The tap coughed. A dry, hollow sound.
Raze Veyar leaned forward, eyes locked on the rusted faucet. His cracked lips parted slightly as the last droplet of water trembled at the edge. It swayed for a moment, glistening under the dim neon glow of the shantytown's flickering signs. His breath hitched.
Then—nothing.
His fingers twitched. His throat burned.
"Figures," he muttered, wiping a dusty sleeve across his mouth.
In Zone 7, thirst wasn't just an inconvenience—it was a death sentence. People didn't kill for money anymore. They killed for a sip.
Raze had seen it firsthand. The old man in the market, gutted over half a bottle. The mother who traded her last ration for a chance to keep her child breathing another day. The kid who tried to steal from the wrong man and ended up evaporated—the polite way of saying they drained him dry.
And yet, high above, the Ivory Towers stood tall, their spires scraping the heavens, their insides brimming with enough purified water to drown a city. The rich still bathed. They still flushed toilets—a myth to the people down below.
Raze adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder.
Tonight, he was going to steal water.
And if he got caught?
Well, drowning sounded better than dying dry.
---
The Job
Raze slipped through the back alleys of Zone 7, his boots barely making a sound on the cracked pavement. The city was alive with hushed whispers and distant screams—background noise at this point.
His destination: The Well.
Not an actual well. Those dried up ages ago. The Well was the nickname for a corporate facility where water was stored, filtered, and rationed—if you could afford the price.
He stopped at the edge of the perimeter, pressing himself against a rusted shipping container. Two guards stood by the entrance, their guns slung lazily over their shoulders. Their helmets bore the insignia of Hydron Corp—the most powerful water syndicate in the city.
Raze took a breath. He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't a hero.
But he was desperate.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a small, metallic device. With a flick, it emitted a low-frequency hum—a signal that scrambled radio comms for a few minutes.
"Hope you boys don't have any allergies," he whispered, tossing a dust bomb toward their feet.
A thick cloud erupted. The guards started coughing violently, eyes watering as their lungs seized up. Raze sprinted forward, vaulting over a rusted pipe, slipping through the entrance before the dust settled.
Inside, the warehouse hummed with the sound of pressurized water tanks. Rows of them, stacked to the ceiling, each one filled with enough liquid wealth to buy half the district.
"Now that," Raze grinned, "is a pretty sight."
---
The Catch
He found a smaller canister—five liters. Not too heavy, not too obvious. As he lifted it, a voice rang out from behind him.
"That's cute. You really thought you'd just walk out with that?"
Raze froze. Slowly, he turned.
A man sat atop one of the larger tanks, legs dangling like a bored god surveying his kingdom. He was grinning, his face lit by the blue glow of the purification filters. His uniform bore the same Hydron Corp insignia, but unlike the other guards, he wasn't armed.
That made Raze more nervous.
"Look, pal," Raze started, shifting his grip on the canister. "I think we can both agree that water hoarding is kinda—"
The man snapped his fingers.
The lights flickered.
The air changed.
Raze's skin prickled.
An urban myth floated around the slums—about the Water-Touched. People who had been altered, either by science or something older, something worse. Some said they could control water. Some said they could become it.
The man hopped down, landing without a sound. His smile didn't fade. "Go on," he said. "Keep talking."
Raze inhaled sharply. "On second thought, let's skip the lecture and get to the part where you don't kill me."
The man chuckled. "Now, why would I do that? Watching you struggle is way more entertaining."
Wonderful. A sadist.
Raze shifted his stance. He had one shot.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a second dust bomb at the man's feet—except this one wasn't just dust.
The explosive charge detonated with a sharp crack, sending the man stumbling back. Raze didn't wait. He bolted, canister in hand, leaping over pipes, dodging equipment, shoving past workers who were too startled to react.
Alarms blared.
Guards swarmed.
Raze ran.
---
The Great Escape
The exit was right there. He could see the neon signs of Zone 7, the crowded slums, the rooftops he knew like the back of his hand.
Then—water surged forward like a living thing.
A tendril of liquid shot toward his leg, wrapping around his ankle with unnatural precision.
"Seriously?!" Raze yelped as he was yanked backward.
He crashed onto the metal floor, the canister rolling from his grip. The water coiled tighter, dragging him closer to the Water-Touched man, whose grin was now a full-blown smirk.
"You're persistent, I'll give you that," the man said, stepping closer.
Raze clenched his teeth. He could feel the water slithering around his body, cold and suffocating.
He hated feeling helpless.
Hated being controlled.
His fingers twitched toward the last weapon in his bag—a shock capsule. One use only.
The Water-Touched tilted his head. "Any last words?"
Raze exhaled. Then grinned.
"Yeah," he said. "You ever wonder what happens when you mix water and high-voltage electricity?"
The capsule shattered in his grip.
A violent shockwave erupted, electrifying the water tendrils wrapped around him. The man screamed, body convulsing as arcs of electricity surged through him. The grip loosened just enough—Raze yanked free, grabbing the canister and sprinting toward the exit.
He didn't stop until he was back in Zone 7, lungs burning, the canister of stolen water clutched to his chest.
He looked up.
The Ivory Towers loomed in the distance, untouched, untouchable.
Raze wiped blood from his lip and let out a dark chuckle.
"One step closer," he muttered. "One drop at a time."