You take the heavy sled down-slope for grip.

Grip happens. Grip is the problem. The skids cut the fine sediment like cookie cutters. Thrust makes a brown night inside the lamps. The puck goes fuzzy, then honest: altitude zero, then minus, which is a rude number meaning you are a hole.

Reed cuts thrust the moment it is already late. Minnow sits up to its elbows in clay that does not care about your schedule. Neutral would have hovered. Heavy plus thrust is a stamp.

TIDE: “Sled immobilized. Pump recovery exceeds local battery if silted intakes persist.”

Vargas: “You will wait. We will pump from the house if we can. Paz will wait too, and that is on the trim you chose.”

You are not drowning. You are parked in a footprint you invented. The vent field ticks and smokes just out of useful reach. Reed hands you the ugly card and you read it because reading is the only motion left.

THE END

What you learned: heavy is not grip. Thrust into mud is a hole you live in. Near-neutral lets you leave. Density is a choice you make with pumps, not with hope.