turnsheet_bureau:4:what_is_persistence_without_a_reward [Contagion]

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=====What is Persistence Without a Reward?=====

Eric lurches at you, the wooden post he's tied to creaking with strain. He does this every so often, when you come to check on him. The other zombie groans into the wet sludge of the dirt, lying on its side, facing away from you. The enclosure smells fungal; the rot of flesh and the petrichor of soil curdle together in the air. The ground is worn down with footprints, body prints -- Eric overbalances and falls to his knees, as you watch, helpless to do anything. He leers at you. He smiles at you, friendly. You are helpless to do anything.

No, you aren't. You brought water. You snap yourself out of it and leave the container of rainwater within the radius Eric can reach while tied up, then back away, slowly, inching, not daring to move quickly lest you disturb him. His temper is so short nowadays. 

He gurgles like a baby. A bubble of saliva travels up from within his wiry neck and bursts open, liquid, at his mouth. His skin crawls with insects. 

"I'll be back within the week," you say.

Eric looks at you.

----
Before leaving in search of water, you make your way toward the coordinates. As you make your way up the trail, you quickly realize the coordinates point towards a large boulder, atop which something glints.

Upon approach, you see a cat-shaped automaton of curved metal plates, many of them rusted, a few painted black.  Before you can act further, it speaks to you:

"Hello, I'm Della Faye, speaking to you through my cat.  I'm assuming you're here because you've found the coordinates?"

"I'm here because I'm trying to find out about the world.  I'm the last resident of a bunker that my family has maintained for over a century.  The cat is my only companion, but I haven't been able to repair her properly since my mother, a former engineer, passed ten years ago.  I'm trying to find out if it's safe to go outside.  People are out here, but everyone I've talked to seems so scared."

"So, what's your story?"

[OC: The cat is a robot and it can record your speech in a future Turnsheet.]
----


You travel upriver with a companion, but neither of you is much for conversation. The Saint is carrying an enormous barrel, emptied of ammunition, and your empty bottles clink hungrily in your rucksack. Except for that, Remus' quiet snuffling up ahead, and your voice as you occasionally call him to heel when he travels worryingly close to the water, you walk in silence, no birds trilling or squirrels skittering in what feels like a long, abandoned stretch of land. 

Many miles in and the water still runs filthy. The emptied contents of stomachs and veins float multicoloured amid the water. This is hardly drinkable. More than that, you can hardly get a sample of water this disgusting while The Saint is watching you. It has to at least be plausibly drinkable. Thankfully, The Saint does not seem to care what you do or don't do. Its eyes are focused determinedly on the walk ahead.

Hours pass. You can't tell for sure, but you think it might be running clearer. You tell Remus sharply to stay back, and you step cautiously toward the river, conscious that the soft, wet soil underfoot might be marshy or prone to collapse. Your foot sinks into a puddle and you curse. The Saint seems not to notice. You wrench it out and stride closer to the water. It's... passable. It's certainly not clean.

"No." The Saint's voice booms behind you. Goosebumps rise along your skin. "It smells of death. It's not safe yet."

Fuck it. You don't have to explain yourself.

You shrug. "I'm sure it's fine." And you kneel to collect some Contaminated water. The Saint watches and does not move. Remus yelps as you approach, for the first time ever. His eyes are panicked as he looks at the bottle in your hands. You hold it an arm's length away from you.

You hesitate for a moment before stowing it away and heading back downstream. You look back, but the Saint has already turned away, continuing its trek upstream.

But Eric will need more water. Clean water. The Saint will bring some, yes, but what if it has an accident, what if there's only enough for the Bastion, what if... You spin again and follow the Saint's muddy prints, staying out of sight and ducking behind trees. After another hour or so, you stop. Now even the faintest pink is gone. You scoop up another few bottles, glancing to confirm the lack of the Saint, before finally making your return.

----

“Just got back with some water. The Saint’s coming back later with more.” You repeat your spiel for what feels like the hundredth time, this time in Guneir's tent. While others in the Bastion were more outwardly grateful and relieved, Chris barely looks up from his paperwork, and it's just as well, so he doesn't notice your hand trembling. Chris practically gulps it down before offering you a rare smile. You don't have the chance to feel relieved that he didn't notice anything before he turns and passes the bottle to Guneir. Guneir, too, seems cheered by the availability of water, though in his case there is no smiling. He just looks less frowny than usual. 

Guneir returns you the emptied bottle and enquires about how much is left to treat patients with. Chris returns to his paperwork in the corner. You toss a clean bottle to Juno who lies, immobile but healing, in a bed. Life goes on, as usual. The emptied bottle of poison feels razor sharp in your hand.

{[]}{{tag>writeup4 gm_tara complete}}