Ren stood in front of a mirrored glass building, critically examining his reflection.
It wasn't good.
His synthetic leather jacket was peeling like a sunburned tourist. His pants had a patch on the knee that didn't match the fabric. His boots were held together by hope and industrial adhesive.
"I have money now," Ren muttered. "I have an S-Class Omni-Tool. If I walk into a client meeting looking like I just wrestled a dumpster, nobody is going to trust me to fix their toaster, let alone their servers."
He needed a makeover.
He pulled up his map. He didn't want the gaudy fashion of Sector 1, nor the rags of Sector 4. He needed something practical.
A notification popped up on his wrist-comp. A "Sponsored Ad" (pushed aggressively by Nexus).
[THE VELVET SHEATH – BESPOKE TAILORING.] [LOCATION: ALLEY 88, SECTOR 3.] [TODAY ONLY: 99% OFF FOR NEW CUSTOMERS NAMED 'REN'.]
Ren stared at the ad.
"Okay," Ren said slowly. "The targeted advertising is getting really specific. Creepy. But... ninety-nine percent off?"
He couldn't argue with the savings.
[The Velvet Sheath]
The shop was hidden behind a noodle stall in a dimly lit alley. It didn't look like a clothing store; it looked like a speakeasy for vampires.
Ren pushed open the heavy oak door. A bell chimed—not a digital beep, but a real, brass bell.
The interior was dark, smelling of expensive leather and ozone. Rolls of fabric lined the walls, but they shimmered with faint energy signatures.
Standing behind the counter was an elderly man with four mechanical arms spider-ing out of his back. He wore a monocle that glowed green.
This was Stitch, the legendary Armorer of the Underworld. He made suits for assassins, warlords, and kings. His waiting list was five years long.
Stitch looked up. He saw Ren.
He immediately dropped his measuring tape.
"You," Stitch whispered.
[Flashback: Timeline 5 - The Sniper's Nest]
Stitch wasn't always a tailor. He used to be Viper's quartermaster. He remembered the day Ren died. Viper had come back to base carrying Ren's body. The bullet had gone through Ren's cheap, standard-issue flak vest. Viper hadn't cried. She had just looked at Stitch with dead eyes. "Why?" she had asked softly. "Why was the weave so loose? Why was the ceramic plate so thin?" Stitch had fallen to his knees. It was a budget cut. He had saved money on the support team's gear to buy better ammo for the snipers. He had traded Ren's life for a few extra bullets. Viper never blamed him explicitly. But the guilt had eaten him alive.
[Present Day]
Stitch's mechanical arms trembled.
'He's back,' Stitch thought. 'Viper told me he was coming. This is my penance. I will weave him a second skin that God himself couldn't pierce.'
"Welcome!" Stitch shouted, perhaps a little too loudly. "You must be the... uh... coupon holder!"
Ren walked in, looking around nervously. "Yeah. The ad said 99% off? Is that real, or is there a hidden fee where I have to sign over my firstborn?"
"No fees!" Stitch's mechanical arms whirred, grabbing rolls of fabric. "I am just... passionate about dressing the youth! Come! Stand on the pedestal!"
Ren stepped onto a small circular platform.
"Arms up!"
Lasers swept over Ren's body. Stitch's mechanical limbs moved like a blur, measuring his inseam, his shoulder width, and his lung capacity.
"I just want something durable," Ren said. "I do a lot of crawling in vents. Maybe some pockets for screwdrivers?"
"Durable," Stitch muttered feverishly. "Yes. Durable."
Stitch went to the back. He opened a safe that required a retina scan, a voice print, and a drop of blood.
Inside sat a roll of fabric that was blacker than a black hole.
[Material: Nanoweave Shadow-Silk.] [Properties: Kinetic Impact Absorption (Class A), Thermal Regulation, Self-Repairing, Radar-Absorbent.]
This fabric cost ten thousand credits per yard. It was usually reserved for stealth bombers.
Stitch began to cut.
[30 Minutes Later]
"Try this," Stitch said, handing Ren a garment bag.
Ren stepped into the changing room.
He pulled on the pants. They felt like pajama bottoms—soft, light, breathable. But when he slapped his thigh, it felt solid.
He put on the shirt. It was a dark charcoal grey button-up.
Finally, the coat. A long, trench-style coat that cut off at the knees. It had a high collar and deep pockets.
Ren looked in the mirror.
He didn't look like a Fixer anymore. He looked like the protagonist of a noir detective movie. The fit was supernatural. It hid his scrawny frame, making his shoulders look broader, his posture sharper.
"Whoa," Ren whispered. "I look... competent."
He walked out.
"It fits," Ren said, turning a circle. "It's really comfortable. Is this polyester? It feels really breathable."
Stitch nearly choked. "Polyester? It is... yes. A very high-grade... Poly-ester blend."
"Great," Ren nodded. "How much?"
Stitch calculated the actual cost. Materials: 400,000 Credits. Labor: 50,000 Credits.
"For you," Stitch squeaked, glancing at the security camera where he knew Viper was watching. "With the discount... let's say... fifty credits."
Ren frowned. "Fifty? That's cheaper than my old jacket. Are you sure you're making a profit?"
"I make it up in volume!" Stitch lied. "I sell thousands of these! To... uh... invisible people! Now take it and go before I change my mind!"
Ren quickly tapped his cred-stick. "Deal. Thanks, Mr. Spider-Man."
Ren walked out of the shop, looking sleek, dangerous, and completely unaware that he was wearing a tank disguised as a coat.
[The Street Outside]
Ren adjusted his collar. The air was getting colder, but the coat instantly warmed up to compensate.
"Nice," Ren noted. "Must have a thermal liner."
He turned a corner into a busy intersection.
Across the street, a robbery was in progress. A frantic junkie with a plasma pistol was waving it around, screaming at a drone vendor.
"Gimme the cash!"
The junkie turned and saw Ren.
Ren looked expensive now. The coat. The posture.
"You!" The junkie screamed, pointing the plasma pistol at Ren. "Rich boy! Drop the wallet!"
Ren froze. 'Oh no. I look too successful. I've become a target.'
"Look, man," Ren raised his hands. "It's a discount suit! I'm broke!"
The junkie pulled the trigger.
A bolt of superheated plasma, hot enough to melt steel, shrieked across the street.
Ren flinched, squeezing his eyes shut.
The bolt hit Ren center-mass, right on the chest of the coat.
FIZZ.
There was no explosion. No burn.
The Shadow-Silk absorbed the energy instantly, dispersing the heat across the entire surface area of the coat. The bolt simply vanished into the black fabric like water into a sponge.
Ren waited for death. He felt a slight warmth on his chest, like someone had placed a hot water bottle there.
He opened his eyes. He looked down.
There was no hole. Not even a scorch mark. Just a faint wisp of steam rising from his lapel.
The junkie stared. His jaw hit the pavement. "You... you ate it? You ate the plasma?"
Ren patted his chest. "I... I'm okay?"
Ren's brain immediately rationalized it.
"Low battery," Ren pointed at the junkie's gun. "Your plasma pistol is running on fumes, man. That was just a glorified flashlight beam. You really need to maintain your weapon better."
The junkie looked at his gun. He looked at Ren.
"Demon!" The junkie screamed, threw the gun at Ren, and ran away.
Ren caught the gun.
"Free gun," Ren noted. "Today keeps getting better."
[Rooftop]
Viper lowered her binoculars. She let out a breath she had been holding for five minutes.
"The weave held," she whispered. "Thank you, Stitch."
She keyed her comms.
"Sylvia," Viper said. "Ren is armored. He just took a plasma bolt to the chest and didn't even flinch. He thinks the gun was broken."
"Perfect," Sylvia replied. "Now that he looks the part, it's time for his debut. I have a 'job' lined up for him tomorrow. It's time the Universal Support met the rest of the team."
"All of us?"
"All of us," Sylvia confirmed. "It's going to be a disaster. I can't wait."
Ren walked home, feeling warm and safe, thinking about how lucky he was that criminals in this city were so incompetent.