Acid rain beat against the slanted tin roof of Bay Four.
Gray water poured through the open skylights, pooling into chemical-laced puddles across the cracked concrete floor. A Class-4 Siege-breaker hung suspended from thick overhead chains. A jammed industrial bone saw rested on the metal grating below, its motor burnt out and smoking in the damp cold.
Caleb waded through the deep runoff. He hauled a heavy steel spreader bar against his chest. The military HUD inside his cracked visor registered a 1.2 percent kinetic sync rate. The dark canvas of the Break-Tab Harness pulled tight across his ribs. The dead weight of the surplus gear actively fought his joints.
His gauntlet chimed. A private text from Tali overrode the corner of his visor.
[Telemetry shows a massive stress spike, Mercer. Are you dying, or just thinking about my custom weave?]
Caleb tapped the side of his helmet to reply.
[Hauling dead meat.]
