The deeper you went into the Titan, the hotter it got.
Thalos wiped a smear of grime from his gas mask, checking the oxygen gauge on his wrist. Twelve percent.
He didn't panic. Panic burned oxygen. He just slowed his breathing, matching the rhythm of the steam hissing from the tunnel walls.
He was currently two miles deep in Sector 4, a region the miners called "The Gastric Lining." The tunnel wasn't made of rock; it was calcified muscle tissue, hard as iron and slick with oily fluids. Every step squelched.
"Come on," Thalos whispered, his voice tinny inside the mask. "Give me something good."
He wasn't digging for "Bone-Coal" or "Marrow-Oil" like the other scavengers. That was low-grade trash that barely paid for a loaf of synthetic bread. Thalos was hunting for cysts.
When the Titan's immune system fought off a parasite, it calcified around the infection, creating a pearl of concentrated energy. A single "Lymph-Node" could pay for a week of power.
But he needed more than a week. He needed a miracle.
Elara's cough had changed this morning. It wasn't dry anymore. It was wet, and when she spat, the blood was speckled with grey dust. Stone-Sickness. The Titan's dust was petrifying her lungs from the inside out.
If he didn't buy the Serum by tomorrow, she wouldn't last the week.
Thalos gripped his piston-spear—a scavenged mining tool with a pneumatic spike at the tip. He scanned the tunnel ceiling, looking for the tell-tale discoloration of a cyst.
Thump.
The tunnel shook.
Thalos froze, pressing his back against the wet wall.
Thump.
It wasn't an earthquake. It was a heartbeat. A "Tremor-Pulse." Even dead, the Titan's autonomic nervous system sometimes misfired, sending spasms through the flesh-mines.
A loose chunk of calcified meat, the size of a car, dislodged from the ceiling and crashed down where Thalos had been standing seconds ago.
Dust exploded. Thalos didn't flinch. He watched the dust settle.
And then he saw it.
Where the ceiling had collapsed, a fresh wound had opened in the meat. It wasn't bleeding red. It was bleeding gold.
Thalos felt his own heart hammer against his ribs.
Ichor.
Pure, unrefined god-blood. It was illegal to possess, illegal to trade, and punishable by death to harvest. The Archons claimed all Ichor belonged to the Throne.
But a vein that size... it wasn't just rent money. It was life. It was enough to buy Elara the Serum, a new air filter, maybe even a ticket up to the Spine.
Thalos checked the tunnel. Empty.
He scrambled up the pile of debris, his boots slipping on the slick meat. He reached the glowing wound. The heat coming off it was intense, warping the air.
He raised his piston-spear.
"Forgive me, old giant," Thalos muttered.
He triggered the piston.
CHUNK.
The spike drove into the crystallized scab. A hiss of golden gas escaped. Thalos worked quickly, prying at the edges of the wound. He didn't have the proper containment gear. If the Ichor touched his skin, it would mutate him or kill him instantly.
He pulled a lead-lined pouch from his belt—heavy, expensive, and bought for exactly this moment.
With a final CRACK, a chunk of crystallized Ichor the size of a fist broke free. It glowed with a terrifying, beautiful light, illuminating the dark tunnel like a miniature sun.
Thalos caught it in the pouch and cinched the drawstring tight. The glow vanished, but the pouch felt warm against his hip.
I did it.
He turned to slide down the debris pile—and stopped.
At the bottom of the tunnel, blocking his exit, stood three shadows. Their silhouette was unmistakable. Hunched backs, modified respirator masks, and jagged scrap-metal machetes.
"Well, well," a voice rasped through a vox-box. "Look at the little rat find the cheese."
Scavengers.
Thalos's hand dropped to his piston-spear. The oxygen gauge on his wrist beeped. Nine percent.
"Walk away, Jaker," Thalos said, recognizing the leader. "There's enough radiation in this hole to sterilize you."
Jaker laughed, stepping into the dim light. He was a brute, his arm replaced by a rusted hydraulic claw. "I don't mind the radiation. I just want what's in the bag."
He clicked his claw. "Hand it over, Thalos. And maybe I only break your legs."
Thalos looked at the three men. Then he looked at the narrow, unstable tunnel behind them.
He tightened his grip on the spear. He wasn't going back to Elara empty-handed. Not today.
"Come and get it," Thalos said.