The list didn’t show scrap. It showed coordinates. 233 individual markers bloomed across his holographic map, glowing a deep, impossible blue.
The scanner hadn't found metal. It had found the "Aquifer Prime"—a legendary underground river rumored to have dried up a century ago. Each "resource" was a natural filtration vent, a place where the earth was still breathing, still sweating, still holding onto the one thing more valuable than credits.
"Twenty-one... twenty-two..." he whispered, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He stared at the number. In the year 2084, "resources" usually meant digital scrap or coupons for synthetic protein. But Elias was standing in the middle of the Great Dust Basin, holding a prehistoric Geo-Scanner he’d rebuilt from junk. He swiped the screen.