Del stands there watching, his ears ringing from the screams.
Everyone else is moving - working, waiting, existing - and there's just this sound. A man dying under stones, calling for help that isn't coming.
His body wants to move. Do something. Hands twitching. But he knows better.
What would he do? Go in? The entrance is collapsed, unstable. The overseer said it. Going in is death. Just another body under stones. Can't help a dead man by dying with him.
But standing here listening -
The screaming gets weaker. " - help - " Faint now, barely carrying. " - please - "
His hands are clenched. Nails digging into palms. The knife in his belt feels heavier than it should.
The screaming lasts maybe five minutes total. Each minute stretching. Time moving wrong - too slow and too fast at once.
Then - silence.
Just silence.
The dust is settling. The entrance is completely blocked. Tons of rubble. Would take hours to dig through. Days maybe. And for what? A corpse.
---
"You."
Del turns. The overseer is walking toward him. Each step deliberate, heavy boots crushing smaller stones. The scar on his face catches the light - white tissue against tanned skin. His fingers are still drumming against his thigh.
"You want to join crew?"
Del's throat is dry. Tongue thick. "...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 doesn't change. Like stone carved into human shape. "Dig through unstable rubble to retrieve a corpse? Waste six workers' time? Risk more collapses? For what? He's dead. Dead is dead." The timepiece ticks in the silence between them. "You want to join or not?"
Del stares at him. At this man who just watched someone die and didn't blink. Who talks about it like accounting, like inventory.
Bodies are cheap. Artifacts aren't. Simple math.
So this is the system.
"I want to join," Del says.
The overseer pulls out his ledger. Actual paper, actual pencil. The lead tip is worn down, needs sharpening. "Name."
Del's mouth opens. Closes. He doesn't know his name. Can't remember. Has to give something.
"Del."
The first sound that feels like it could be a name. Short. Simple. Empty.
The overseer writes it down. Pencil scratching paper, letters forming. "Del. Right." He closes the ledger. "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 tucks the pencil behind his ear. "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. And cut that fucking hair. You're a man. You carry more disease. No one trusts long hair. Tomorrow. Dawn." 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 entrance, at the rubble, at the silence.
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's me tomorrow 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. 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.
He's a body. Will die like Ren died - screaming under stones while people walk away because helping isn't worth the cost.
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.
---
Dawn arrives at the warehouse and there are maybe twenty workers gathered.
Del recognizes some faces from the square, from wandering the ruins. Nobody he's talked to. Just people.
The overseer from yesterday is there with another one. This one's younger, scar running from ear to jaw, eyes that don't blink enough.
"Six of you. Section F. Lower level." Points at workers without looking at their faces.
"You, you, you—" His finger lands on Del a little too long.
"You're new. Stay close to Markov. Do what he does. Touch nothing without clearance."
Markov is older - maybe forty, hard to tell. Lean like everyone else but with muscle still visible under the gaunt. Scars stretch along his arms, he's been doing this for a while.
Five others. Two women, three men.
One of the women catches his eye as they're being assigned. She's looking right at him and her eyes reflect his face.
Brown. Focused. She looks away first, brushing hair behind her ear.
The gesture is so normal it stops him.
The overseer finishes assigning. "You have two hours. Bring back artifacts or don't come back. Move."
---
They move.
Section F is deeper than Del's been. They go through collapsed buildings, squeeze through gaps in rubble, and descend a rough path. The light fades as they walk.
A pulsing blue then green intensifies as they walk ahead, the artifact exerting its will like a heartbeat.
Markov leads without talking. He moves with the confidence of someone who knows which stones will hold weight and which won't.
They huddle closer to him.
One of the other workers - younger guy, maybe twenty - mutters, "Fuck, it's cold down here."
"It's always cold," one of the women says. Not the one Del noticed. Different woman, older, harder face.
"Yeah but today it's *cold* cold."
"Stop bitching. Cold means you're alive."
"Barely."
They keep moving. Del stays close to Markov like he was told. The artifact glow is getting stronger. His eyes adjust - walls covered in symbols he doesn't recognize.
Markov stops, holds up a hand.
Everyone stops.
"Stay close," Markov says, voice rough and quiet. "Touch nothing without clearance. If you feel sick, back away immediately. If you don't back away, you die. We don't carry bodies. Understand?"
Chorus of "yes" from the group. Del adds his voice.
"Good. Artifacts are in the chamber ahead. We identify safe ones, retrieve them, get out. Fast and clean. Questions?"
Nobody asks questions.
---
They enter the chamber.
It's bigger than Del expected—maybe twenty feet across, ceiling lost in darkness above. Artifacts scattered throughout like magnets.
All glowing. Different colors—blue-green, pale yellow, deep red. Pulsing at different frequencies.
They are beautiful but wrong.
The worker ahead of Del—the young guy who was complaining—moves toward an artifact on the ground. Spherical, covered in symbols, glowing soft blue.
"Wait for—" Markov starts.
The worker touches it.
His body goes rigid. Back arching. Then convulsing.
He falls, hits the ground hard. Blood bursts through his orifices like pressure released all at once. It sprays across the stone, across the artifacts near him, and across Del's right toe.
The worker's screaming but his mouth won't form words. Just choking sounds, wet and desperate. His body jerks—limbs flailing, fingers clawing at stone, spine bending back until something cracks audibly.
His eyes are bleeding but still watching as his head slams against the floor again and again, each impact leaving smears of deep brown. Teeth shatter. Blood pools under him, spreading in rivulets toward the others.
Thirty seconds. Each second stretched.
Then stillness.