The lower artisan district smelled of hot peanut oil and heavy industrial exhaust.

Morning shift sirens echoed through the narrow, slanted alleys of the Seventh Division sprawl. Caleb navigated the cracked pavement, his faded disposal jacket zipped tight against the damp chill. Heavy steel security shutters rolled up loudly on the adjacent street as mechanics prepped their bays for the daily grind.

Three men blocked the path ahead.

They wore mismatched salvage gear, their thick leather coats stained with engine grease. Independent contractors. They were the bottom-feeding scavengers who stripped abandoned sectors and ignored military curfews. They carried heavy iron wrenches and smelled of sour sweat and cheap synthetic liquor.

They had Tali boxed against a rusted chain-link fence.

The pink-haired mechanic clutched a heavy steel crate of kinetic drivers against her chest. Her jaw was locked. She glared at the scavenger leaning directly into her personal space.

"Just drop the crate," the lead scavenger grunted. He tapped the side of the metal box with the heavy head of his wrench. "We’ll haul it to the quartermaster for you. For a fee."

He reached for the steel handle.

Caleb stepped into the alley. He didn’t announce himself. He grabbed the back of the man’s greasy leather collar to pull him backward.

The scavenger spun with raw, street-level reflex. He swung the iron wrench blind.

The heavy metal cracked hard against Caleb’s bruised right shoulder.

Pain flared bright and sharp down to his elbow. The impact knocked Caleb off balance. He stumbled a half-step backward, his heavy boots slipping on the wet pavement.

The scavenger raised the wrench for a second strike. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

Caleb didn’t retreat. He shifted his weight, caught the man’s descending wrist, twisted the joint until the bone popped, and drove his forearm straight into the scavenger’s throat. He used his own forward momentum to slam the man violently into the brick wall.

The scavenger collapsed onto the concrete with a wet, choking wheeze. The wrench clattered into the gutter.

The other two men stepped forward, dropping their hands to the heavy tools hanging from their belts.

Caleb didn’t draw a weapon. He ignored the throbbing heat in his shoulder. Reaching up, he tapped the fresh, matte-black Rank D pin fastened to his canvas collar.

"I’m expected at the staging grounds," Caleb said. His voice carried a flat, dead weight. "Move."

The scavengers stared at the silver trim of the military pin. Assaulting a drafted Vanguard recruit carried an automatic firing squad sentence. The two men backed away, hauling their wheezing leader off the brickwork. They vanished down the alley without a single word.

Tali let out a sharp, ragged exhale. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the steel crate. She looked at the retreating scavengers, then at Caleb. She wasn’t perfectly composed. Her chest heaved, and she chewed her synthetic gum aggressively to hide the slight tremor in her jaw.

"I had a plasma torch in my back pocket," she snapped, a defensive edge of annoyance masking the remaining adrenaline.

"You were taking too long to draw it," Caleb said, rolling his aching shoulder to test the joint.

She glared at him, but her dark eyes dropped to the spot where the wrench had struck him. A reluctant, calculated respect replaced the annoyance. She blew a small pink bubble. It popped loudly in the damp air.

"Shop opens in ten minutes," Tali said, hoisting the crate higher on her hip. "Don’t be late."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The underground workshop hummed with the screech of arc welders and the heavy thud of hydraulic presses.

Caleb stood in the center of a circular metal fitting platform. He wore only his standard-issue compression briefs.

Tali circled him, holding a diagnostic datapad. The new Rank D ballistic-weave undersuit hung loose around his waist, the chest unzipped down to his navel. The dark-gray fabric felt incredibly heavy, laced with thousands of microscopic kinetic sensors.

"The military assigns surplus gear based on raw tape measurements," Tali said, tapping her screen. "That works fine for canvas. Canvas is stupid. It just sits there and takes the hit. But a reactive weave has to read your nervous system."

She set the datapad on a scarred workbench and stepped onto the platform.

"The biometric nodes have to sit perfectly flush against your major muscle groups," she explained, gesturing for him to hold his arms out. "If the alignment is off by a fraction of an inch, the kinetic multiplier will snap your joints backward the second you swing a rifle. Keep your balance."

Caleb raised his arms.

Tali knelt in the dirt in front of him. She grabbed the thick waistband of the suit and hauled it up his thighs. Her bare hands slid directly under the heavy fabric, pressing flat against his skin. She dragged her palms firmly up his hamstrings, forcing the tight material to mold perfectly against the muscle.

"I need the telemetry to match your pulse rate," Tali said.

She shoved her hands straight down the front of his briefs.

Caleb locked his jaw.

Her fingers wrapped firmly around his package. She squeezed hard, shifting his weight slightly to align the heavy pelvic nodes woven into the suit’s groin. She dragged her thumb deliberately across his length, securing the tight ballistic fabric directly against his bare skin.

The friction generated a sharp, immediate rush of heat to his lower half.

Caleb stared straight at the rusted ceiling panels. He focused entirely on the crushing weight of the family debt hovering over his mother’s sector. He didn’t have the luxury of a distraction. He needed this gear to function perfectly so he could earn his payout and survive the afternoon.

"Is this actually required for the sensor calibration," Caleb asked, his voice deadpan, "or are you just enjoying the view?"

Tali smirked, glancing up at him. She kept her grip tight, adjusting the lower seam with slow, dragging motions.

"Your heart rate just spiked on the monitor," she noted, her voice dropping into a low, amused hum. "The suit needs a baseline for physiological stress. Consider it a thorough diagnostic."

"Just lock the nodes," Caleb said. He held his ground, rejecting the bait. "I don’t have the budget to tip for extra services."

"Spoilsport." She gave a final, deliberate squeeze before pulling her hands free.

Standing up, she grabbed the unzipped chest panels. She flattened her hands against his bare abdomen, trailing her fingernails up his stomach to lock the biometric nodes against his ribs. She zipped the suit tight up to his collarbone. The synthetic fibers immediately contracted, hugging his frame like a second layer of dense muscle.

"I treat my custom builds like a financial investment," Tali said, dropping the flirtatious edge completely. "I saw the tunnel stream. I watched how you throw your weight around. This suit won’t tear like your old one, but only if you let the sensors do their job."

She tapped the hard plating over his chest.

"Keep it in one piece, scrubber. I want that combat data uploaded to my terminal by nightfall."

"Deal," Caleb said, grabbing his tactical harness off the bench.