37: Deva
Deva
Super smiled when Deva turned up, said he thought she might’ve stormed off, what with him messing her around, sending her down to the vehicle pool. When she told him it kept things interesting to move around, his brow knotted. He had her wait, called up a few colleagues on his terminal, asked if Deva would mind helping out on the ground floor.
It wasn’t the lower levels, but it was close. Deva agreed.
The job involved tearing out a wash-room.
“All needs going,” the burly man in charge said, fingers hooked into his toolbelt as he stretched his back and pushed his barrelled stomach forward. “Survey reckoned a quick patch-up, but they missed a ton of structural problems, as usual. Have to start from a blank slate. But careful—we reuse as much as possible, even the old stu
