Water!

["Starting today, the subsea freshwater pipeline is officially operational, and the island's storage tanks have been fully replenished. According to the water supply agreement signed between the Office of the Governor of Ring Island and the Port French Fries City Hall, the import price of freshwater is a mere 0.8 silver coins per ton! Residential and industrial water rates on Ring Island will return to pre-destruction levels prior to the ocean current power station's collapse, and monthly water caps are officially lifted."] ["Reported by the Baiyue Strait Bureau of Survivor Daily!"] Recently, *Survivor Daily* had established a local branch in Port French Fries as well. Though modest in size, occupying only a small wooden cabin of twenty to thirty square meters, it was actively running. The bureau chief was a young Moon Tribe woman named Misa, who had worked as a teacher before the Xilan Empire's purges against her people. After learning about *Survivor Daily*, she had decided to establish a branch in Port French Fries. Her goal was to report on local anecdotes and major events, foster cultural exchange between the different peoples, and simultaneously help raise the literacy rate among her fellow Moon Tribe refugees. Certain things did not have to wait until literacy improved to be set in motion; on the contrary, taking action was precisely what gave people the motivation to learn. As for the admission requirements of *Survivor Daily*, they were quite relaxed. So long as one swore to speak from the perspective of all survivors, they would gain recognition from the Dawn City headquarters and the other branch offices. There was no need for an official rubber stamp personally bestowed by the Administrator to be considered legitimate. Naturally, if any branch ceased to champion the survivors' stance one day, Dawn City's main office and the remaining branches would issue a joint statement expelling it from their ranks, cutting off all reprinting and quoting of its articles. This served as their built-in exit mechanism. From a purely commercial or propagandistic standpoint, such a decentralized management and exit system certainly had flaws. But in the Administrator's own words, the Alliance was not built on just a single newspaper. If all editions of *Survivor Daily* folded one day, or if only the one in Dawn City remained, it would simply mean its historical mission had concluded and it was time for it to retire to a museum. When that time came, the people would naturally find something new to take its place and carry forward. Since Port French Fries lacked its own paper mills and printing presses, the Baiyue Strait edition of *Survivor Daily* was temporarily subcontracted to a printing facility on Ring Island. Fishermen, sailors, and dockworkers who regularly commuted between Port French Fries and Ring Island would occasionally bring copies back to the island from the coast. Consequently, even though *Survivor Daily* was not officially sold on Ring Island, copies could frequently be spotted across the docks. "0.8 silver coins?! Dammit, they're charging us one whole silver coin!" Staring at the newspaper in his hands, which felt damp enough to wring water from, a repairman standing on the pier widened his eyes and cursed under his breath. Having frequently traveled ashore, the residents of Ring Island were well acquainted with silver coins and could easily convert the figure into their local currency. "Well, the folks operating the reservoirs and taps need to turn a profit too," chuckled a middle-aged man squatting beside him. "Do you expect them to work on thin air?" "I'm not saying they can't make a profit, but making money this easily is highway robbery!" The repairman shook his head, folded the paper, and tucked it back beneath the wooden ladder where he had found it. Shift time was fast approaching. Lately, a sudden influx of orders from Port French Fries and Golden Gallon Port had revitalized Ring Island's factories and harbors. To improve loading and unloading efficiency, the port authority had even reinstalled the rusting gantry cranes that had been sitting idle in the warehouses. They reassigned a portion of the young lads who had been hauling crates manually on the docks, sending them back to the factories. And veteran skilled workers like them, who had lost their jobs alongside the destruction of the massive ocean current power station, finally had work again. To tell the truth, if Ring Island had remained devoid of job openings, they had contemplated heading across the water to Port French Fries to try their luck. Rumor had it that Port French Fries was also undergoing an automated port overhaul with very generous pay; the only real risk lay in security. The middle-aged man squatting beside him grinned, slung his towel over his shoulder, and rose alongside the repairman. "No matter what, even at one silver coin, it's dirt cheap compared to before! And with no water quota limits... the days of taking a shower every single day are finally back." This was the tropics, after all. Going a single day without a shower was unbearable enough, let alone working manual labor on the docks. Shortly after the two middle-aged men departed, a group of idle young men drifted over from the settlement, settling into the very spot the workers had just vacated. Not everyone had secured factory jobs. Even though the docks no longer needed them, they still routinely loitered around out of habit. Many of their friends worked here, and interesting ships occasionally sailed past. Besides, with unemployment relief checks coming in, they were in no hurry to scrape by. Lounging around here was no different than lounging anywhere else, so they might as well pick a lively spot. "Hey! Look what's here!" A sharp-eyed young man spotted the stack of newspapers tucked beneath the ladder. He yanked it free, shook it open, and shouted boastfully to his companions. "Look what I found! A paper brought back by the sailors!" At his excited holler, the youths lounging in the shade jumped to their feet and crowded around with interest. "The latest issue of *Survivor Daily* from Port French Fries! Let me see what it says... Holy crap, the subsea freshwater pipeline is officially open!" "No kidding?!" "No wonder my mom said the water bill went down yesterday... So that's what happened!" "Pfft, I knew that yesterday." "I heard the pipeline cuts straight through the minefield... Won't that disrupt the war going on?" "War? If you hadn't brought it up, I'd have completely forgotten about it." "It's been going on this long, yet I haven't seen a single soul from Shelter 70." The youths clustered around the paper, talking over one another about the news. Before long, their chatter drifted from the underwater pipeline to the tavern advertisements on the third page. That page held the densest concentration of full-color illustrations in the entire paper. While hardly scandalous, they held an irresistible allure for young men in their restless prime—much like tobacco and liquor did for the older generation. Not everyone was fixated on frivolous advertisements, however. Suni, sitting off to the side, had his thoughts elsewhere. Months ago, he had worked on the assembly line at Ring Island's cannery packing canned herring. Then a cascade of crises struck: the canning lines and automated dock equipment were shut down, and he had answered the Governor's Office's call to take up odd jobs hauling cargo at the port. Now, trade had revived. Ring Island's automated systems and factory production lines were no longer money-losing burdens, so the Governor's Office wanted them all back in the factories. He could not shake the feeling that he was nothing more than a convenient, interchangeable cog, led around by the nose at their whim. It was not simple petulance. Seventeen and eighteen was an age ripe for overthinking. If one wasn't spending their thoughts mooning over pretty girls, they naturally drifted toward grand questions of where they came from and where they ought to go. Seeing the headline about the completion of the freshwater pipeline stirred deep emotions within him. That sentiment swelled further when he read that the pipeline had been designed in part by survivors from Coral City. *How enviable.* While the people on Ring Island were mired in a bewildering war and dragged along by arbitrary events, those who had suffered the worst catastrophes months ago had already crawled out of the ashes to forge new lives. He wanted his life to have purpose, too. A resolve crystallized in his chest. Without warning, he lifted his head and spoke to the companions crowding the newspaper. "I want to go to Golden Gallon Port." The buzzing chatter instantly died. The dock grew so quiet that only the squawking of gulls could be heard. A chubby young man with a sunburned, ruddy face stared at him for several seconds. Once he confirmed that Suni wasn't joking, his round eyes bugged out. "Have you lost your damn mind?!" Golden Gallon Port?! That place differed from nearby Port French Fries by far more than just a name; it was on an entirely different continent over two thousand kilometers away! A wasteland far bleaker and harsher than Haiya Province! There was no unemployment relief there, no insurance, not even the most basic guarantee of personal safety. They still practiced the oldest, most primitive institution in human history: slavery. In a godforsaken hole like that, killing a man was as casual as gutting a fish. That exclamation broke the silence. Seeing his friends gawk at him as though he had gone mad, Suni hurriedly explained himself. "Wait, don't laugh at me just yet... Do you remember that ship from before?" A sturdy, freckled youth blinked. "You mean the one with all those thighs—wait, aren't they right over in Port French Fries?" Months ago, when the cargo ship from Golden Gallon Port had docked, the graceful silhouettes roaming the deck had haunted the dreams of countless adolescent lads. They had been sitting right on this pier drinking beer at the time, in this exact spot. At the mention of "that ship," everyone immediately knew which one he meant. "Golden Gallon Port has far more thi—cough, what I mean is, massive transformations are sweeping the entire wasteland! People out there are taking action to build better lives, while I'm just wasting away my time here!" Suni cleared his throat emphatically, looking earnestly at the group. "Don't you feel like this is a waste of life?" The others traded bewildered glances, then turned back to him, thoroughly convinced that a screw was loose in his head. "What's wrong with that?" "Sitting here watching them struggle sounds pretty good to me." "Seconded," the ruddy-faced chubby youth agreed, nodding. "Watching wasteland drama from afar is one thing. Actually going there... I'd probably end up boiled into soup." "I can't get through to you guys," Suni sighed, feeling helpless. He turned away and looked toward the harbor. "I didn't study all that knowledge just to lug crates on the docks or arrange cans on an assembly line. Machines can do that work... Frankly speaking, this place doesn't really need me, but I feel like they might over there." His friends exchanged looks, seeming to grasp his meaning this time. *Damn.* *Turns out the kid wants to play the enlightened sage among the wasteland natives.* *And charm a few pretty girls while he's at it.* "So... what kind of job do you plan to do there?" Still hoping to talk some sense into the dreamer, the freckled youth looked him in the eye. To his surprise, Suni had already thought it through. "A teacher," Suni answered without hesitation, meeting his gaze. The group looked stunned once more. "A teacher?!" "What could you possibly teach them?" "You can't even find work yourself!" "Language, arithmetic, even basic physics and chemistry—everything taught in school," Suni counted on his fingers, looking at them. "Knowledge that goes unused in factories might actually be needed there. I heard many of them haven't even learned how to cook with fire. Besides, it was in the paper before: they need teachers, and anyone literate qualifies. The Alliance—our friends across the strait—plans to set up literacy schools in Golden Gallon Port, and they pay in silver coins! Up to one or two thousand a month!" The youths glanced at each other, floored that he had planned this out so thoroughly that he even knew the wages. Realizing his friend was truly dead set on this, the freckled lad said no more, simply gripping Suni's shoulder. "I won't try to talk you out of it anymore. But it's the wasteland out there. You'd better think long and hard before boarding that ship." Relieved that someone finally understood, Suni let out a breath and smiled warmly. "I'll talk it over with my family." As they spoke, a deep horn blast echoed across the harbor. A colossal cargo ship was steadily making its way toward the docks. The youths sitting on the steps instinctively looked up, surprise plastering their faces. "The *Rou Rou*?" "Those people are back?" Gazing toward the pier, Suni's dark eyes lit up, reflecting the evening glow. What an extraordinary coincidence. Just as he had resolved to venture into the wasteland, the sea breeze bearing those very dreams had swept into this lonely port once more. Perhaps this was fate... *** "Welcome! Friends from Port French Fries! Friends from the Alliance!" On the pier of Ring Island's harbor. Flanked by soldiers clad in exoskeletons, Governor Chaning walked up to Midnight Chicken Slaughter with a warm smile. However, upon taking in the commander of the Jungle Corps, the smile on his face threatened to crack. The man was practically bristling with cybernetics. Not only were a massive chainsaw and gun barrel welded onto his arms, but his entire torso had been replaced with steel plating. While others wore exoskeletons over their bodies, this fellow looked as though he had simply transplanted his head onto a war machine. With that many augmentations, would his brain really stay sane? Unaware of what the NPC before him was thinking, Midnight Chicken Slaughter flashed a good-natured grin and extended his right hand to the Governor. "It's a pleasure to deepen our cooperation! Our Administrator sends his regards!" Chaning shook his hand firmly, quickly released it, and maintained his radiant smile as he spoke. "The pleasure is entirely ours! We are delighted to cooperate with you! Furthermore, allow me to take back what I said previously... I truly did not expect you to gain a firm foothold on that incredible land. Over the past century, we attempted to do so countless times, only to fail every single time." These words came straight from his heart. If two months ago he had viewed the Alliance's arrival with trepidation and concern, by now he was entirely sold. The water agreement had brought far more to Ring Island than merely tens of millions of tons of freshwater. The currency swap provisions bundled into the accord had restarted nearly half of the island's factories that had been shuttered by the war! Particularly of late, with Port French Fries and Golden Gallon Port undertaking massive infrastructure projects, a colossal market was unfolding before all of the Alliance's partners. The profits earned from exporting industrial goods and equipment not only alleviated the fiscal pressure of unemployment subsidies and war taxes on Ring Island's administration, but the coal priced in cheaper silver coins had even turned the subsidized coal-fired power plants profitable! If these blue-jacketed folks ashore could resolve their electricity issues as well, that would be even better. Of course, he had already reached an understanding on that matter with the CEO of the Baiyue Company. Soon, an undersea high-voltage cable would creep alongside the water pipeline all the way to the island. When that time came, they could shut down the coal plants and put those silver coins to work on grander endeavors. As for the *Tianting* space station and the seabed broodmother, while resolving them would be ideal, life would go on even if they couldn't. Besides, River Valley Province had already successfully neutralized a broodmother. They had never been strictly bound to the Church of the Torch's methods anyway... *** After shaking hands with Governor Chaning, Midnight Chicken Slaughter accompanied him toward the plaza connecting the harbor to the pier. A marble fountain stood at the center, crowned with a sculpted warhammer symbolizing order. The statue had been carved in Dawn City, transported to Port French Fries aboard an airship, and ferried here by cargo vessel. As a blessing for the commissioning of the subsea freshwater pipeline, and as a token of enduring friendship, the Alliance had presented this "Ever-Flowing Fountain" to the local survivors. The fountain was plumbed directly into the subsea pipeline. As long as fresh water flowed from Port French Fries to this island, the basin would never run dry. At the same time the two men set foot on the dock, the two hundred players belonging to the Jungle Corps assembled on the ship's deck disembarked in tight formation, following in their footsteps. Their polished K-10 "Iron Wall" exoskeletons gleamed brilliantly under the sunlight, radiating a thrilling aura like blazing suns striding across the earth. The docks were packed with onlookers. Windows flew open across the densely packed grid-like apartment blocks hugging the coastline. Young men and maidens, elders and children alike directed curious gazes toward this disciplined, heavily armored force. Even operators sitting inside the crane control cabins paused their work to look down. It was their very first time witnessing a terrestrial army, and their first time seeing combat exoskeletons in such numbers with armor so thick. While the Federation Navy also fielded exoskeletons, most were meant for underwater operations; only a handful of marines were equipped with ballistic combat variants. Yet even combat suits designed for close-quarters fighting seemed as flimsy as toothpicks compared to these walking armored tanks. The scratches etched into their paint schemes looked like badges of honor. These ruthless veterans were hardened warriors who had emerged from real battlefields, having weathered countless engagements! Many eyes inevitably filled with awe and admiration. After all, the direction these troops had marched from was the very place their own forebears had fled. Yet despite having ample cause to boast, these "iron men" did not swagger or throw their weight around. They had not even drawn weapons, nor did they stomp with deafening thuds. Bearing the Alliance insignia and their jungle-camo coatings, they advanced in crisp, orderly formation. Rather than an intimidating dread, the survivors watching from the docks felt a prevailing sense of safety and dependability. No one doubted they had arrived on a mission of peace! The Jungle Corps players halted at the entrance of the plaza, aligning themselves in a neat rank facing the fountain, advancing no further. Ring Island's residents were not the only ones watching the force. Chaning was similarly scrutinizing this formidable unit armored to the teeth, secretly marveling. No wonder that empire was no match for them. These people had likely not even unleashed their full might in their counteroffensive. However— Chaning's gaze drifted toward the rather plain cargo vessel moored behind the soldiers, and he let out a faint sigh in his heart. A pity. Formidable though they were on land, their naval capabilities remained a distinct weakness, clearly insufficient to challenge the Archipelago Federation Navy. Drawing such a comparison was not out of disloyalty, nor did he intend to lead his people into secession; he merely wished this tall tree could grow even higher and sturdier. Were that the case, Ring Island's strategic value within the Federation would rise accordingly. The worst scenario was if these people were seen by the Federation as a potential threat, yet one not formidable enough to command absolute caution... Even so, though a hint of regret lingered in his mind, Chaning did not let the slightest trace show on his face. He was a man easily satisfied. All things considered, he was exceptionally pleased with this ally. As the Jungle Corps disembarked, the ashore band struck up a welcoming anthem, and the ceremony progressed to its climactic moment. Looking at the Alliance commander beside him, Chaning offered a crisp, textbook Federation salute and spoke with solemn warmth. "May our friendship endure!" Midnight Chicken Slaughter pressed his right fist against his armored chest, his voice deep and resonant. "May our friendship endure!" Witnessing this historic moment, the crowd lining the harbor erupted into thunderous applause, whistles, and impassioned cheers. Plaza staff tossed prepared ribbons and confetti into the sky, and the band's swelling music pushed the atmosphere to a fever pitch. The harbor was steeped in jubilant celebration, bustling as though it were a grand holiday. At that exact instant, the warhammer towering above the fountain unleashed arcs of water, and a shimmering rainbow arched across the misting spray. Every eye fixed upon that rainbow, faces shining with excitement and hope. The days of water scarcity were finally over! Tomorrow would be brighter! Chaning and the harbor officials clapped with broad smiles, their lingering worries washing away alongside the cascading spray. Just then, however, a piercing siren wailed over the harbor. The festive atmosphere and music popped like a punctured balloon, cutting out abruptly. The band's horn players and drummers froze, staring in bewilderment toward the source of the alarm. The survivors crowding the docks reacted the same way, panic and confusion overtaking their expressions as they craned their necks to see what was happening. Normally, an alarm was sounded only when Shelter 70's vessels attacked fishing craft, freighters, or underwater installations in adjacent waters. Yet this was Ring Island on the remote fringe of the Southern Sea. Barring occasional drills, the sirens here had not sounded in ages. In fact, without actively dwelling on it, most people routinely forgot they were even at war. Governor Chaning was equally flabbergasted, staring blankly toward the sounding alarm, unable to fathom what was unfolding. Yet amidst the widespread panic, only the players standing by the fountain showed eager, restless expressions. *Holy crap.* *A quest incoming?!* *The cinematic cutscene's been rolling for a while now. If we don't act before the promo trailer for the new map drops, clueless noobs and stream-watchers are gonna think we're the NPCs!* Every player rubbed their hands in anticipation, aching to sprint back onto the deck and grab their weapons. They couldn't wait to show these sheltered folks what real wastelanders were made of! Just then, a port authority official sprinted over and hurriedly whispered into Chaning's ear. Chaning froze, his expression darkening instantly. Turning to the Alliance commander, he said grimly, "Our patrols operating near the minefield have detected explosion signatures... That area lies along the subsea pipeline route." Pausing, he added gravely, "We suspect Shelter 70 vessels may have attacked that location." As he spoke, he couldn't help glancing at the fountain. Yet the water continued to spray without the slightest sign of abating. The water surged outward uninterrupted, seemingly unaffected in the slightest. Seeing Governor Chaning looking as though facing a catastrophic crisis, Midnight Chicken Slaughter let out a hearty laugh. "Don't sweat it. Minor issue." Chaning blinked, suspecting his ears had deceived him. "A minor issue?" Midnight Chicken Slaughter nodded, offering an easygoing grin. "We anticipated this scenario two months ago. In the time it took you to get startled, the problem's probably already taken care of." Pausing, he glanced at the dumbfounded official nearby, subtly gestured toward the band, and whispered, "Could you please shut off the siren and have them keep playing the music?" "We're recording a video." Chaning: "...?" Staff: "???"