I stood in the dimly-lit warehouse, two days after the turmoil of discovering my past, I found myself completely absorbed in a task that was both a challenge and a temporary escape. Before me lay the exoskeleton I had been tasked with repairing - a piece of technology that looked like it had been fished out of a dumpster, yet held an undeniable potential beneath its battered exterior.
The exoskeleton was a hulking mass of metal and wires, its once sleek surface marred by dents and scratches. It stood about seven feet tall, an intimidating presence even in its damaged state. The framework was primarily a dull, metallic gray, with traces of its original black paint visible in patches. Hydraulic pistons and actuators were exposed in places where the outer shell had been torn away. The control interface, a complex array of circuits and holographic projectors, was half-hanging off, its delicate components a jumbled mess.
