He needs regular food. The scraps aren't enough—his body is eating itself. The knife helps—people think twice before approaching him now—but he can't fight everyone and he can't survive on refuse pile trash.
Has to join a salvage crew. They're the ones who get rations. Consistent rations. The ones who come back with artifacts get extra.
Doesn't know how to join. Watches from distance.
The crews gather at dawn near what might have been a warehouse once. Now it's just four walls and part of a roof, but it's organized. Men with clipboards—actual clipboards, paper and everything—directing workers into the ruins. The workers look half-dead already. Gaunt, scarred, moving like they're underwater.
An overseer is shouting. Big man, scarred face, voice like gravel. "You six—Section D. Lower level. Artifacts, not trash. You bring back trash, you don't eat. You have one hour."
Six workers shuffle forward. Del watches them go—three men, two women, one person he can't tell. They disappear into a collapsed section, entrance barely wide enough to squeeze through.
Del moves closer. Finds a spot near the warehouse where he can see. Other workers are waiting—next shift maybe, or just hoping for work. Nobody talks. Just waiting in silence, gray people in gray ruins under gray sky.
Sounds from inside Section D. Scraping. Voices—muffled, echoing off stone. Someone shouts something he can't make out. Then—
Cracking.
Not loud at first. Just—wrong. The sound stone makes when it's about to give.
Then louder. Rumbling. The entrance to Section D explodes in a dust cloud that billows out like a living thing.
Two workers come running out, coughing, stumbling. One falls. The other drags them up. They're covered in dust, blood on their faces.
The rumbling continues inside. Getting louder.
There's still someone in there. Del can hear them—muffled screaming under stone. "HELP ME—GET ME OUT—PLEASE—"
The two workers who escaped are looking at the overseer. Wide-eyed, breathing hard. One of them starts toward the entrance.
"WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?"
The overseer's voice stops him cold.
"But Ren's still—"
"Ren's dead. Or he will be. Entrance is collapsed. Unstable. You go in, you die too. Three bodies instead of one. Do the math."
"We can't just—"
"Yes we can." The overseer checks a timepiece hanging from his belt. Actual working timepiece. "We're behind schedule. Move to next site. Section E. Now."
The worker stares. "You're fucking serious."
"Do I look like I'm joking?"
The screaming continues from inside. Weaker now but still there. "—help—please—somebody—"
The worker looks at the entrance. Looks at the overseer. His face twists—anger, grief, helplessness all mixed together. Then just: defeat.
"Move," the overseer says again.
They move. The two workers and the three others who weren't in Section D. Five left. They head toward Section E.
The screaming continues. Del stands there, frozen, watching the collapsed entrance. Everyone else is moving—working, waiting, existing—and there's just this sound. This man dying under stones, calling for help that isn't coming.
Should he—
What? Go in? The overseer's right. The entrance is collapsed. Unstable. Going in is death. He'd just be another body. Can't help a dead man by dying with him.
But standing here listening—
The screaming gets weaker. "—help—" Barely audible now. "—please—"
Del's hands are clenched. Nails digging into palms. The knife tucked in his belt feels heavier.
*Shit. Fuck. This is—*
Can't finish the thought. Can't look away.
The screaming continues for maybe five minutes total. Each minute longer than the last. Then—silence.
Just silence.
The dust is settling now. The entrance is completely blocked. Tons of rubble. Would take hours to dig through. Maybe days. And for what? A corpse?
"You."
Del turns. The overseer is looking at him. Walking over. Each step deliberate, heavy boots crunching on broken stone.
"You want to join crew?"
Del's throat is dry. "...Yes."
"Then learn something." The overseer jerks his thumb at the collapsed entrance. "We don't retrieve bodies. We retrieve artifacts. Bodies are cheap. Artifacts aren't. That man—Ren—he was slow. Didn't see the structural weakness. Didn't get out fast enough. That's why he's dead."
"You didn't even try—"
"Try what?" The overseer's face is stone. "Dig through unstable rubble to retrieve a corpse? Waste six workers' time? Risk more collapses? For what? He's dead. Dead is dead. You want to join or not?"
Del stares at him. At this man who just watched someone die and didn't blink. Who's talking about it like it's accounting. Bodies are cheap. Artifacts aren't. Simple math.
*This is the system. This is how it works.*
"I want to join," Del says.
The overseer pulls out a ledger. Actual paper, actual pencil. "Name."
Del opens his mouth. Closes it. He doesn't know his name. Can't remember. Has to give something.
"Del."
Doesn't know where it came from. Just—the first sound that feels like it could be a name. Short. Simple. Meaningless.
The overseer writes it down. "Del. Right. Report here tomorrow morning. Dawn. You're late, you don't work. You don't work, you don't eat. Clear?"
"Clear."
"Good." The overseer closes the ledger. "One more thing. You see someone dying—collapsing, bleeding out, whatever—you don't help. You get out. You bring back artifacts or you bring back nothing, but you don't die for someone else. We clear on that too?"
Del looks at the collapsed entrance. The silence where screaming was.
"Clear."
"Good. Fuck off then. See you tomorrow."
The overseer walks away. Back to directing crews, assigning sections, managing the work like the death didn't happen.
Del stands there a moment longer. Looking at the collapsed entrance. Thinking about the man—Ren—buried under stones. About the screaming that lasted five minutes and then stopped. About the two workers who wanted to help and didn't because the math said no.
*That could be me tomorrow.*
The thought is cold, certain.
*That WILL be me if I'm slow.*
He walks back to his sleeping corner. The ruins are the same as always—gray, broken, dead. People moving through them like ghosts. The sound of someone coughing somewhere. Water dripping. Life continuing because stopping isn't an option.
That night he can't sleep. Just lies there in the dark, hearing the screaming. Over and over. "Help me—get me out—please—" Five minutes of it. Then silence.
*Bodies are cheap. Artifacts aren't.*
Simple math.
He's a body. Cheap. Replaceable. Will die like Ren died—screaming under stones while people walk away because helping isn't worth the cost.
*Fuck this place.*
But there's nowhere else to go. This is all there is. The ruins, the salvage, the death. Learn the system or die in it.
He's going to learn.
Has to.
Eventually exhaustion wins and he sleeps. Dreams of collapsing stone and screaming that won't stop. Wakes up before dawn, body aching, hands still clenched.
Gets up. Heads toward the warehouse.
Time to work.