"No," Dustin answers immediately, deadpan; given the returned quirk of an eyebrow and the slight tug at the corner of his mouth, it might be difficult to tell if he's being serious or not. "Plenty of space to add more."

Either way, he pulls the door open enough for Donatello to let himself inside, waving over his shoulder and wandering into the mess. And it is a mess. Organizational efforts have gone by the wayside in the face of an impending deadline, tools and partially decomposed scrap and electronics littering the floor, sometimes haphazardly stacked into piles to maximize floorspace, other times just abandoned if they aren't in the way. Two particularly notable work areas seem more tornado-like in their states of disarray: The very obvious giant telescope motor taking up the front wall, the rollers swapped for sturdier jacks that allow Dustin to test its movement before installation; and a weird, skeleton-looking machine against the opposite wall, human-sized, with obvious holds for hands and feet. Some kind of suit, perhaps? It's been opened up in places, wires and circuit boards strewn out for examination.

Winter's chill hasn't completely left Temba, so the space heater next to the motor is still on, radiating a pleasant warmth throughout the workshop floor.

"Come in I guess," Dustin calls without looking behind him. "Close the door behind you, it'll lock on its own."