I scrabbled for footing, slipping twice before managing to stay upright, clinging for dear life to the suspended undersuit. It took the mistreatment amazingly well, and didn't tear. With my face covered, the confines of the slippery stall were disorientating. The roughened cloth tore away freely as I managed to steady myself and reach up with a darting hand before looking down to see what had covered my eyes.

Clutched in my hand, looking nearly identical to the ones we used in the Port-side sanitation rooms, was...a towel. It bore the TxCorp logo along with the words, "Do Not Remove" in electric Blue and White.

My panic dissipated as Rob's laughter reached my ears.

Though it took a few tries, I finally managed to stand fully upright. I glared over the top of the privacy covering and was met with the familiar sight of a mirthful Rob.

He was doubled over, arms crossed over his stomach as he guffawed. There were no guns. No death threats, or mysterious plans. Just an after-shift Locker-room antic and a good natured laugh, usually at the expense of someone else. Admittedly, it had been a perfect toss, the towel having landed directly onto my face like a mask despite the distance and obstruction of the privacy covering.

"Owen!" Rob struggled to say, but only managed a weak squeak as he tried to stop laughing and failed, "You should've seen yourself!" He made eye contact, and could've almost exploded as he began laughing again.

Though I should've been mad, or at least pretended to be; It was the Rob I knew. In the past? Laughter like he was doing now would've made me feel a little amused, perhaps even cause me to crack a small smile. His laughter was one of the things he was best known for, but I'd always been subdued, never feeling a need to actually join despite finding the sound, and moments entertaining and pleasant.

Now? I couldn’t help myself; I joined in.

As Rob's laugh turned into a howl, I found I couldn't stop, and had to hold tight to the booth grips in order to keep from slipping as the sound of our laughter lapped over me in waves. Like an improbably running perpetual-motion machine, each act of slowing seemed to spark another fit of shoulder shaking agony as our laughing conjoined and alternated, sometimes causing the two of us to continue if one of us seemed to slow down.

It was some time before we both had to stop to breathe. I felt light headed and weak in the knees as I wiped a tear from my eye. Rob was still chuckling to himself as he continued doing whatever it was he was doing. I gathered the towel to dry myself off, but couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face. “HA...HA,” I said, sarcastically to Rob, “You got me.”

Rob grinned back. The kind of grin which said he understood and was happy to help without needing to say a word.

I was infinitely grateful.

The normalcy of his usual after-shift antics were calming and soothing in a way I couldn't describe. The simple act of his laughter made me realized how frayed and damaged I'd been. If I were to call it anything, it'd be a brush with a true moment of human connection; Something I'd somehow been unable to have in a long...long time.

I savored the moment. It was the first time I could remember not being blanketed with the odd, muted dullness I'd felt. When I'd been on the railing, only a mere few hours ago, it had begun to fade. The trigger had happened somewhere between when I'd almost been ready to jump, and when I'd decided not to. Once the dissipation began, it was easier to identify how unusual my prior state of being had been. Something didn't feel right about that. I just wasn't sure what...yet.

As I prepared to exit the sanitation booth, wrapping the towel around my waist, I realized...I felt better. Much better. It was as if a dam had broken. All tension from the previous few hours finally found an outlet to escape.

So long as my pending future remained unknown, the underlying stress and pressure would always exist. However; I no longer felt as overwhelmed, frazzled, or barely hanging on like some drowning man surrounded by the wreckage of a great catastrophe.

Amazing what a little bit of food, a hot shower, and a shared moment of camaraderie could do for a person. I opened the booth, trying not to slip as I took in the scene.

Water was everywhere. The air cycler clicked on, and there was still a bit of a whiffy smell coming from the still dripping equipment behind me. I sobered up. The guilt beginning to creep in. The equipment would probably need a few more sessions before Rob could turn his sense of smell back on to full, and not comment about it. The funk reminded me of all the problems I'd dragged behind me.

I looked down with a frown as Rob turned to look at me.

“Uh.” I said, “Sorry about...”

Rob interrupted me, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it,” He said, “It’s just dumb design. Water evaporates."

I swallowed any comment I was going to say. He presented a stack of clothing he'd placed on the table.

"I DID owe you the favors," He said, and there was a softness to his tone I'd rarely ever heard while working. "If that'll keep you from feeling bad about anything, always remember that, okay?” His eyebrows were raised in question, waiting for a response.

"Alright," I said meekly.

With a flourish, Rob turned and pointed to an area next to him. There was a small privacy curtain he'd deployed while I was busy in the sanitation booth. “Favor number Three." He said. "Your Undersuit dry?”

I reached behind me, squeezing the whisper-thin suit wafting on the dry-line to test. It was no longer dribbling water onto the shower floor, and had shed moisture quickly and efficiently by some sort of technical magic. Perfectly by design, the synthetic material felt mostly dry. I took a second to marvel at the lack of damage from its impromptu use as a rope in my scramble to not fall; It wasn't even stretched.

“Yep.” I said, pulling it down and giving it a quick test sniff. It was not...uh...fresh, but it would suffice.. My eyes barely watered this time.

“Good.” Rob said. “Might wanna keep those. They’re kind of rare-ish out in The Glow. Pretty sure they don’t have a tracker mark, and nothing’ll give you as much thermal protection." He paused, and seemed thoughtful for a moment. "At least, anything you’d be able to get your hands on."

I collected the stack of clothes and stepped behind the curtain, hanging up the various pieces before beginning the arduous process of getting dressed.

The undersuit was first and began to warm almost immediately. It pulled on like a second skin, which felt comforting.

“So. Rat Face...” I began, but Rob corrected me.

“Golrich,” He said. I could hear the disgust in his tone, telling me he was also not a fan of the simpering middle manager.

“Right, Golrich, the Rat Face.” I continued, "He seemed to be dead-set on taking the uniform off of me when I left the Pod. I think they were going to just leave me there with whatever I had left, which was nothing...”

“Is that why you were wearing the whole work rig when you got here?” he asked.

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I paused to think. “You know? I didn’t really realize I had. After Karl got.." I swallowed, and managed to skip over the mental imagery, "Got killed. McCreed told me to call it a day and I was still in shock I think. Not even really sure how I got there, just headed straight home from where we were talking. Nobody said a word to me.

"So you ran into McCreed and the Goon Squad," Rob said, there was a clank as he dropped something and made a little 'oof' noise.

"Yeah," I said, and grabbed the next item on the hook. A green...uh. Sack? Duffle bag?

“What are these?” I inquired, pushing the curtain aside and holding up the...Geez what were they? A Parachute? Parka? My eyes roamed, eventually beginning to spot a waistline, and what could be two legs if they weren’t so big.

I was beginning to suspect they were, somehow, a pair of pants.

“Pants,” Rob said, confirming my theory.

Sewn onto what almost seemed like haphazard locations where the knees, thighs and ankles might be were a mind-boggling number of small straps and loops affixed with a number of small metal buckles; The whole mess was hard to make sense of in its current position.

I could feel the start of a killer headache building.

“Do you have any like...normal pants?!” I said, weakly. Pulling on the fabric, which ballooned out, far further than I would’ve expected someone of Rob’s size to need to wear, I continued to goggle at them, “It’s like, HUGE. How am I supposed to wear these anywhere?!”

“Put em on first,” He said, “Cinch the waistline.”

I sighed, closing the curtain again and turned back to the hanging article of clothing.

Rob continued speaking, "So McCreed offered you an ultimatum, and let you go on your merry way, right?"

"Yes," I said, "Except I had to dodge them by immediately heading to the ground level, and cutting underneath."

I ran my hand over the matte fabric on the outside of the "pants" which felt like it could've been waterproof. The silkier texture of the inner lining was soft and smooth, warming quickly from just the touch. There was a clear sense the two materials were used as a design decision to reflect and absorb whatever heat the wearer was extruding. Trapped air between the layers could act as a buffer from cold, or heat. At the very least it might explain why anyone would even think to put them on versus something more...normal.

"Then where'd you go?" Rob asked, there was another clunk as he tossed a small object onto the floor.

"Maintenance tunnels," I said, having some initial problems just figuring out which side was the front.

"Wait." Rob said, stopping what he was doing to walk closer, "Owen. What substation were you near?"

"Twenty One, A," I said, finally able to step into the fabric and try to pull them on. I was offhandedly holding the pants up, fiddling the waistline when I felt a hand smack the back of my head.

"You idiot," Rob said, and pulled his hand back, "You're lucky to be alive! You know they've had that area under Vermination protocol, right? We had an entire briefing about it."

"Ow!" I said, rubbing my stinging head. The "pants" pooled around my ankles like a fallen sack. "No. But I think I figured it out. Found a plug that got put down there because of some sort of Scrab breach." I opened the curtain to glare at Rob, "That hurt!"

Rob ignored me, "How'd you manage to keep from passing out down there?"

"Why aren't you asking how I got in there to begin with?"

"Because you're a resourceful person, Price. I don't question when someone tells me you managed to make a System work. You just do it like with the interlocks on the loaders," He leaned forward, and a little trill of nervousness shot through me. "Answer my question please. How?" His eyes flicked in the direction of the sanitation booth beside us, where the salvaged soft hood was hanging loosely through neck of the drying Outerall.

"Remember that dead guy I mentioned?" I said. Rob nodded. "It was on his suit. The Scrabs, Crawlers, or both did a number on his gear. The hood was still stowed and tucked in so I salvaged it and it was enough to get to the door I needed to open."

"Do you know who the body belonged to?

"Someone named Branch in Maintenance."

Rob stepped away from me, but not before I caught the flash of recognition on his face as he leaned against the counter.

"You knew him?" I asked, as I grabbed the pants again for another attempt.

"I knew of him. He was supposedly transferred to another block. One on the opposite side of ours." Rob had crossed his arms, and stood looking at the floor. Pondering.

After a moment, I busied myself with the waistline as he'd previously instructed, eventually able to find and tighten a series of belt straps which clinched enough to be secured. The rest of the pants, which continued to astounded me, jinkled and tinkled lightly as I futilely attempted to adjust whatever I could get my hands on by random choice. It was a futile effort, and left me breathing hard and annoyed.

“Having issues with the fixtures?” Rob asked after a moment, having come out of his thinking after taking notice of my silence as I battled with the clothing.

“Um...” I said, still overwhelmed. “Yeah?”

“Need help?”

“Do you really not have any, more normal pants somewhere?!”

“Those are normal for the Glow, Owen.” Rob said, “Finish up what you can and I’ll help adjust. Let's skip over what happened to you for now, I'll have to get some more details later, but I think it's time to chat about where you're going to be going."

I huffed quietly. The jingles and clanks as I did so made me mentally weigh if it would be worth arguing for another set. Instead, I reached out for a gray shirt still hanging up, deciding not to argue. Rob had been right so far...

"Trust me," Rob said, cutting in on my thoughts, "They seem difficult to manage, and weird at first, but you’ll grow to love em. Biggest thing is you’re going to have to do soon is blend in. These will help.”

I turned, giving the next item of clothing my focus. Touching the fabric of the shirt with my hands, I gave it a few stretches, testing its strength and pull. Without distorting its sizing, I was able to see just HOW soft it felt, almost like it had been washed and laundered a million times in order to hit that perfect state of being very comfortable, but not thread-bare and torn. Despite the logo on the front being a bit worn for wear, there weren’t any holes or patches to show any sort of notable damage, so I rotated it a few times, trying to sort where to put my limbs.

“So why the Glow?” I asked. I'd gotten caught up as I attempted to pull the shirt over my head, managing to snap my neck with the band as I tried to wiggle it around. “I was maybe thinking I’d try to hit the Borderlanes, or even the Outskirts, if I had to.”

The shirt finally slid on, stretching a faded Red and Gold KUMA ARMS logo across my chest and over the undersuit. The graphic was unfamiliar, but the name triggered a memory of my dad, giving an extended rant on the advantages of using a KUMA Arms Hammerline, his “Favorite handgun of all time.” The small, Glow Owned and Operated shop had many fans, my father among them. He’d keep you for hours talking about the virtues of their precision engineered designs. I'd always wondered why he was so crazy about a company in The Glow, a place I'd never actually been to, but he'd never given me a straight answer.

Rob replied, snapping me out of the memory, “You didn’t think you’d be able to stay in the Corp Boundaries, did you?”

“Borderlanes aren’t fully Corp, are they?” I asked.

“Not fully, but they’re dependent.”

“I mean, not all of Corp Boundary is TxCorp, is it? Aren’t Logos and SchwertKaufe rivals too?” I asked, mentioning the "Founding Three" of City 17.

“Logos is definitely out." Rob said. "They're the sister company of TxCorp, and even if they're sometimes their rival and competitor, the CEO’s are siblings. Twins.”

I was surprised. I hadn't realized the two companies were so connected.

“SchwertKaufe?” I asked, as I untangled one of the buckles I'd cross strapped.

“Won’t touch anyone they don’t approach themselves. Nobody’s allowed near their systems unless they’re SK through and through. Super insular.”

“So you’re saying...what? The Borderlanes are out then?”

“It’s likely anywhere near the Borderlanes might be a problem for you." He said, “Besides the fact you don’t have any Scrit, or at least the kind of Scrit that’d get you anything meaningful based off what you’ve told me so far. You’re an unknown. Nobody's gonna give a chance to an unknown. Too suspicious and they’re too tied into the Corp systems they'd risk being banned, or blacklisted. It's a no-go.

I had to nod in assent to this. It wasn’t a huge leap in logic to see why someone might not want to get locked out like I apparently might be.

“And the Borderlanes are...different,” Rob said, extending the pause as if trying to find a label for it. "So different you’d need to learn a lot about how the systems work there. It’s hard enough to keep track of all the exchanges and allowances already happening here in the Stacks, and we’re tied directly to the Corps via the Port and their operations integration. There? In the Borderlanes? Layers on layers on layers of complexity and annoyances, most directly tied to who controls the physical Lectrode access into both flavors of system.”

My brain gave the equivalent of a mental hang-up: A sudden, mind twisting sensation as if I were coming out to a world where the sky was green, and pigs were meant to fly. Lectrode points were only ever designed to work with ONE system. The ONLY system. The implications of Rob's words were imprinted, processed and cross referenced with what I'd thought I'd ever known, and hit me like the weight of a falling sky as my mouth formed the question before I could stop it.

"BOTH?!"