Acid rain fell again.
The cold rain with a pungent sour smell hit every inch of the metal surface in the K-13 settlement area. Lu Zhou was wearing a mask, and the rubber edges pinched his face tightly, making it a little itchy. The filter was already saturated, and every breath he took into his lungs was mixed with rust, ozone, and the cloyingly sweet chemical waste gas emitted by the nutritional paste factory in the distance. This is the smell of the K-13 district, the smell of despair and decay.
He was climbing a hill of abandoned cars, prosthetic remains, and electronic junk. The metal plates beneath my feet groaned under the weight, threatening to collapse at any moment. But Lu Zhou's movements were very steady, like a thin wolf accustomed to walking on the edge of cliffs. His sharp eyes quickly scanned the "treasures" that were mottled by acid rain.
His left eye is an old prosthetic eye, the model has long been outdated, and snowflake noise will pop up at the edge of his field of vision from time to time. In his right hand, he holds a steel bar with a sharpened front end. This is his tool and his weapon.
"Don't make any noise if you can do it." He moved his mouth silently. This was his only creed.
Suddenly, his sight was fixed on a pile of squeezed and deformed server cabinets. A touch of dark golden metallic luster was looming under the dim sky. Lu Zhou's heartbeat accelerated by half a beat. He removed a few sharp circuit boards, carefully hooked the thing with steel bars, and dragged it out with all his strength.
It's a hand. A military-grade prosthetic hand.
