The technician crouches over the delicate array of sensors and triggers, searching for any opening in this explosive's defense. Its designer must be a genius. Ten segments need clipped, and fast. Is that what we're looking for? The technicial gingerly grips his first target. Holds his breath. Begins to squeeze down on the handle of his clippers....
Click.
There's One. Two, Three, and Four follow in short order. Five seems in an opposing position, this one's a bit harder to reach around to. There's an angle -- wait, you're rushing. Did Five just move? No, it's your imagination...
The technician wipes his brow and continues. Pulling the fifth segment out just enough to get his clipper jaws around it, he draws in the last breath he will take for the next thirty seconds. His thumb approaches his index finger.
Click.
Not the prettiest cut, but it gets the job done. Proceeding to the unit's west side... Wait. Oh, no.
The bomb detonates in a fury, for no apparent reason.
The technician gathers his wits about him. Too bad, we were doing good there. Well, Elizabeth, looks like i'm gonna have to fight you for the fingernails on your left hand.
Through grasping and crying and a second explosion (this one gassy), the technician completes his mission. Oh well, at least i didn't cut your pinky nail too short this time.
