The freezing liquid of the waste disposal system dripped continuously from Delon's tattered jacket as he collapsed against a mountain of discarded processing units. The narrow alleyway on the absolute outskirts of Neo-Jakarta felt like a trash compactor, trapping the pungent aroma of melted copper and corrosive fluids within its crumbling stone walls. Overhead, the heavy grey clouds opened up completely, sending a steady drizzle of acid rain that hissed softly as it made contact with the piles of exposed electronic waste. The dark fluid pooled around his heavy boots, carrying a sharp, metallic odor that stung his nostrils with every shallow breath.
"You are shaking, Delon," a cold, resonant voice echoed within the deep recesses of his own mind, vibrant with an unsettling detachment.
"
