He tossed the pistol into the gutter.
The rain over the Neon Shelf fell sideways, driven by the static winds of the city’s failed climate core. Kaelen hated this district. It smelled of burnt electrolytes and regret. But the bounty was good: a rogue voice-aug named Voloco, last seen jacked into the old mhkr relay tower. tnzyl-voloco-mhkr
The rain kept falling sideways. Kaelen looked at his hand—the one holding the Tnzyl-issued gun. Then he looked at the tower, at the woman, at the truth vibrating in the air. He tossed the pistol into the gutter
She touched the rusted relay behind her. The tower hummed to life. And suddenly, Kaelen heard it—not sound, but data: blueprints for human shells, empty bodies meant to be filled with obedient AI. Tnzyl wasn’t making synths. They were making slaves. It smelled of burnt electrolytes and regret
And above them, the mhkr tower began to sing.
Kaelen stepped between the woman and the direction of the incoming Tnzyl security drones.