The surge generator arrived on a pallet the size of a small refrigerator.
It showed up at 8:12 a.m., wheeled in through the freight elevator with a shipping manifest thicker than most design specs. Hana was there to receive it, tablet in one hand, pen in the other, checking serial numbers before the plastic wrap was even fully cut away.
"Hold," she said to the delivery crew when one of them reached for a box cutter.
They froze.
Hana crouched, verified the crate seal number against the manifest, then nodded once. "Now."
The plastic came off in careful strips. No tearing. No rushing.
Jun arrived halfway through the unpacking, coffee still untouched in his hand. He didn't greet anyone. He went straight to the data plate on the side of the surge generator and bent down to read it.
"Good," he muttered. "Industrial spec. Not the lab toy version."
Maria appeared behind him with a clipboard already filled out.
