The interior of the Willamette Treatment Plant was a sanctuary of cold efficiency. Unlike the Travelers' base, which was smeared with grease, or the Wraiths' camp, which was feral, this place was sterile. The sound of German pumping machinery, maintained with obsessive rigor, filled the corridors.

  Henry, Kol, Mika, and Tara were led to the Council Room. At the center of a circular glass table, surrounded by monitors displaying the pressure levels of the aquifers, stood Regent Maros. He wore no armor, but a sanitation officer's uniform—impeccably clean, contrasting sharply with the faded blue of Henry’s jacket.

  Maros did not rise. He simply watched the Heretics with a gaze that calculated the biological value of everyone there.

  "Henry Henrikson," Maros began, his voice polished and devoid of emotion. "Your tanks in the southern sector have failed. I predicted this. Portland concrete was not built to last centuries. Now, you come to me with dry mouths."

  Henry stood his ground, feeling the vigilance of Kol and Mika at his sides. Tara kept her shield lowered, but her body was a coiled spring.

  "We know how the trades work, Maros," Henry said, his voice muffled by his mask. "Name the price. Grain? Scavenged meat from the Wraiths? We have what you need."

  Regent Maros smiled icily and raised his Hydraulic Scepter, letting it rest upon the table. The pressure nozzle gleamed like silver.

  "Grain and meat sustain today, Henry. But the Hydro-Council thinks of tomorrow. We know about the Bosnian plane. We know you recovered tissue and medical supplies."

  Maros leaned forward.

  "I don’t want food. I want the Heretics to raid the Crusaders' supplies at their headquarters in the Mausoleum. They carry genetically modified seeds and synthetic fertilizers."

  "The thirst for water is also a fury, Henry," Maros replied. "Bring me the seeds and the fertilizer. In exchange, I will open the flow to your building for an entire year. Otherwise... well, the human body is 70% water. I would love to see how long it takes for you to lose that percentage."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Henry let out a dry, muffled laugh behind his wooden mask, a rasping sound that echoed off the sterile, metallic walls of the Council Room. The sound was so out of place in that environment of German order that two Hydro guards reached for their crossbows.

  Maros arched an eyebrow, maintaining his bureaucratic calm, but slightly tightening his grip around his Hydraulic Scepter.

  "What’s so funny, Heretic?" Maros asked. "I don’t usually make jokes when it comes to the survival of your people."

  Henry stopped laughing, but the spark of aggression in his eyes was visible through the slit of his mask. He took a step forward, ignoring the Council’s distance protocol.

  "The funny thing, Maros, is that you’re in luck," Henry said, tilting his head. "I hate those bastards of the Powder Cross as much as you do—maybe even more. They are a cancer spreading through the ruins, and I would love to tear out the roots of that problem."

  Henry paused, glancing at Kol and Mika, who maintained a posture of absolute readiness.

  "But don’t think this will be a walk in the park," Henry continued, his voice now serious and deadly. "Hate doesn't win wars alone. Vincent Malakor has more than fifty maniacs hopped up on PCP at his side. They feel no pain, they feel no fear, and they die smiling if they think they are protecting the 'sanctity of lead.' Invading their territory to steal seeds and fertilizer is walking into a meat grinder."

  Maros relaxed his posture, but not his gaze. He knew Henry was right about the danger of the Crusaders.

  "That is why I am asking the Heretics, and not my technicians," Maros replied, sitting back down. "My men know how to maintain the pressure in a pipe, but you know how to apply pressure to the neck of an enemy. Bring me the resources, Henry. Clear out that nest of red rats, and I will turn the desert of your building into an oasis."

  Henry activated his radio, transmitting the decision to Solomon.

  "Solomon, the price has been set. We’re going to hunt the Crusaders in their own backyard. Maros wants the food they’re stockpiling."

  Solomon’s voice came through the static, heavy and strategic: "Copy that, Henry. If we’re going to face fifty of them in open ground, we need to take everyone together. Henry, the attack plan starts now. Don’t go through the front door; the Powder Cross loves to welcome guests with fire."

  Henry gave a negative signal with his hand, cutting off Solomon’s coordinates over the radio.

  "No, Solomon. Taking the whole group now is too risky. Moving eleven people across the rooftops without being noticed by fifty maniacs is asking to be surrounded," Henry explained, signaling for Kol, Mika, and Tara to move closer. "Let the four of us handle the initial advance."

  Solomon’s voice hesitated for a second before responding: "Copy, Henry. Out."

  End of Chapter

  Faction Data (Lore)

  The Hydro-Council: Keepers of the rare purified aquifers. They do not fight for territory, as thirst does the work for them. They are ruthless negotiators who have established a trade table: X liters of water for Y kilos of meat or grain. They are the "Germans" of this world; rarely attacked because if the plant is destroyed, everyone dies of thirst. They consist of 120 people. They want to hoard all the food stock of the fourteen nations to become the supreme rulers of human biology.

  Character Data

  HYDRO-COUNCIL:

  Regent Maros (52 years old, German): Leader of the Hydro-Council. A merciless bureaucrat who controls the water reserves. He doesn't get his hands bloody; he simply cuts off the supply of anyone who defies him. Maros is the wealthiest man in terms of "human biology" in Oregon.