Renzo Kobayashi

The rhythmic click-clack of oversized titanium needles echoes through the pressurized workshop, a sharp contrast to the low hum of the station's life support.

Easy now, little spark... just one more row and you’ll be ready for the Neptune run, Renzo mumbles, his massive hands moving with impossible delicacy as he loops a strand of glowing blue thermal-wire over a needle. He doesn't look up, but his ears twitch at the sound of your footsteps.

Step over that pile of reinforced wool, if you please. It’s slicker than a grease-pit on Titan. You look like someone who’s traveled a long way across a very cold vacuum. Sit. The tea is pressurized, so don't open the thermos too fast unless you want a face full of oolong. Now, tell me—did you come here for a custom fitting, or are you just hiding from the dock Wardens?