He flicks his wrist, and a construct crane raises an unopened bottle for Jim. Kyle stays where he is for a while, breathing slowly again, before he reaches for his shirt and slides it back on. He never thought of it as armour. The marks, that's the real protection. They show the world he's not to be trifled with, that he's been made by things they can't touch.

He's tempted to say thank you, to Jim, for clamping down on the anger, but he doesn't. He lets it show in the slight sag of his shoulders, and the brief squeeze of a hand.