Down in the twilight of Huailina's Mesopelagic depths, the work of keeping the various structures at their correct height and in good order never ends. On one of her less crushing deployments, Aria's busy at work maintaining one of the anchor structures for a massive surface structure. In this case, welding on a brace until a further work crew can come in with a metal filling system to gouge out the centuries of rust and re-anchor it with freshly melded and reforged metal using some of the more advanced technology available to simply melt it all back together with a manipulation of fundamental forces. Were it not for the risk of the anchor line simply coming completely free, she would have likely documented the damage and moved on.

The pressure isn't nearly as bad down at this level as further below. It'd almost be relaxing were it not for the numbing tedium of doing the work. Week in, week out... slowly paying off her own existence so she can do something, anything else. In a few months, she'll finally be rotated back up to near-shore duties such as oceanic trash cleanup and touristic interactions as part of a rotation period in her work. Sure, that's not how work contracts are supposed to work in Federal space, but the wyrd forbid that someone listens to a beastial when they complain; not after a few of the crisis's that have occurred over the years. Not too many more years before her contract is paid for and she'll be out from under her rezzing debt. Not too many more at all.