Spread out on the workbench were several dismantled psionic battery panels, which he had exchanged for three days of rations last week. He wanted to make some profit after repairing them - looking at it now, this idea was ridiculously stupid.
"Where's the money?" Scarface took a step forward, and his boots stepped on a twisted heat sink, making a harsh metal friction sound.
Lin Chen's eyes slowly swept across the shop.
There were piles of "crystal slag" that had lost its spiritual activity in the corner, and on the table were scrapped spiritual pattern carving knives, broken spiritual power conduits, tarnished alloy parts... All valuable things, even if they had a little bit of recycling value, had long since been sold by him and replaced with the lowest-grade synthetic nutritional paste.
Finally, his eyes fell on the deepest corner.
There was a spherical metal lump lying there, about one meter in diameter, and its surface was covered with thick, unevenly colored rust, as if it was suffering from a serious illness.
This was the only thing left to him before his mentor disappeared—an old M-7 housekeeping robot.
Even the lowest-level waste pickers find it bulky, inefficient, high in energy consumption, and of no recycling value.
