The jacket was standard-issue black bulletproof weave. Her old jacket had an embedded smart-system that came close to passing the Turing test and being declared sentient. It had been a pain in the ass though, and those models had been phased out after one-too-many workplace lawsuits. This one was dumb, only acting as an extension of her phone. Thousands of microlights capable of displaying any message needed puckered its surface; at the moment an NYPD crest glowed a soft yellow. She slipped it on, and its heat-traced lining warmed to fight the chill. The hard shape of a ceramic knife sat heavy against her left arm. The gun was next, a black Walther PP_R that nestled into a shoulder holster. The drum accelerated metal fragments to railgun velocities, creating rounds with huge potential energy. One burst would slice a body apart at close quarters. Then a smart visor, pale yellow sunglasses that connected to her phone to provide a simple heads-up display. The badge came last, the bronze shield embossed on a scratched and dented NYPD smartphone.