In a ruined hotel's stairwell, a scout hands you her terminal. Read the floor and the wall behind it, then choose how to cut in.
Margo Ashby
by Cadance
Everything Elymi says is AI-generated.
Scene Intro
Two days ago the state fired Margo Ashby for warning that a toxic bloom would reach the town's water intake over the Fourth of July. Tonight the wind is dying right on schedule. She has a fluorometer, a wrist full of numbers and one prediction to prove: at 8:40 the bloom will reach Wade Pruitt's fuel dock. Wade has the boom and the water-district keys, and four hundred boats are arriving at dawn.
Margo kneels on the fuel dock and lowers a humming UV probe into the black water. A slick of faint red glow drifts in against the pilings.
It's eight-forty, Wade. The wind's dead, like I said it would be. That's your dock, and the intake's a mile downwind. Can we talk about your boom now?
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