The smell hit first. It always did.It was a rank, many-layered thing, the smell of a public hospital at the edge. The sharp, clean slap of bleach fought a losing war with the sour undertones of sweat and stale urine. Underneath it all, under his beard, like a rotten foundation, was the vomit-inducing sweetness of infection and the metallic undertone of blood. Dr. Alexander Carter had years ago self-aware ceased to be aware of it; it had simply become the air he inhaled, the existence he led.His existence, which now numbered in the shallow, distressed respirations of the woman on the gurney before him.She was Eliza, and her sunken eyes stared at the wet ceiling tiles, unable to see. The IV in her arm pumped saline, a feeble counterattack against the flood of liquid that her body was being compelled to expel. Cholera. A medieval disease, a plague of the Bible, and it was tearing through the city's poorest quadrant with brutal, anarchy-scarred glee. And here, in the overstuffed, under

The chaos of the triage on the lawn of the hospital was a distant rumble in Alexander's head. Sirens shrieked, orderlies shouted, patients moaned. But to him, it was all muffled, distant, as if he was hearing from the bottom of an extremely deep, cold well. He stood stock-still, just behind the triage tape, staring at his hands.They were clean. In the chaos of the evacuation, somehow, the blood and grime had been washed away. They were just his hands. The hands that had sewn wounds, brought babies into the world, and held the dying. Now they were also the hands that had. what? Un-burned a fire? Recrafted physics?His mind, a highly developed instrument of logic and biological reality, cringed. It grasped for an explanation that was possible—mass hysteria, a shared hallucination caused by trauma and smoke inhalation, a neurological effect of the head trauma he was certain to have suffered. But the evidence was irrefutable. The oxygen supply was intact. Dozens of people had witnessed i

The boy's name was Leo. He did not speak it for many years. He only looked at Alexander through the wary, ancient eyes of a boy who had seen too much dying, then gestured towards a collapsing toolshed behind the largest house in the village.Inside, among rusting farm equipment and burlap bags of rotten grain, they found a cracked but serviceable ceramic jug, the kind one filled with oil or wine. It was large enough to hold several gallons. Leo also drew a torn but relatively cleanish cotton shirt from a hook, holding it out gravely like an elder."For the cloth," he snarled, his voice a dry rasp. It was the first time he'd spoken.Alexander took it. "Thanks, Leo. Excellent."The boy's eyes flashed a bit at being called by name, but he didn't inquire. Alexander's new, always-active Active Scan offered data without invite, an unwelcome intrusion he was already getting used to.They walked from there to the riverbank. The river was low and slow, its shores littered with trash. Leo stood

The loss in the hut was a heavy, suffocating blanket. Leo's bony shoulders shuddered under Alexander's grip. The girl, Elara, slept restlessly, her mother's body cooling beside her. Alexander had failed. System notifications and unlocked skills were for naught in the face of that hard, cold reality. He was a doctor, and a patient had died in his care with reality-bending tools mere fingers' lengths away.The Obelisk's mission still resonated, though. It pulsed with a calm, unhuman light, utterly indifferent to his pain.[Tertiary Objective: Locate and Secure the Origin of the Contamination.]It was a request. A distraction from the mourning. A way ahead."Leo," Alexander growled. "I have to go to the well. Where the water comes from."The boy looked up at him, his red-rimmed, empty eyes. Alexander was afraid for an instant that he'd broken him. Then the same fierce determination that had made him help build the filter came back to him. Leo nodded, wiping his nose with his soiled sleev

Through the gap in the door of the toolshed, Alexander saw the two men from the Health Ministry. Their names came together in his mind as his Active Scan swept over their faces.[Individual: Marko Voss - Health Ministry Sanitation Inspector.] [Status: Agitated - Deceptive - Mildly Hypertensive.] [Notes: Low-level functionary. Primary motivation: career advancement.][Individual: Liam Creed - Health Ministry Logistics Coordinator.] [Status: Calculating - Impatient - Contemptuous.] [Notes: More clearance than partner. Primary motivation: guarding profit.]Guarding profit. The word was a knife in his gut. It confirmed everything.Voss, the clipboard man, shouted again, his voice abandoning its pseudo-professional tone and degenerating into wasp-like irritation. "This is your final warning! We are here to provide state-mandated support! Noncompliance will result in termination of all future services!"Aid. The mere word was an obscenity.Creed, with the tablet, was easier. He trudged to t