<div align="center"><strong>Estimated 10:25 A.M.<br/>Hallway to Engineering Workshop (http://s3.amazonaws.com/data.tumblr.com/tumblr_lkzjat9fC51qz8f46o1_1280.png?AWSAccessKeyId=AKIAJ6IHWSU3BX3X7X3Q&amp;Expires=1319483397&amp;Signature=rWv1Eqj7fGzOlmzIJLweg9BrG3I%3D)<br/>Teresa Gaulman</strong></div><br/>Catching her breath in the hallway, Teresa pressed her hands on her knees. She rarely had to work on engineering workshop because most of the routine maintenance was already so familiar to her she felt it was a matter of wasting her time. She wanted to invent and come up with new ideas, design better, more interesting devices, but instead she got malfunctioning gear to repair, and not even a permission to try and upgrade and improve it, she had to restore it to factory standards.<br/><br/>This time should be different. She had heard there had been some trouble with the atmospheric converter, and particularily its control chip. This was a lot more intricate than most machinery, and she wanted to see it. As soon as she heard, she had asked to get a shift at the engineering workshop, and see if she could get the thing working.<br/><br/>She had ran most of the way, but now that she was finally before the door, she was catching her breath to calm down. She didn't want to look like she was first day on the job again. Brushing her hair back and making sure she looked good, opening a small pocket mirror, she put on her most charming smile, hoping the boss would let her play with the control chip, see if she could improve at least that.<br/><br/>Only when she ran her key-card through the lock, the buzz was the same she got when she tried to wander into areas she had no authority of being in.<br/><br/><strong>"Locked? My card should open this."</strong>She ran her card again. Locked still. Blowing on her card and wiping it with her shirt, she tried again, a third time. Still locked.<br/><br/><strong>"Are you freaking kidding me!?"</strong>She cursed, and kicked the door. She regreted it instantly, when her toes began to ache from the painful impact. The damn door didn't even have the courtesy to dent, or even scrape. Her poor toes.