asked.

Bobby leaned against the workbench, wincing as he shifted his weight. He looked at Mic, who was waiting for his story.

"Well, it started with those raiders I mentioned," Bobby began. "They'd set up a trap that caught me off guard and sent me flying off the hover bike."

Mic's eyes widened. "Oh my! That sounds dreadful, is the bike ok?"

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, the bike is fine, still drives, or flys? or whatever you call it. Anyway, I turned the tables on them, though. Set up an ambush of my own." He paused, his expression darkening. "They weren't very nice people, Mic. Let's leave it at that."

The gnome nodded, seeming to understand the weight behind Bobby's words.

"After that," Bobby continued, "I was close to levelling up. Rem convinced me to look for something else to... well, to gain more experience from."

"And…" Mic asked, leaning in with curiosity.

Bobby nodded. "We stumbled across a pack of these nasty vermin creatures. Five of them, all level 5. They looked like oversized rats, but with these weird, spiky growths all over them. Rem called them Quill Scuttlers."

Mic's eyebrows shot up. "Quill Scuttlers? Nasty little buggers, those, but as long as you don't let them get an alpha or worse, they, err, can be managed. They weren't swarming, were they?"

"Well, there were five of 'em, but no, I don't think that counts as a swarm." Bobby said. "They were quick and their quills were sharp. But I took them down. That's what pushed me over the edge to level up. I got another 250 exp off them."

Bobby watched as Mic's attention drifted again as he was telling him about the Quill Scuttlers. The gnome's eyes glazed over, his gaze unfocused, as if lost in thought. Suddenly, Mic snapped back to reality.

"Oh! Bobby, I almost forgot!" Mic exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch. "Can you, um, load up the hover bike into the cargo bay entrance? I'll look at it later, but right now, errr, I've got something important to show you!"

Before Bobby could respond, Mic turned on his heel and scurried towards the ship. The gnome disappeared into the Starling's Gearshift, leaving Bobby standing alone in the warehouse.

Bobby blinked, taken aback by Mic's abrupt departure. He looked from the hover bike to the ship's entrance, then back again. Mic hadn't even checked to see if Bobby was following him. Bobby shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Typical," he muttered under his breath. "I'll just do that then, shall I?"

With a resigned sigh, Bobby turned his attention to the hover bike. He activated the engine on it, and with it hovering above the ground, he steered it towards the Starling's Gearshift.

He loaded it into the lift. Once secure in the straps, he opened a small compartment and took out a book.

"Can't forget about you again." Bobby murmured, retrieving the soul-bound tome. He tucked it under his arm, feeling a faint warmth emanating from its pages.

Rem replied.

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. "No, you're definitely not. More like a talking encyclopaedia with an attitude."

Rem retorted, a hint of amusement in his spectral voice.

"Right, of course. My mistake, of course, that is when you can remember anything." Bobby said, rolling his eyes.

"That round goes to me," Bobby said, aiming a smile at Rem's book as if he could see.

"No promises," Bobby muttered, closing the lift entrance with a soft hiss. "Right, let’s go see what’s got Mic so excited." He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. With Rem secure, he turned and headed towards the door Mic had disappeared through, his footsteps echoing in the empty warehouse.

Bobby stepped into the ship, ducking his head to avoid the low ceiling. Mic's workshop was a sensory overload of sights and smells. Alien tech hummed and blinked, interspersed with Earth components jury-rigged into makeshift repairs. The air was thick with the scent of machine oil, underlaid with a faint metallic tang.

He made his way through the cramped corridors, his shoulders brushing the walls. Exposed wiring snaked along the ceiling, pulsing with an eerie blue light. The sound of Mic's excited muttering grew louder as Bobby approached the ship's main control room.

He found the gnome hunched over a console, his small fingers dancing across a series of buttons and switches. The room was a cocoon of technology, dimly lit save for the glow of various screens and panels. Holographic displays flickered in the air, casting shifting shadows across Mic's focused face.

"Alright, Mic," Bobby called out, causing the gnome to jump. "What's got you so worked up?"

Mic spun around, his eyes wide with excitement. "Oh, Bobby! Come, come, look at this!" He waved Bobby over to the console.

Bobby approached, squinting at the screen. It was filled with a series of complex diagrams and scrolling text in a language he couldn't understand. "What am I looking at?"

"This, my friend," Mic said, tapping the screen with a flourish, "is our ticket to finding Sprocket!"

Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

Mic nodded, his bushy eyebrows bouncing. "You see, I've been tinkering with the ship's long-range scanners. And I think I've calibrated them to detect the unique energy signature of Sprocket's personal shield generator!"

Bobby blinked, trying to process the information. "Hang on. Your daughter has a personal shield generator?"

"Of course!" Mic exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "What kind of father would I be if I didn't equip my daughter with the latest in personal protection technology?"

"Right, of course. So, you can track her with this?"

Mic's excitement dimmed. "Well, not exactly. Not yet, anyway. The scanner's range is still limited, and there's a lot of interference from all the, um, changes to the planet. But I don't need to."

Bobby leaned in closer, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean you don't need to? I thought finding Sprocket was the whole point."

"Well, you see," Mic began, his fingers fidgeting with a nearby tool, "I, err, already knew where they took her. But I wasn't certain if they'd kept her there or moved her. The ship's systems were too damaged to confirm anything."

Bobby's brow furrowed. "And you're only mentioning this now?"

Mic's shoulders slumped. "I... I was afraid, Bobby. Afraid of getting your hopes up, afraid of being wrong. What if we'd gone charging in, only to find she wasn't there? But now..." He trailed off, turning back to the console.

"Now what?" Bobby pressed, leaning in closer.

Mic's fingers danced across the controls. "It seems they've moved her. But they didn’t take her far. That's where this comes in." He gestured to the screen, which now displayed a grainy satellite image.

Bobby squinted at the image. "Is that... a satellite feed?"

"Yeah, it is! I hacked into a recommissioned satellite. The encryption was a right mess. I don’t know who’s using it up there, but I got through in the end!"

The gnome's chest puffed out with pride, and Bobby couldn't help but feel a grudging admiration for Mic's technical skills.

"So, what are we looking at here?" Bobby asked, studying the image more closely.

Mic tapped a section of the screen. "Um, this, my friend, is where they're holding Sprocket. See that building there? That's their base of operations."

Bobby leaned in, his eyes narrowing. The image showed a fortified compound, surrounded by what looked like makeshift walls. Armed figures patrolled the perimeter, their weapons visible even in the grainy image.

"That's... quite a setup." Bobby felt a knot form in his stomach as he studied the image. "How many guards are we talking about?"

Mic's bushy eyebrows drew together. "More than I'd like, that's for certain. But! We have something they don't expect."

Bobby crossed his arms. "And what's that?"

Mic grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Us, of course! Um, err, a skilled human, shall we say warrior and a brilliant gnomish inventor. They won't know what hit them!"

"Oi!" Bobby chuckled at Mic's enthusiasm, even as he felt the weight of the challenge ahead. "Right, because we've been doing so well so far."

Mic waved off Bobby's sarcasm. "Details, details."

"Can you move this image about a bit? Maybe even zoom in?"

"Errr, sure… why not…"

As Mic zoomed in on different sections of the image, Bobby tried to plan a way in. His eyes darted from one area to another, assessing potential entry points and defensive positions. The more he saw, the more he shook his head, his brow furrowing with concern.

"Um, is there a problem?" Mic asked.

Bobby ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, there's a problem alright. I don't think we can take them on, Mic. Look at those defences. They've got guards posted at every entrance, and those weird energy fields... I can't even guess what they do. We're talking about a fortified position with who knows how many hostiles inside. Two of us against all that? It's suicide."

Mic listened, his large eyes blinking as he absorbed Bobby's assessment. To Bobby's surprise, the gnome simply smiled.

"Oh, my dear Bobby," Mic said, his voice steady and reassuring. "You misunderstand our mission entirely. We're not taking anyone on." He paused, "We're rescuing Sprocket. That's all. In and out, quick and quiet. No heroics, no unnecessary risks. Just a, um, father getting his daughter back."

He realised he'd been thinking like a soldier, not a rescuer. Maybe the gnome had a point, after all.

"Ok, point taken." Bobby said, "let me have another think."