A full-body survival stack built over years of necessity. Base layer is a long-sleeve thermal compression shirt in faded ash-gray, the fabric pilled and thin at the elbows but still holding heat — the brand tag is gone, replaced with a strip of self-repair tape bearing a handwritten size in permanent marker. Over that sits a heavily patched canvas work shirt in stained olive, every pocket reinforced with riveted nylon corners, the left sleeve rolled up to expose a chrome forearm prosthetic with a makeshift rubber gasket duct-taped at the elbow joint to keep acid rain from seeping into the socket. Cargo trousers in rust-brown ripstop hang low on the hips, cinched with a belt fashioned from a strip of industrial conveyor rubber punched with a hand-drill, fitted with a salvaged hex-bolt buckle. The right thigh has a drop-leg utility pouch in cracked black nylon, stuffed visibly full. Boots are resoled so many times the sole is a patchwork of three different rubber compounds, the uppers wrapped at the ankles in waterproof seam-seal tape over cracked leather. A balaclava in mottled gray sits tucked at the collar, ready to be pulled up. Finishing the look is a salvaged construction worker's hi-viz vest worn as an outer shell, the reflective strips long since peeled off and replaced with acid-resistant patch panels in dull orange — practical not decorative.