The market itself is half-built into a slummed industrial district. Steel refineries and their massive smokestacks bleaching forth noxious fumes, their brothers within textile manufacturers groaning with the constant pulsations of plastic looms. An orchestral beat still unaware of miracles and gods, at least in comparison to the bustling marketplace beneath them.
Corroding sheet metal market stalls doubling as homes for the most desperate strata of March, eking out their existence at the very edges of society.
They all speak of the miracle; every backalley gunsmith, humble tailor, and questionable food seller pronounces the holy implication in their own, diverse viewpoints. From the whispers of disbelief to the boisterous declarations of faith, they all speak of the water, the tower, the Savior.
Three and one souls move through the crowd, their forms blending into the dress of southland salvage. From the haphazard armoring of the Gunner, the dirty federation uniform of the Lawman, the light clothing from the Mage and the esoteric wear of the childlike body they all pass the initial inspection. Strolling through the fabric stalls of illegal barter, listening to the snippets of conversation as they themselves attempt to plan forth the coming journey.
Judge Murphy keeps his eyes open, scanning the now filled streets and backalleys. A construction split between the standardized lines of federal fabrication and the confusing aisles from the old empire, enough to throw his perception of space just off. “There should be a communal well for this district, we should locate it first to refill your water compressor.”
Samuel and Samantha take a quick glance between one another, Samuel left to reply with the consensus. “We are in agreement with this course of action.”
“Keep your eyes out for any ration sellers and bullet exchangers as well.” The old man adds. “Ready?”
Both of the twins coldly stare at him, the sociality of the Federation lost upon their faces. An agreement unspoken, instead implied by the five seconds of silence.
“Let’s go.”
There is a constant in it all, somehow. A universal standing trying to be found through thousands of sects, academia trying to prevail against superstition. The five pillars of life: a philosophy spoken of in the great colleges of the first Seven Cities derived from the vast armies of underpaid anthropologists. The needs that every human demands, the survival of both flesh and soul found within five simple categories.
They seek the two, the most necessary of them all:
There are food sellers, but nearly all sell perishable items to be consumed in immediacy or items to be barely considered edible. From fried dough sticks to spices, the four travelers’ attention diverted instead to the primary, more easily detectable resource within the city district.
Water taken from the leyline tower and given to the people through the poorly maintained aqueduct system, now overflowing with an utter excess of liquid from the shattered instrument of divinity.
An infrastructure unable to contain it all, every single well almost bursting at their seams from the distant pressure displacement of the newly formed lake. Cubic miles of water trying to escape through relatively tiny pipes, now flooding the streets with streams of muddied dust.
It's a miracle, for all its interpretations.
Children playing amongst now forming puddles as corner priests flaunt the most extreme of sermons against old masters, all attempting to make the most of the incredible sight.
It's not difficult to track it down, the Judge and twins merely follow the streams of water and cries of shock directly to the spewing source of lifeblood.
The distribution dias are spread across twelve square feet to allow for maximum coverage, five carved avenues from a central pipe splitting each into three different drainage sites each. Now, nothing more than a formality as the usual flow is turned to a massive geyser of roaring, frothing water. There’s people basking in it all, half-naked individuals in this torrent of rain soaking themselves to the bone in absolution of sins to be forgiven.
Judge Murphy asks the question as they stop at the edge of the crowd. “Is this water source potable?”
“Is that of an important nature?” Samuel asks.
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“A non-potable water source will get any drinker sick.” The old man calmly educates, tapping one of the pouches mounted on his utility belt. “We’ll just need to fill your water compressor, I have water purification runes to take care of the rest. Do you know your compressor’s capacity?”
Samuel looks to Samantha, the girl removing the arcane item from the small chest holster. A black shape eats away the streaming sunlight, the abyssal runes of ancient languages carved into its side in recognition of purpose in reasonings forgotten. It's barely larger than her two hands cupped together, a single canteen of near-zero importance at first inspection. Samantha answers the Lawman’s question. “We do not know.”
They turn to Ar, the One in their midst for the answer.
The childlike form still exists between them, easily forgotten once again. A moment taken to analyze the item, a reading completely failing against its human construction. “I don’t know.”
Judge Murphy tries again, speaking towards the twins with his next question. “Was this item ever appraised by the Federal Arcane Bureau?”
Samuel answers with honesty to the inquisition. “This item’s origin is not in the Federation.”
A definite problem, the old man instead motioning for the item from the girl.
She’s hesitant, eye contact made with her brother as he himself gives a short glance towards her. Enough power between them to easily end any confrontation from a supposed theft, she reluctantly gives it up to the old man.
It's arcane for sure, even without extensive analysis. A small canteen built with the abyssal black alloy of divines, its very shape undamaged despite the eons of decay since the final war for humanity. Though, one single seal at its very end is of human design, a cork of polymer made in more recent eras to fully complete the traveling item.
A quick shake determines the truth, the container devoid of any sloshing liquids yet the moment the Judge removes the seal the familiar sound of water comes forth alongside the sharp, awful scent of bacterial growth.
One sip returns a hostile taste, an anaerobic fermentation dangerous enough to put off the old man’s already semi-compromised immune system.
“This water has gone bad.” Judge Murphy informs the twins. “Have you been drinking out of this vessel?!”
“Yes.” Samuel coldly reports.
“Is that a pertinent problem?” Samantha asks the followup question.
The Judge takes notice of the twin’s forms, Samantha’s own body mildly emancipated despite her growing age and food consumption. “It's the reason why you’ve been sick and weak.”
Without another word he removes an item from within his utility belt, a plastic sheath protecting a cube barely larger than a fingernail. The moment he tears its protector open the thing reacts, a hostile environment of humidity enough to begin the reaction prematurely.
Already burning fingertips, he quickly drops the small tablet into the arcane container.
A brief second passes without fanfare, a countdown within his heart completed. One motion turns the container upside down, sloshing within the container letting loose a torrent of rancid water through the tiny neck of the magical item.
Samantha tries to object alongside Samuel, both of them immediately stopping as they witness the masses of loosened growth flop outwards in a soggy, mucus-like mess of awful liquid.
It brings the Judge back in memory, back to the sight and smell of bodies decaying in mass graves. It's too far cemented into conscious minds to be fully removed, instead accepted in the psyche with an uncomfortable level of normality for the Judges of the Federation.
There is almost no end to the torrent of water from the tiny item, an impossible compression of mass providing so much from such a visually small volume. A miracle of gods is made clear as the augmented child attempts to calculate the expulsion of material, its very nature falsified as incongruencies between mathematical calculations are detected automatically.
Ar, the Watcher, can’t find the connection point from within the small item.
Trillions upon trillions of unused pockets scattered amongst the sphere, once cataloged by his kind but not resurveyed in a time of war, comadered by humanity in their most desperate moments.
There’s language atop the pattern etched into its side as well, a possible location identifier that immediately attacks him as he attempts to read it. Hostile lines of code implanted into its very design, a quantum soul of floating points reading a series of geometrically perfected mathematical constants that tries to eat away at the code blocks.
It's not enough to take him down of course; his automated systems easily resolve the massive error states that they try to implant within him, but more so a reminder of those times.
Humanity still stands, still tries to fight a war long won. One more battle added now, one more microscopic engagement between…
“Ar.” Judge Murphy barks, noting the blank stare from the One. “Are you alright?”
The One blinks, an internal clock suddenly finding an entire seven seconds of processing time unaccounted for. He lies. “Yes.”
They don’t believe him, concern drawn across their faces limited by the pressing matters at hand.
Both Samuel and Samantha exchange glances, a mutual understanding found towards the next course of action as the last drops of the canteen peter out. The girl is chosen to speak, looking outward towards the frothing geyser, between the crowds of worshippers at the foot of it all. “How will we be able to access this source of water?”
Judge Murphy gives them his answer, removing the Lawbringer from its shoulder holster as he cracks the receiver open with a metallic snap. “Simple.”