[hr][hr][color=#cc66ff][center][h1]Tryke Lockley[/h1][/center][/color][hr][center]Location: Repair Dock 17 --> MoR[/center][hr][hr]Tryke frowned, stomping her foot on the ground a bit. More and more damage reports were coming in, her PDA constantly buzzing. She took the thing off, and let out a mixture between a groan and a scream. If it wasn't against everything she stood for, she would have smashed the machine in her rage.

She paced back and forth, pinching the bridge of her nose. A bloody T-1 had shown up and started making [i]sacrifices[/i] for them. That never had happened before--it didn't make any sense. It was as confusing as if two and two made five, and Tryke wanted nothing more than to scream until reality was restored. But that option wasn't available to her--she had a tower to fix. And screaming about the weirdness of the T-1 wouldn't fix it.

[color=cc66ff]"Everyone is on call,"[/color] Tryke said softly, putting her PDA back on. She opened a channel with all of the repair crew, and assigned a team to each tower. A few of them groaned, complaining that they had just gotten on break.

Tryke had a few choice words for those few. 

Words that would [i]not[/i] belong in polite company.

Or even in impolite company.

[color=cc66ff]"If you have any special issues, you fucking think it over one more time, ask a buddy, consult your god or whatever, and only [i]then[/i] do you come to me,"[/color] Tryke snapped, before closing the channel. As much as she was itching to get to work and join in on the repairs, she had another role to fill. The role of managing the repair team, of ensuring that everything went smoothly. More repair reports continued to come in, and Tryke stretched her force as much as she could, sending multiple teams to every location that she could. 

"Lock, we need someone in the MoR," one of the leads said, coming on over the PDA. "Come up here pronto and fix this goddamn glass."

She huffed a bit, not bothering to reply. Waving over her last two repair crew members, she instructed them to go and prepare some glass, and cut it for the standard size of the viewing window. Then, they'd bring it up to the MoR, and Tryke would install it herself. Hopefully, the fix would be that simple.

But of course, she wouldn't know until she saw it herself. She punched in the code on the elevator, angrily scanned her ID, and quickly shot up towards the head of the tower. As she went up, more and more reports came in, this time further complications from her team. She swore, tapping her foot impatiently. 

Hopefully, this type of thing wouldn't become the new normal.

The elevator doors opened, and Tryke stepped into the MoR. It wasn't too often that she went up here. She preferred the company of her team to the bureaucratic puppets at the top of the tower. Glancing over, she indeed saw that the window had been shattered, though the slight bit of blood on the ground was more alarming.

[i]Did the T-1...bleed...?[/i] Tryke pondered. She shook her head, trying not to stare, as she went over to the window, and assessed further damage to the MoR. Completing her report, she forwarded the details down to the members of her team assisting her with MoR repairs.