Garran Holt stepped from the eastern freight lane while the record vault still smoked behind Vasa. His exoskeleton was built from black rail plates, load rings, and sections of reinforced coupler chain that turned around his body without touching it.
Every working engine near the granary shuddered when he arrived. A truck carrying treated grain dipped on its suspension, while a distant train horn dragged low across the yard as the armor took momentum from the freight grid.
"You published my stores, so now you will learn what keeps stores from becoming food," Holt said, stopping beyond the orange contamination tape.
His voice reached the crews through a speaker mounted at his collar. The exoskeleton made him taller, but it did not hide the practical look in his eyes as he counted drivers, mechanics, and grain workers beside the silos.
