Standard Deviation

Farrah let out a breathe, eyes to the cloud cover overhead. The disassociative mesh on her jumper working as advertised, redirecting the dull ambient of midi’s noon day sun around her. The jumper was a single piece of her supression gear. An outfit that allowed her to move more organically through her environment. She moved through the transient landscape of light, sound and radar waves fluidly. Her clothes catching and re-directing the path of each to each desired trajectory, rather than akwardly obstructing and bounching them back the way they had come.

Any ripples of her movements, in a deprecated section like Midtown Old, would be well within the standard deviation for any shield that was paying attention.