Roy stood just inside the hastily erected medical tent in New Noruma, the scent of antiseptic and fear mingling unpleasantly. His gaze flickered between the small, feverish forms of the rescued children and the data-slate clutched in the metallic hand of Presidroid William Henry Harrison. The air was thick with the quiet, desperate sounds of labored breathing and muffled coughs.
William Henry Harrison, or "Wills" as he'd cheerfully insisted everyone call him, was currently humming a jaunty, off-key tune while peering intently at a glowing vial of blood through a comically oversized magnifying lens he'd produced from a pocket in his spotless, child-sized lab coat. His movements were quick, almost bird-like, and his optical sensors, a bright, intelligent blue, darted around with an unsettling, almost manic energy.
"The pathogenic signature is… fascinating, Captain!" Wills chirped, his voice a high-pitched, almost sing-songy lilt that was jarringly at odds with the grim situation. "A truly elegant symbiosis! The dormant Yersinia pestis provides the initial anchor, and then—poof!—our delightful little fungal friend takes over! It's like a microscopic hostile takeover! Terribly efficient! Quite brilliant, really, from a purely biological perspective!"
Roy gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to tell the overly enthusiastic Presidroid to perhaps tone down the "delightful" commentary on a life-threatening plague. "Right, Wills. Fascinating. But can we cure it?"
Wills tilted his head, his blue optics widening in an expression of childlike surprise. "Cure it, Captain? Oh, absolutely! Well, probably! The success rate is, shall we say, statistically… adventurous! But where's the fun without a little adventure, hmmm?" He giggled, a sound like tiny bells, before returning his attention to the data-slate.
Zehrina, who had been quietly observing the children, knelt beside a young boy, his small body trembling against a stack of folded blankets. He looked about ten, his eyes sunken and dull with fever. A caretaker, a weary-looking woman whose own child was among the afflicted, gently dabbed at the boy's forehead with a cool, damp rag.
"We… We all drank from the new well near the quarry," the boy whispered, his voice raspy and weak. "Our grown-ups told us not to, but we were so thirsty." He was interrupted by a small, painful fit of coughing that shook his frail frame.
Zehrina gently brushed a strand of damp hair from his face. "What happened to the adults, little one?"
The boy's lip quivered, fresh tears welling in his eyes. "All got sick… real fast. Some… some died. Some left… to find help. We ran from the village to the quarry, but then the slavers… the slavers found us." His voice hollowed, cracking with a grief too large for his small body. "They sold us on, and now… now we're here."
Roy's jaw set, a cold anger coiling in his gut. He rested a hand on the boy's shoulder, his touch surprisingly gentle. "We'll help you," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring. He straightened, turning back to Wills. "So, the source is that well, connected to a river near the quarry, right? If that's the case…"
"Precisely, Captain!" Wills trilled, already several steps ahead. "Serenity's preliminary drone reconnaissance, cross-referenced with the children's anecdotal accounts, confirms a high probability of watershed contamination! The riverine ecosystem likely serves as a primary vector for both the bacterial precursor and the fungal agent! It's a veritable pathogenic playground!"
Roy nodded grimly. "Which means that larger town downstream might be facing an outbreak already, or will be soon."
He wasted no time. With a few swift taps on his arm-mounted comm unit, he directed two high-altitude stealth drones to scout the afflicted village and the winding path of the river. The main viewscreen on Wills' data-slate soon flickered to life, displaying a shaky, somewhat pixelated overhead feed of an abandoned settlement. Houses stood empty and silent, their doors ajar, a few skeletal, half-wild dogs roaming the muddy, deserted streets. A battered wooden sign, its lettering faded and worn, swayed creakily in the breeze.
The second drone followed the serpentine course of the river, its advanced sensors scanning the water and the surrounding terrain. Sure enough, further downstream, nestled in a wide valley, lay another sizeable town. Columns of pale smoke, indicating cooking fires and the routines of daily life, rose lazily into the air. Roy's pulse quickened. If they had already begun to drink from the contaminated river, time was dangerously, terrifyingly short.
He tapped his comm again. "Serenity, load the main cargo helicopter with base-model Presidroids and a generous supply of whatever Wills says we need from the Infinite Medicine Cabinet. Antibiotics, antifungals, IV drips, the works. We're leaving within the hour."
A distant, tinny beep from the comm confirmed the order. Roy spun on his heel, stepping out of the dim medical tent into the waning afternoon light. As he ducked around a newly built storage shed, he caught a glimpse of Eryndra standing in the deep shadows of an adjacent alleyway, watching him and Zehrina with a strange, unreadable intensity. When she realized she'd been spotted, Eryndra froze for a beat, her face flushing slightly. She coughed, a small, awkward sound, and then pretended to be deeply fascinated by the intricate grain of the shed's wooden frame, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the rough-hewn planks. Roy raised an eyebrow, a silent question in his eyes, but said nothing, letting the moment hang in a slightly uncomfortable, charged silence. He noticed no black dust around her ankles this time; she seemed… calmer. Or perhaps just better at hiding her agitation.
Zehrina, ever observant, quirked a delicate smile in Eryndra's direction. "Been there long, lurking in the shadows like a particularly broody vampire?"
Eryndra flicked her gaze away, her blush deepening. "Not at all. Just… admiring the craftsmanship. Very… woody." She paused, trying to sound nonchalant, then added, her voice a little too quiet, "Are you two… done analyzing the pathogenic data profiles?"
Roy, deciding to spare her further embarrassment, scratched the back of his neck. "For now, yeah. Wills has a plan. I was just about to mobilize the response team."
Eryndra nodded, her expression unreadable. She gave Zehrina a polite, almost curt nod, then marched off with a determined stride, announcing vaguely that she needed to "recalibrate her armor's runic harmonic alignment matrices." Roy stared after her, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, until Zehrina cleared her throat pointedly.
"Come on, Captain," she said, a hint of exasperation in her tone. "The helicopter, and our delightful little plague, won't wait."
They made their way to the bustling makeshift airfield where Roy's helicopter—a bulky yet surprisingly sleek and agile craft—had landed, its rotors already beginning a slow, preparatory spin. Base-model Presidroids, their movements quick and efficient, scurried around its open hatch, loading crates of medical supplies. Warrex and Lutrian, looking bandaged, bruised, and visibly drained from their earlier duels, lingered at the edge of the field. Takara hovered protectively behind them, her expression a mixture of concern and a clear readiness to scold them if they even thought about trying to join this new mission.
"You two heroes staying behind, I presume?" Roy asked, though he already knew the answer.
Warrex, ever the stoic, gestured to the fresh, neatly stitched sutures adorning his arm. "Much as it pains me to admit, Captain, I'd likely just get in the way in my current condition. Focus on stopping this plague. We'll hold the fort here."
Lutrian nodded in weary agreement, his face tight with a frustration he couldn't quite conceal. "I'll help coordinate local quarantine measures. Ensure the children we already have in care don't relapse or inadvertently spread this… thing further."
Roy patted his shoulder in thanks, a gesture of quiet camaraderie. Wills, lab coat flapping, bounced eagerly towards the helicopter, already chattering to a nearby Presidroid about fungal replication rates and optimal antibiotic dosages. With one last glance to ensure the medical tent had enough supplies and personnel to manage the currently afflicted children, Roy boarded the helicopter with Zehrina, Wills, and a handful of grimly determined base-model Presidroids. The rotors beat the air with increasing intensity, lifting them skyward in a powerful gust of dust and displaced air.