Depot 376 was a grim concrete building hiding under flaking white paint. Inside was warmer, though it tried to lie with more white and blue. The man behind the counter was young, bored, and dressed in grey overalls.

“Invoice.”

I handed him my paper. Not giving it a glance he picked up a bag from the shelf behind him. His head was shaved, and I noticed as he bent down that the baby scar was missing. Parents who couldn’t afford the mod when he was born probably. He was going to spend the rest of his life in this warehouse, or one like it most likely. You couldn’t get a good job without being skilled these days.

“Check it.”

I ran the contents against the list in my head. It was missing a soldering iron and a pair of pliers. He grunted, annoyed at having to find another bag. I could understand it, by tomorrow my wiring skills would have disolved and passed out of my body, just like the coffee I drank them with. I’d have a fresh set of skills, but he’d still be here, doing the same job, finding the same bag.