Laura sat at her desk. She had been there for hours patiently waiting as her tired eyes repetitiously skimmed over countless notes and stacks of elaborate research manuscripts. The vast collection of detailed material she hoped would define her career lay haphazardly spread before her like an overly complex jigsaw puzzle and reflected a personal pursuit of epic proportion. As a whole, the mountainous piles of categorized papers, thick textbooks, numerically labeled folders, and color-coded binders represented the body of knowledge she had been diligently accumulating for the past two years. What an ordinary person might easily observe and dismiss as "just another messy desk," Laura identified as her future. Between turning pages in her heavily worn logbooks, examining crucial research from like-minded colleagues, and scribbling excessive amounts of esoteric notes in the pages and margins of her own journal, her strained, bloodshot eyes occasionally glanced up from behind thick, purple-framed glasses to check the screen of her workstation. With a sigh that signaled her looming worry, Laura apprehensively returned to her notes.

Utilizing her company's proprietary software, the high-end workstation was busy running a complex series of tests based on Laura's custom code, which had been painstakingly programmed by hand. The elaborate setup was on the verge of completing a simulation that calculated the cohesion of molecular bonds in an effort to create a synthetic protein substrate. The results would be displayed pending the progress bar's completion which sat idly frozen at ninety-nine percent. Waiting for it to finish, the brightly colored bar appeared endless. Sometimes, Laura would humbly stare, almost hypnotized, at the mouse pointer, which, during the process, would convert to an hourglass and tumble over and over. The majority of the calculations were prone to lasting several hours while others could consume an entire workday. She waited intently for the final one percent.

The disappointing truth surrounding her success was disheartening — all had failed except for one. Despite several months of nonstop diligence and a pile of frustrating results, Laura held onto the hope that eventually she would duplicate that single instance of success. Since that first monumental achievement, she had attempted dozens of tries but to no avail. The reason she clung to her research with such tenacious zeal was that this was her final project for graduation. The success of her dissertation would grant her the title of doctor in a narrow, specialized field of study. She would soon become a full-fledged pharmaceutical engineer.

For Laura, this achievement would amount to a pleasing level of success as it would represent the pinnacle of her life's ambition through the culmination of years of study, hard work, patience, and carefully guided application. Looking back, she realized she had spent almost half her life within the educational system of higher learning and now, at almost thirty, with her training nearing completion and after her bachelor's and master's degrees, Laura would finally obtain her doctorate.

Her project was technically finished and with all the mandatory labor complete, her internship was steadily coming to a close. After developing a unique theory, supporting it by presenting various data points and providing one successful test result, the final polished paper could have easily made the printing presses of any medical journal. If she were honest with herself, she would have realized that her masterpiece was more than enough to satisfy her dissertation committee. The prestigious work demonstrated both her ingenious application of knowledge as well as her unwavering commitment to an idea, but the final product was not nearly enough to satisfy her. The time she spent exploring and perfecting her skill set and the achievement of her degrees, including her doctorate, were all steps of a long and arduous journey. She had been inspired at a young age and decided early on to embark upon a quest to make the world a better place and with her three degrees nearly in order, she was well on her way. Her aspirations were so lofty that, at times, she was seldom taken seriously and on more than one occasion, had been dismissed by jealous, shortsighted colleagues. With an ambitious nature that never faltered and a commitment fueled by her passion and good nature, she continued to strive ever forward.

At one point, Laura considered becoming a medical doctor. The idea of administering aid to people on a personal level appealed to the purest part of her humanity. The experience of seeing small children smile after easing the pain and assuring their parents that everything would be "all right," would have been incredibly fulfilling in the sense that it would have brought the reward and satisfaction she yearned for. There had been two perceivable problems with that career choice though. First, Laura dreaded the aspect of being a people person as she always felt inadequate with herself. Second, the main issue concerning that particular path was that it would not place her in a position where she felt she could do enough.

During the course of her training, Laura actually ended up marrying a doctor. Kurt was a family physician and when she watched him work, she longed to experience the gratitude and satisfaction he received. When it came to helping the sick, healing the injured, and catching ailments before they became terminal, Kurt was her inspiration. His caring nature allowed him to ease the suffering; provide help, support, and comfort; and ultimately distribute hope. His unbiased care toward those he helped left Laura awestruck time and again but it was his charismatic personality that won her heart. Kurt was indeed a wonderful doctor and everything Laura aspired to be. It was for all those reasons and his pure, good-hearted traits that she married him. In Laura's mind, Kurt was performing miracles on a day-to-day basis and she wanted very much to do the same, but the difference between them was that she wished to do more than help the individual person. With a desire to help the world, she quickly adopted the mentality of Why be a doctor and cure the sick when I can prevent sickness to begin with? She knew what she needed to be; it was simply a matter of getting there.

The path to become a pharmaceutical engineer started with her bachelor's degree in clinical pharmacology where she studied controlled substances and their uses. Though it was not an easy first step, it was one in the appropriate direction. It would have been easy for her to become a pharmacist and fill prescriptions as the financial success would have been satisfying. It was at this time in her life that friends and family — even Kurt — would jokingly call her a "drug dealer." Laura could easily picture herself in a white lab coat, behind a counter, mindlessly distributing prescriptions to the masses. The stereotypical icon of a nerdy woman trapped behind a window bugged her to a degree she could not tolerate. This negative mental image and the challenge to become "more," as well as the need to find her true calling, edged her forward.

Laura's next step was her master's in pharmacology as an analytical chemist, but at the master's level, it would be just that — analyzing data. What Laura truly wanted was application — the power to create. After a world of math that spawned nightmares about endless equations and confounding chemistry that threatened her sanity, Laura was ready to undertake her final step. The completion of her doctorate in pharmaceutical engineering, with a specialization in pharmacodynamics, would elevate her to the upper echelons of her field and set her apart from her peers. This relatively new, highly specialized, and rather obscure field dealt with the study of the effects of drugs on the human body and how to manipulate them chemically. The degree would open paths she had only dreamed about. Looking back now, it all seemed easy.

In the last year spent obtaining her doctorate, Laura found the price of her education held significant hidden costs. Her marriage began to suffer as she and Kurt's commitment began to waver and unravel from atrophy and neglect. Laura spent the majority of her time away from home either at the office or at the university. It was she who had a tendency to work all hours of the day, non-stop. As she gradually shifted more focus to her career, time for their relationship became less and less, especially after she accepted the internship with the Johnson and Jacobs Medical Research Center.

Laura enjoyed working for the Johnson and Jacobs company. Despite the laughable pay, she found in her servitude that great calling she yearned for. The hands-on research and real-world experience was challenging, motivating, and critically essential to her growth. But the defining reason why Laura painstakingly labored for the pharmaceutical company at length was she enjoyed the engrossing atmosphere. The office she happily shared was a safe and comfortable environment in which she found escape. Like Alice in Wonderland, Laura's ideas and imagination became a reality in which she never wanted to willingly leave. Her focus within the job alleviated the pressures of the outside world as well as personal problems, like her marriage, and when she was required to take a break, her return never seemed to come soon enough. Sometimes, Laura would even go so far as to sleep in the break room when necessary and strategically kept a change of clothes in her car. She also kept a tube of tooth paste and tooth brush in her purse along with several other grooming tools and essential feminine hygiene products for when she would pull all-nighters, which she did quite often. Upon returning home, fights with Kurt were frequent and almost felt routine. He would explain how worried he was and that he loved her but their spats would often end with him walking away angry, frustrated, and disappointed. She made promises to him that things would get better after she graduated — at least she hoped they would.

The office was void of light as Laura hid in the dark. It was late in the day and with the sun almost set, the bulk of the building's staff had already left for the evening. She preferred to keep the lights off so no one would know she was working past hours. A tad reclusive, she believed her best work happened when she was alone, where she could focus without distractions or interruption.

She had been caught and scolded by Doctor Zimmerman more than once for using the company equipment to further her personal endeavors. Zimmerman was an older, strict man, who ran the theoretical research team at Johnson and Jacobs. The elderly doctor took a liking to the young woman and it was he who made the intern position available specifically for her. Zimmerman gave Laura more latitude than most lower and midlevel employees under his direction. The truth was he envied her youth and tenacity — the way she would tackle any problem presented, her unconventional thinking, and relentless search for nonlinear solutions. He would even go so far as to brag about her to other department heads, yet never openly as to maintain his stony image toward her. The old doctor saw in her the drive he once possessed — before big-business politics, before the power, before the money, before the looming competition and the haste for critical results. Seeing her, he remembered when things were easier and simpler. Zimmerman chose to nurture Laura and let her explore as much as she wanted. He worked to keep her path unobstructed so she could pursue what she felt was most important. All of this was not without cost though as he had a tendency to overburden her with tasks. Most of the extra long days she voluntarily worked would be his doing and though he did feel guilty abusing her as a resource, he also felt it necessary. In her commitment, he held out hope that she might find something — something useful — something they missed. Out of desperation, he wished for anything that might put Johnson and Jacobs back on track to compete. Zimmerman purposely hid the fact that his company was going under from a large portion of his staff — including Laura. Johnson and Jacobs was nearing financial ruin; stocks were down, no one was using their products, and significant breakthroughs in their medicine were rare. Business was rapidly declining in the wake of a new and powerful pharmaceutical conglomerate, a company that most never called by name. It was so vast and global that it was universally referred to as simply "The Corporation."

The red and white logo could be seen everywhere in the city — billboards, shop windows, bus stops, and even bumper stickers. Like war propaganda, the messages were undeniable and unavoidable. For the people working at Johnson and Jacobs, that new corporate entity felt like a shadow looming over the city. The pharmaceutical giant had spent the last two decades aggressively expanding, growing, and exploding; the blatant takeover never seemed to stop or even slow. They were always ahead, always on top, and always had something new — something better. The Corporation's advances in medicine spelled doom for smaller competitors. If a person were to examine the city more closely, it would be undeniable to see how the aggressive conglomerate snaked its tendrils into everything; banks and financing, blood centers, clinics, animal shelters, law offices, entire hospitals, drug research and development centers — like Johnson and Jacobs — and even the abandoned air force base, but not the university.

Famous for its university, the city of Red Mesa would not have been if not for the defunct airbase sitting on the Red Mesa Plateau. Built in the 1950's at the beginning of the Cold War, the installation originally served as a testing ground for experimental aircraft as well as a stop for refueling military planes. The airbase also served as a training hub for new pilots, mechanics, and ground crew. Over time, at the foot of the plateau, down in the valley, the sprawling town of Red Mesa came to be. After a few decades, it ballooned into a thriving mid-west city. But with the decline of the Cold War, there came less need for the military waypoint. The experimental aircraft testing eventually ceased — some say it moved to New Mexico for additional security and secrecy — and with modern jets, there no was longer a need to stop and refuel. When the base started dying, in an effort to keep the local economy from collapsing, the city shifted its attention and resources to the local college. When the airbase was finally abandoned, the only section to remain in use was the Red Mesa hospital. Leased from the government by private investors, the hospital was eventually merged with the college. Over time, the pairing became a prestigious university renowned for its medical facilities and top-tier education. The elite institution quickly attracted outside business and with renewed interest came several competing hospitals, a medical research center, medical law firms, clinics, and the pharmaceutical companies — including The Corporation.

Tired of thinking and with eyes burning, Laura lost focus of her work and began to space out. She tapped her pen on the desk in a rhythmic sequence but as she became accustomed to the pattern of noise, the progress bar reached one-hundred percent and chimed to indicate it had finished. Ceasing her tapping, Laura's eyes shot up to the screen. Had anyone been in the room watching her, they would have instantly seen the disappointment on her face. Leaning back in her chair and exhaling as her brow furrowed, she carelessly tossed the pen to the desk. It bounced once then rolled off the pages of an open textbook to land on the floor. Extending her arms and stretching her legs, Laura yawned as her bare feet slid across the waxed linoleum; she had removed her shoes after everyone left in an effort to find comfort. When the yawn passed, she slumped forward and pulled her arms to her face. "God damn it!" she said to herself, as one hand removed her glasses while the other rubbed her burning eyes through clinched eyelids. Predictably, the test was like all the others — a failure. Not again! Why can't I get it to work? What do I keep getting wrong?

Time seemed to vanish when Laura was focused and as she pressed past the forty-eight hour mark, she could feel the strain wearing on her body. The taxing stents and minimal rest pushed her endurance into exhaustion but despite her body's protest, she stubbornly elected to press on.