Gap Cold Control Jacket Mga Nobela at Kwento

He also wore a black hooded jacket with a high collar that shields his neck from the cold. The jacket had zippers on the sleeves and pockets on the sides, which provided easy access to his weapons. Underneath the jacket, he has a tight black shirt that clings to his chest and abdomen. The shirt has long sleeves that cover his arms to the wrist. His pants are also black and are made of a flexible material that allows him to move with ease. They have a slim fit and reach down to his ankles.

'Give it back Suzanne,' Aiden ordered firmly, but she smiled mischieviously. 'Geez CIN are you okay? Your temperature's rising!' Ethan exclaimed as he observed Aiden closely. Andrew took the glove from Suzanne and inspected it. Aiden snatched it back mid-way through the inspection and put it back on. His temperature returned back to normal. Ethan and Ryan exchanged puzzled glances. 'Un....what just happened?' Suzanne asked in surprise. 'That glove has a gadget compartment that was made to control the temperatures of the user and the temperatures around him,' Andrew stated.

His gloved hand lifted, resting gently against the nape of my neck while his thumb brushed lightly along my jawline. The intimate gesture sent a strange, steady warmth through my chest despite the freezing storm outside. “What are your orders?” he asked softly. I met his gaze directly. “Have your men load a heavy-duty tactical crate.” Caleb immediately reached for his radio unit. “Contents?” “Four industrial arctic-grade parkas,” I said calmly. “Six thermal wool blankets. Two portable kerosene heaters with four fuel canisters. Add a crate of high-calorie emergency rations and electrolyte packs.”

Chapter 63 Day one, and I could barely breathe. "Do I really need to wear this?" I brushed off invisible dirt from the outfit that looked somewhat close to a swimsuit, and as though it wasn't bad enough, it was tighter and clutched against my chest. "It's a compression jacket. It'll help you a lot more than you think," Clawface said into the open. We were in the middle of a clearing. An orange tree stood behind me, and I rested my back against it, arms wrapped around myself as I paid attention to the rest of Clawface's lecture.

Hot meal, cold meal, or a bullet in the head? Emma tried aiming her feet toward the cabin in spite of herself. The numbing cold riddling her body started to evaporate, replaced by a warm tickle that could only be the first touch of frostbite. She imagined her thumb trying to pull back the hammer on the Ruger only to snap off. God fucking damn it!

"Smokeless. Odorless. The Tundra scouts won't see a thermal bloom on their sensors if I keep the pitch low." "Where the f**k did a hospital pharmacist get tactical-grade heat-gel?" Richard asked. He leaned toward the blue glow, his hands out. The trembling slowed, but the grey tint around his mouth remained. "That’s black-market tech. Spec-ops stuff." "I told you. I wasn't at a hospital for five years." Joshua reached into his bag and pulled out a thin, crinkled sheet of silver-and-gold foil. He walked to Richard and threw it at his face. "Put that on. It’s a thermal medical blanket. It’ll trap ninety percent of your body heat."

​​PNEUMATIC THERMAL JACKET: DISENGAGED. ​​VANGUARD_COMMANDER_01: ONLINE. ​The reinforced glass face of the pod didn't just slide open; it unsealed with a massive, booming release of pressurized cryogenic vapor that blanked out the room in a thick, white cloud of frost. ​Through the freezing mist, a massive silhouette—even broader and more heavily scarred than Julian's—slowly shifted inside the metal harness. Long, silver-streaked hair fell over a pair of massive shoulders that were wrapped in a pre-war, dark navy vanguard uniform, the chest plate covered in heavy, tarnished silver medals of a forgotten empire.

I took my position within the left flank formation, casting a cold side-eye toward Vicky, who stood near the primary gun mount, his chest puffed out to broadcast his aristocratic superiority to the entire squad. Just as the automated entry gates began to hiss open, Vicky let out a sudden, violent sneeze that disrupted his aura. The manager paused, his brow furrowing as he checked the environmental sensors. "Engage your thermal layers, commander. The climate controls in this sector are undergoing hard testing today. If your hide is under-armored, the mountain chill will compromise your reaction speed."

"Oh? Is that jealousy I hear?" Without even bothering to deny it, Gunner responded, "Call it however you want." Then his hands that were wrapped around my waist started to make their way to the collars of the blue polo shirt I was wearing and unbuttoned the first two buttons. But after he did that and stared at me again through the mirror, he immediately buttoned it up again. "Why do you still look good in it?" he asked, still grimacing.

Some of it doubled as weapons—baseball bats, fencing swords, anything fit to crack skulls or fend off attackers. Then he spotted something that made his eyes gleam: skiing and mountaineering gear. Not just any gear, but athlete-grade thermal suits designed for national teams. These cutting-edge marvels of 2050 tech could withstand temperatures as low as ⁠-100℃. His heart leapt. After the Frostfall descended, such gear would be worth more than gold. He packed away dozens of suits and professional-grade sleeping bags without hesitation. Two hours later, the impossible was done. One man had emptied the 10,000,000-square-foot Volmart warehouse.