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Hikaru’s coat was a bone-white armor of panels and soft leather, reflective strips catching the neon and slicing it into disciplined lines. He carried himself like a question everyone else had already answered; the coat made the question visible.
(Subtitles: n agenets recall a lullaby of rooftops.)
Hikaru looked at the leather like it had betrayed him and then looked at Sho. "Or maybe we were the wrong tools," he replied. "Tools can be changed."
The final test came beneath a bridge where the city had buried its river in concrete. Plans to pave over the last vacant lot threatened a community garden and the memory of gatherings that had once kept the neighborhood alive. The developer’s suit arrived with enforcement and a bulldozer’s appetite.