May 7th 2295, UNPC Universal Calendar.

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Charles "C3" Mitchell.

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When I unlocked the ship that morning, the wooden carte before me was the last thing I expected to see.

I hung my keys on the board by the door, and looked at the box. It was waist height to me, and was without a shipping label usually present on deliveries.

There was, however, a single piece of quality paper sitting stapled atop the box.

"Charles, this is Anton's amror, I'm sure you've heard about what's happened. Please fix it and make it operational again.

PS: Keep the color."

She'd written the note with one of those fancy old0style pens she and her son were so fascinated with, and in an ink so amazingly blue it was almost purple.

The box looked tattered, but the note was all but untouched.

I found my crowbar, and opened the box up.

The smell hit me in the nose like a right hook from hell. The telltale of scent of scorched clotting fluid mixed with burnt flesh.

For a moment I was back in that fucking bunker with Alex and Brian, and I could hear the hiss of Brian's flamethrower, and knew he was on his last tank, and that we'd be out of fuel for it soon, and that there were more of them.

I shook the memories off, and took a deep breath, feeling like I'd been doused with cold water.

The armor looked like it was just thrown into the box and the box nailed shut. I could see why.

I frowned, wondering where to start.

I decided it was time for new solvent in the parts cleaner anyways, threw my helmet on, and got to work stripping the armor down to just the metal plates.

I could ship of Theseus the computer components and aramid backers.

I stripped the plates, getting my gloved hands covered in the gunk I forced myself to ignore. I tossed every plate into the central baskets of the automatic parts cleaner, and threw a new spin on filter onto the thing before I started the cycle.

While it worked, I figure I'd service my fleet of vehicles I'd left to pile up.

Three full services of engines later, the cleaner was done with it's two and a half hour cycle.

I pulled the baskets out one by one, and stacked them on the drip rack that drained to the main tank.

Surprisingly, the smell of hot solvent covered the smell of the armor pretty well. The solvent gave me headaches though, so my helmet went back on.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The armor came out pretty clean, but there was still some gunk on the plates around the outer lips of the hardened steel armor.

I wished I could use abrasives, but that'd take the oxidization off, which I understood keeping.

I figured I'd hot tank them, and use the solvent I'd just used. A quick flow test on the filter attached to the parts cleaner told me the filter was basically clean, so I turned some valves and filled the hot tank, which was usually reserved for engine blocks and cylinder heads.

I tossed all of the armor components into the basket, and set the machine for a little over an hour.

I'd been a long while since I'd done any sort of work on the ECA system. This stuff was trashed though, so I had my work cut out for me.

When I'd worked on armor in the past, it was mainly basic issues. Other than that, the most intensive work I'd done even somewhat recently (within 25 years) was helping Kugler perfect his armor so he could go up against unknown threats that mess with newer tech.

It was fun finding the lowest possible tech solution to extremely high tech problems.

I idly wondered what Anton had to be doing and what he'd gone through in the moment he made his armor look like that.

I knew for damn sure it couldn't have been pretty.

I wanted to know, but at the same time I didn't.

Before I knew it, I'd replaced the brake drums nad shoes on the 6x6 that was quickly becoming a staple of my shop's interior.

The damn thing always came back no matter how many times I rolled it out the door under it's own power. The thing was still a bona-fide piece of shit, no matter how many things I replaced on it.

My helmet stayed on my head, I liked the constant breeze created by the CBRN system that was effectively idling without anything hazardous to filter out.

I got the augment equivalent to a phone call and from Sarah of all people.

"Hello?" I said, answering.

"Hi Charles, I'm in your neighborhood, and I wondered if I could stop by and see what you're up to." She said, her tone cheerful, though I knew she was probably at the installation for work reasons.

"Feel free to pop in." I replied, sipping the lug nuts of the 6x6's wheels back on.

"Would you mind if I was naked?" Her words hit me like a whip.

Oh, right, she's a nudist. I reminded myself.

I mulled it over in my head for half a second.

"No, I wouldn't mind." I said after a short pause. If she wants to be naked in the shop, it's her provocative.

"Cool, I'll be down in a little while." She replied.

"Alright, just walk on in." I said, "the bay door is open."

"will do, see you then." She said.

I remember hearing Eric lecture me on how in Germany and other European countries like Finland, it was common to see naked people just out and about in parks, or in saunas and whatnot.

I figured I'd respect her lifestyle.

I heard the timer on the hot tank's heater dink off, and I went to go check on how clean the plates were.

When I touched the gunk with a scraper, it was like play dough in consistency, so I just scrubbed it off the plates with a stiff plastic bristled brush, and rinsed them.

It was oddly soothing to see what the armor had become in only a short time of cleaning. God only knew the memories I'd just removed from the plates.

There were deep divots, scrapes, dings, and furrows from over a century of hard combat and conflict spanning two wars and probably over 300 "peacetime" operations.

Staring at the scars on the armor that resided atop my bench, the gunfire grew louder, then to a dull roar, and louder still, till it was all I could hear.

"Charles?" Sarah said, probably for the 100th time.

I jumped, then realized it was just her and I in the shop. "Hey." I said, looking back at the armor on the bench.

"Were you receiving files from the mothership?" She asked me jokingly, and with a smile.

"Just sorting the rocks in my head." I smiled.

"So this is his armor?" She asked, looking at the plates spread out on the bench. I nodded.

"I had meant to ask on our phone conversation, but why are you here?" I asked.

"Personal business, and getting the whole medal thing worked out with the higher ups." She replied. "Kate's with him, if that's what you were asking." She added.

I nodded, and started piecing the new electronics into the old armor as she watched.

"When I last saw these, they looked very different." She sighed. Blinking twice and swallowing. "Now they're almost," she paused. "Pretty."

I smiled. "I'm sure they'll look great on him." I said.

She scoffed. "He'd look better in a dress."

I snorted. "Oh boy." I said as I worked.

This is going to be fun.