The exam was easy. Multiple choice, fill in the blanks, two essay questions written by someone who probably taught middle school last year. I finished it in ten minutes. Scribbled the last answer, flipped it over, stood up.
The teacher looked at me like I just farted algebra into the air. Her head tilted slightly. She had a silk scarf around her neck, glasses that tried to say "I am hot if you squint."
I handed her the paper. Her fingers brushed mine like she wanted to sniff youth. I love MILFs, but she isn't ILF, she is just M. Mature. Math-hating. Married, probably, to a man who plays golf and still thinks missionary is edgy.
I walked out. Locker to my left had a dent in it from Flash's last tantrum. The janitor still had not fixed it. School budget probably went to scented markers and anti-bullying posters that doubled as air fresheners.
Today was fabric day.
No more jeans and a hoodie while doing wall flips and robbery cleanup. I needed a real suit. Something that could take a bullet or two without me turning into red mist. I found the guy using Spider Whisper. One of the rooftop scouts tagged him four nights ago. He wore a jacket with dragon patches, sold tactical gear in one of abandoned trains. Worked under the alias "Thread King," which sounded like either a street-level arms dealer or a fashion blogger with a gun fetish.
I placed the order in cash. No digital trail. No receipts. No names. Just a phone ping from a burner and an envelope left in a newspaper vending box. A spider stayed on him for two days to confirm delivery was real. It chirped once yesterday with a location ping.
Lower Manhattan. Near a closed-down train yard.
I hit the spot after school. Train yard reeked of piss and rust. I climbed the fence instead of using the obvious side path. Didn't need any security cameras catching my face in high-res. A few old train cars still sat on the tracks, gutted. Most were filled with trash, some tagged with gang signs. I ignored those. My spider ping came from the red cargo container near the old signal tower.
No lights. No signs. I knocked in code. Knock knock-knock knock knock... knock knock!
I mean, most people knock like that every day. Not exactly the smartest secret code. Might as well have written "Open Sesame" on the door with a crayon. But whatever. I gave it five seconds. A rusted bolt turned somewhere behind the door. The left panel of the container hissed open with a pneumatic wheeze that didn't match the rest of the junkyard ambiance. No light spilled out. Just air that smelled like weed, sawdust and metal polish.
A figure stepped into the threshold. About five-nine, jacket that looked like it used to be white but now carried grease like a badge. His face was masked. Not high-tech. Just a balaclava with holes stitched in. The dragon patch on his shoulder looked like it was ironed on while drunk.
"You Flash?" he asked.
"No."
He stared.
I stared back.
He motioned me in anyway.
Inside, the container looked nothing like the outside. The walls were lined with metal grids and modular racks. Fabric swatches pinned to the right, spools of thread stacked in crates. There was a whole corner with stitching machines. One was halfway through embedding Kevlar into a chest panel that could probably survive a small war.
Guy walked to the middle. Kicked a duffel my way.
I opened it. Base material only. Reinforced fibers, synthetic mesh, some poly-threaded elastic. Three packs of nano-fabric chips sealed in vacuum sleeves. A bundle of adhesive weave resin. Two vials of conductive gel. Plus one full roll of optical reactive filament.
"Everything is clean," he said. "No tags, no radio signals. Tested twice. Don't ask where it came from."
"Not planning to."
I dropped the stack of cash onto the nearest stool. Wrapped in plastic, all bills under twenties. Marked and worn. Looked like it came from a laundromat's backroom, which it did. He didn't count. Just picked it up, gave a soft grunt, then nodded at the exit.
I walked out with the duffel over my shoulder. Fence climbed. Rooftop leapt. Slipped back into my window before the sunset hit full tilt.
Inside my room, I locked the door, pulled the curtain, dropped the duffel on the bed.
[System}: Mmm~ yes, sugar. Give mama her materials.
The duffel blinked out of reality. Virtual storage pinged full.
[System]: You just fed me raw potential. I am dripping with possibilities.
"Keep it PG for thirty seconds."
[System] You walk in here with adhesive resin and wet polymers and expect me to behave? Please. This is foreplay for engineers.
I pulled off my hoodie. Tossed it to the side. Kicked my sneakers into the corner. Collapsed back on the bed. Shut my eyes.
"Launch Dreamscape. I want that suit blueprint."
[System] Ohhh~ you know just what to say. Dreamscape loading. Lights down. Fabric up.
Darkness hit fast. Not like sleep. More like a drop into a memory that had texture. When I opened my eyes, I was standing in the center of a white void. Hexagonal panels formed the floor. The air shimmered like heat lines.
She stepped out of nothing. Same as the first dream. Black leotard. Violet eyes. Hot as hell.
"Welcome back, sugar. You ready to dress up for mommy?"
"Blueprint first. We work before we fuck."
She pouted. Walked a slow circle around me, hips moving like she was paid per sway.
"Fine. But you are such a tease when you act professional."
A table rose from the floor. Holograms flickered to life above it. Rotating suit designs. Layers of fabric. Material specs.
"Show me the base."
The model flattened. Showed the core suit frame. Flexible weave for motion. Nano-thread reinforcement on the spine and shoulders. Gel cushioning on the ribs and thighs. Modular anchor points for utility belt and wrist mounts.
"This version uses ballistic mesh under polyfiber overlay. Breathable. Impact resistant. Cuts down blunt trauma by 67 percent."
"What about bullets?"
"Depends where. Chest and back will tank small arms. Arms and legs? You want more protection, we need more weight. Unless you want to go full juggernaut."
"No. Speed matters more. Build the version that lets me tank one or two hits without dying, then escape before hit number three."
"You got it. Sleek. Strong. Sexy. Like you."
"Shut up and build."
She smirked. Swiped a glowing panel. Blueprint locked. The hologram collapsed. The floor around me cracked open. Material icons floated in the air, one by one.
Steel. Gel. Resin. Filament.
Each orb hovered, then blinked. Got pulled into the model like the system was eating the ingredients.
The suit began forming. Not stitched. Materialized. Panels locking in. Layers weaving themselves together like ghost-fabric knitting reality.
"We are looking at two hours real time. Less in here. You want to pass the time the classic way?"
"Give me the upgrade list first."
She sighed. Snapped her fingers. Another panel opened beside the table.
-Cloaking mesh. Near-invisibility in low light. Limited battery. Recharges via kinetic motion.
-Shock pads. Touch-based discharge on contact. Mildly painful. Useful for non-lethal takedowns or kinky surprises.
-Auto-repair thread. Small cuts re-stitch over time. Needs refill packs. Expensive.
-HUD link. Internal heads-up in mask. Needs micro-display lens and calibration.
I nodded, "You did add the color change right? I will escape from police like that GTA San Andreas trick. Change the color and shape of clothes and they will not even suspect."
"Mmm~ baby, I gave you the deluxe edition. Adaptive pigment mesh, color shifting tied to biometric trigger. Cops roll up, you go from hood rat to holy priest in half a second."
"Good. I want the shape to shift too. Not morph my face, just the fit. Baggy if I am blending, tight if I am fighting."
"Pre-coded. Got three presets loaded: Street Blend, Combat Sleek, and Night Mode. You can toggle them mid-air, mid-run, even mid-orgasm if you got the rhythm."
"Good. Add hood. Full one. I don't want hair out. No ponytail ninja cosplay."
"Got it. Hood locks with neck seam. No flap, no snag. Heat reactive. Blocks facial scans."
"Boots?"
"Lightweight, reinforced sole. No heel click. Silent step. Magnetic grip if you want to cosplay lizard mode."
"Reinforce groin. Not because I am scared of nut shots. Because I plan to use it a lot."
"Mmm~ say no more. Groin gets layered protection. Inner mesh plus kinetic cushion. You could get knee'd by Thor and still nut after."
"Mask filtration?"
"Activated. Nose-mouth filter mesh. Can block tear gas, smoke, pepper spray, and bad perfume. Voice modulator included. Toggle between deep, distorted, and silent whisper."
I patted her side, as she licked my face. "Most importantly, Anti-Stark tech?"
She slid her hand down her hip, snapped, and another panel lit up. "Oh, baby. Daddy wants to ghost Iron Stalker? You got it. Embedded disruptor mesh. Blocks arc reactor scans, sonic tracking, and heat signatures up to Mark 5. You go full stealth in his radar. He will think you are a ghost wrapped in latex."
"Disable all known Stark tag-pings too. I don't want his satellites auto-logging me just because I jump near his tech."
"Already done. Your suit has code scramblers stitched into the liner. Every time a Stark scanner pings you, we spoof a false echo. Fake heat map, fake weight, fake web pattern. You are basically invisible to every Jarvis-wannabe."
"Power draw?"
"Low. The spoof signal runs on bleed-off from kinetic movement and ambient heat. So as long as you are moving or breathing, the system runs silent. You stop for more than thirty minutes, it goes into idle. You move again, it kicks back up. Efficient as your refractory period."
"Stark drones? What if they catch me mid-air?"
"I built in a jump-shield. The second a drone comes within five feet, your suit sends out a pulse. Low frequency, enough to scramble its opticals and make it think you are just a flying rat. That includes heat sig masking, web traceless glide coating, and an occasional EMP fart. You fart near tech, it dies. Simple."
"And if he tries to override it?"
"Oh, sugar. He cannot. Your suit firmware is hard-locked. No signal in, no signal out. Firewall coated in sarcasm and encrypted like my nudes. If Stark tries to remote hack you, he will get rerouted to a GIF of you flipping him off in binary."
"Nice."
See suit Here
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You can read up to Chapter 85...
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