Seventy-two hours after we turned Aqua Marinus's drought into rain, the second shoe dropped—quietly, precisely, and aimed at the softest part of any society.
"Medical services suspended to anyone tied to Ouroboros," Viktor said from the floor at Intelligence Command Alpha, eyes tracking a web of clinic dashboards and call-center logs. "Nexarion facilities have a do-not-treat list: our employees, their families, and public supporters of our programs."
The room went cold. Aqua had tried fear of thirst. Dr. Vita Curex chose fear of loss—weaponizing appointments and waiting rooms.
"Casualty projections," I said.
"Sixteen critical denials already flagged," Dr. Chen answered, voice level but tight. "She's testing the line—deferring non-urgent cases, then creeping toward time-sensitive care. The pattern escalates to life-threatening within twenty hours if unopposed. She's betting you won't let the first obituary print."
