Daimos-22 whipped his free arm as he called to the crowds of Humans, pleading with them to hurry. The compound must have been their home for years—that was his guess based on the armfuls of possessions passing him. But it was flooding now. Sinking. The tunnel—the only one that hadn't flooded, made of cracked, rotten wood and brittle metal—was barely big enough to stand in, but it would get them to the surface. "Come on!" the Titan called as they streamed past him. Children and old folks crying. "I know," he said, straining not to shout. "But we have to move." A woman dropped her enormous suitcase, and he kicked it aside. She looked back at the bag, and then she was gone in the crowd. The whole structure groaned. Daimos looked up, scanning up and down the tunnel. It didn't sound right at all. The section of roof above him split open, and the whole tunnel buckled. He could hear the tension grinding in his arms as he pressed on the roof. Hold. He kept calling out, and they kept running past. He held and held. And when he let go, he knew he was the last one left.