Voice sheets for characters

The scrap market’s stench hit Delilah’s nose before she rounded the corner - a nauseating mix of rust, oil, and desperation. Towers of salvage stretched towards the ceiling, their shadows dancing across the grimy floor panels. A part for her project had to be here somewhere.

She weaved through the narrow paths between stalls, scanning the piles of circuit boards and mechanical odds-and-ends. Her fingers traced along broken casings and twisted metal. Nothing matched what she needed - a Mark IV communications relay, preferably with its crystal matrix intact.

“Watch it!” A burly man knocked into her shoulder, sending her stumbling into a precarious stack of scrap.

“Oi! You’re the one who barged past.” Delilah steadied herself, rubbing her shoulder.

The man turned, his face twisted with contempt. “Keep your eyes forward then, girl. Market ain’t a place for daydreaming.”

“And it ain’t a place for shoving people about neither.” She squared her shoulders, though he towered over her. “Might find yourself knocking over something valuable next time.”

“That a threat?” He stepped closer, breath reeking of synthetic alcohol.

“Nah, mate. Just pointing out that karma’s got a funny way of working down here.” Delilah held his gaze, refusing to back down despite her racing heart.

“You’d best-”

The scrap markets buzzed with their usual chaos of haggling voices and clanking metal. Delilah weaved through the cramped stalls, her fingers brushing against rusted pipes and discarded circuit boards. The part she needed - a quantum frequency modulator - was rare enough that most traders wouldn’t recognise it if they had one.

‘That’s definitely not it.’ She picked up what the trader claimed was a modulator, but the connections were all wrong. The merchant’s hopeful expression fell as she set it back down. The air grew thick with the smell of burning plastic and ozone as she ventured deeper into the market’s maze. Her boots crunched over scattered washers and bolts that littered the ground between stalls. A trader’s voice cut through the din.

‘Oi! You there - looking for something specific?’

Delilah paused at a stall overflowing with communication equipment. The old woman behind the counter had knowing eyes that seemed to pierce right through her.

‘Maybe.’ Delilah kept her voice casual, examining a pile of salvaged nav screens. ‘Got any quantum frequency modulators?’

The woman’s weathered face creased. ‘Bit advanced for an apprentice mechanic, innit?’

Delilah’s hand instinctively touched the patch on her jacket marking her status. ‘Just for practice projects. Learning the theory.’

‘Course you are.’ The woman disappeared beneath her counter, emerging with a small component box. ‘This what you’re after?’

Inside lay exactly what Delilah needed - the distinctive crystal matrix barely scratched. Her heart leapt, but she kept her expression neutral. ‘Depends on the price.’

‘For you? Hundred credits.’

‘Hundred?’ Delilah’s fingers curled around the credits in her pocket. That was two weeks of spare parts money. ‘Seventy-five.’

‘Ninety, and I’ll throw in a set of calibration tools.’

Delilah hesitated. The tools would be useful, and she’d seen worse modulators going for twice as much. ‘Deal.’

The exchange was quick - credits for component. Delilah tucked her prize safely into her inner pocket, trying not to think about the meals she’d have to skip to make up the difference.