Sam Fisher- Power Box

He flicked his tri-gog­gles down over his face and cycled through the vi­sion modes. Low-light was a blur­ry, use­less mess, and ther­mal, with its blooms of red-or­ange against cold blue-black sur­faces, was lit­tle bet­ter. The third mode turned Fish­er’s world into a shim­mer­ing, ghost­ly frame­work of edges and lines, show­ing the in­vis­i­ble fields of elec­tro­mag­net­ic en­er­gy all around him.

Peer­ing up with the EMF mode en­gaged, Fish­er tracked the paths of seething white that were the pow­er ca­bles lead­ing to the floods. They con­gre­gat­ed in a glow­ing rec­tan­gle twen­ty me­ters away across the deck, a reg­u­la­tor unit that fed pow­er from the main gen­er­a­tors to the hiss­ing lamp heads above.

Flick­ing up the gog­gles again, Fish­er drew his pis­tol and aimed at his tar­get, brac­ing the gun over the crook of his oth­er arm. He fired three rounds to make cer­tain, but the sud­den gout of bril­liant blue sparks from the reg­u­la­tor told him he was right on the mon­ey. The lights around the deck fad­ed out, turn­ing the low­er lev­el of the plat­form into a maze of hulk­ing black shapes and depthless gloom.

- Firewall, Chapter 22