On the terminal display, Tadas shifted against the scorching rock. Sweat dripped from Tadas's chin as he pulled the small figure of his daughter, Laima, tight against his hip. Her face was pressed against his leg, a thin hand clutching his pant fabric. Mantas checked the primary console. The primary capacitor’s charge indicator pulsed a weak, sickly orange. Below it, a frantic red alarm flashed: *CORE INTEGRITY CRITICAL. REFRIGERANT DEPLETING. AMBIENT TEMPERATURE RISING.* The air in his Safe Quarters already felt thicker, heavier, the hum of the duct blowers straining. He struck the transmission toggle, the toggle clicking hard against the steel plate. “Tadas. State your purpose.” Tadas's head jerked upright. He stumbled closer to the external microphone grille, Laima still clutching his leg. “Mantas! Brother, thank the Ancestors! It’s 200 degrees out here! We’re burning! Please, let us in, just for a moment!” His voice was hoarse, cracking with fear, the sound distorted by the intercom’s static. “This shelter operates on strict thermodynamic balances, Tadas,” Mantas replied. “Every hatch breach compromises our margins. Every living body adds heat. You knew the math when you ridiculed it.” He allowed a sliver of his long-held resentment to seep into his words. “State your *true* purpose. The core demands it.” A mechanical chime, low and resonant, vibrated through the bunker’s internal speakers, a sound that always made Mantas’s teeth ache. [Coolant Reserve: 17%] [Kardiak Engine: Awaiting Purpose Designation] Tadas flinched, glancing around as if searching for the source of the sound. He looked back at the surveillance optical pickup. “Purpose? To survive! To escape the Scald! Laima… she’s just a child, Mantas, she won’t last much longer.” “Survival is not enough,” Mantas stated, watching his brother’s face crumble. “The core converts accumulated remorse—guilt—into a working cryo-fluid. Without steady fuel, our interior will equalize with the surface. We cook together.” Tadas gaped, his mouth working, no sound emerging. Laima whimpered softly, pressing her face deeper into his leg. “Guilt?” Tadas finally managed, a strangled whisper. “You mean… you built this… thing to run on human sorrow?” “On human penance,” Mantas corrected, a clinical edge to his voice. “The deeper the transgression, the more potent the remorse, the more significant the thermal discharge. It is closed-loop physics, Tadas. The wards exist for this conversion. The neural-tethers draw out the psychic heat, converting it into a physical drop in ambient temperature. Pure, unadulterated engineering.” [Kardiak Engine: Fuel Type Requirement – Transgressions of Conscience. Innocents: Low Thermal Output. Net Drain.] “Laima…” Tadas’s voice broke. He hugged his daughter tighter. “She’s innocent, Mantas! She’s done nothing wrong!” “Precisely,” Mantas said. “She offers no charge. She draws oxygen, radiates body heat, and produces zero refrigeration. The machinery permits no charity.” He paused, letting the implication hang in the superheated air. “One of you can fuel the core, Tadas. The other will only hasten our demise.” Tadas stared at the bulkhead speaker. He looked from Laima’s small, innocent face to the unyielding lens on the concrete lintel. The silence stretched, broken only by the basement reactor's rhythmic thrum, like a predator circling its prey. “No,” Tadas pleaded, voice rising. “Take me! I bear it! All of it!” He practically shoved Laima behind him, shielding her with his body. “I mocked you, didn’t I? When you warned everyone about the geothermal inversions, about the ‘cryo-volcano conspiracy’ at the Akademija Arktika! I called you a madman, a delusional paranoiac! I laughed in your face, Mantas! Remember? At the ‘Innovation Gala’ when you presented your thermal regulation theories, I spread rumors that you’d lost your mind! I sabotaged your funding! I made sure everyone at the Akademija called you ‘Cryo-Kaminskas’ behind your back! I ruined your reputation! I ruined your life!” Tadas’s voice escalated, raw and ragged, fueled by a terrifying desperation. “I left you isolated, utterly alone, with nothing but your bunkers and your ‘theories’! I stood by when Ruta Salna publicly disavowed your research! I even…” He choked, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the sweat. “I even told Mother you were dangerous, that she shouldn’t talk to you! I cut you off from everyone! From your own family! Isn’t that enough, Mantas? Isn’t that a dark enough past? Let her live! Take my penance! Take my life!” Behind the reinforced glass, Mantas felt his pulse steady. Tadas’s confession was a grotesque echo of every insult, every dismissal, every cruel word Mantas had endured. The vindication was potent, bitter, and undeniably sweet. [Kardiak Engine: Remorse Signature Detected. Potency: Significant. Thermal Contribution Potential: High.] [Coolant Reserve: 16%] Another chime, sharper this time, reverberated through the bunker. The console indicators shifted. The red *CRITICAL* warning on the fluid level stopped flashing and held at steady amber. The air through the ceiling vents dropped two degrees. “The apparatus registers your claim,” Mantas said. He tripped the outer pneumatic seal. Hydraulic pressure screamed as the heavy perimeter slabs crept open. Tadas wasted no time. He scooped Laima into his arms, pushing her ahead of him past the outer threshold, staring directly into the surveillance dome. “Thank you, Mantas,” he gasped, tears still flowing. “Thank you, thank you!” As the outer barrier clamped shut, Mantas engaged the vestibule mic. “The Cooling Wards are through the inner door, Tadas. You’ll see the neural-tethers. The system will guide you.” From the airlock, Tadas’s voice was muffled, but still clear enough. “Laima… she needs to be safe. She needs… food, water.” “Rations follow output,” Mantas replied. “Your penance buys entry; she contributes nothing. Restrain her consumption.” A beat of silence. Then, Tadas’s broken voice: “Understood.” Another series of clicks and hisses as the internal corridor bulkhead slid open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit corridor. Mantas monitored Tadas guiding the child down the intake hall. Laima dragged her sneakers over the steel grating, clutching her father's belt. He saw Tadas guide her to a small, isolated bunk before turning towards the array of gleaming neural-tethers. The hum from the lower turbines deepened. Mantas felt another whisper of coolness in his quarters, a faint relief from the oppressive heat. The coolant reserve indicator ticked up to 17% again, then 18%. [Coolant Reserve: 18%] Tadas slotted the copper bands around his temples and clamped his wrists into the sink terminals. A faint green light pulsed on the device. Ten years of mockery dissolved under the readout numbers. The apparatus drew true. Just as the vestibule hatch dropped into its recess, a screech tore across the perimeter audio. Mantas switched feeds. The colossal outer blast doors, barely sealed, were being pried open by a frantic, monstrous force. A figure, silhouetted against the blinding, ash-choked inferno of the surface, was wedging a heavy, steel beam into the closing gap, leveraging it with desperate, raw strength. The The surface thermometer read: *+205°C. PEAK SCALD EVENT.* The core chimed with sharp, rapid strikes. [Coolant Reserve: 18%] [External Breach Detected. Integrity Compromised.] Mantas adjusted the focus. Oskars Berzins. The moneylender kicked his heels through the remaining crack, hauling the iron spar inside before the hydraulics could shear his legs. His eyes, even through the distorting lens, were sharp, predatory. He had cleared the outer threshold. [Coolant Reserve: 17%] [Warning: System Overload Imminent.]

Flesh and Fuel