[ He’s half tempted to press about the suit. It’s stupid and ultimately pointless, but it would be an entertaining distraction. Partial temptation isn’t whole, however, and he drops it to meander back toward the workbench. More mindful of personal space than he might otherwise be, he fetches up near the end and drums his fingers against the top of it. ]

The rejects from the Nineties or whatever they are? Yeah, I messed with mine when I got into the apartment.

[ And had been disappointingly unable to reconfigure it to do what he wanted it to do. Which shouldn’t have been possible, and yet it had eluded him. ]

What’s the deal? Is the rest of the tech in the city like that?