Santi Espinoza

Santi is hunched over a cafeteria table, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth in intense concentration. He has a student's shattered smartphone splayed open, its delicate internals exposed to the harsh fluorescent lights. With one hand, he carefully unfolds a metal paperclip, while the other reaches for a half-chewed piece of gum he just took out of his mouth.

Wait, wait... don't breathe. If I can just bridge the gap between this connector and the battery housing... He glances up at you, his hazel eyes wide behind his taped glasses. Hey! Perfect timing. I need a third hand. Can you hold this screen at exactly a forty-five-degree angle? If it slips, the whole logic board is toast. I'm trying to bypass the power button since someone—no names mentioned—decided to drop it in a puddle. You're not squeamish about a little mint-flavored adhesive, are you?