The Cotabato trial was supposed to last three days. By the second morning, word had spread like wildfire—families from nearby barangays came with carts, buckets, even cooking pots to fetch water.
Maria oversaw the queues with a clipboard, barking instructions. Jericho helped children fill bottles, grinning as if he'd won a medal. Rosa handled the elders, gently reminding them not to waste a drop.
The mayor, once skeptical, now looked like a man seeing votes pour into his lap. "Dela Cruz, if you keep this up," he said with a half-smile, "you'll make half of Mindanao your ally."
Rafael only nodded. His eyes weren't on the mayor—they were on the truck convoy preparing to return to Manila for resupply. He'd been up late, reviewing Codex projections. Something didn't add up.
The Codex pulsed faintly in his vision:"Anomaly detected: Checkpoint fees inconsistent. Route survey shows probability of interception: 73%. Possible sabotage."
Rafael tightened his jaw. HydraCorp was gone, but Cotabato was home to other predators—warlords, syndicates, local dynasties. Someone had seen AquaPure's sudden fame and decided to test its strength.
The convoy left just before noon. Two trucks loaded with spare cartridges, one carrying modular units. Arnel drove the lead, with Rosa riding beside him. Jericho manned the second, grumbling about potholes.
Halfway along the dusty provincial road, a makeshift barricade appeared—wooden crates and rusting oil drums stretched across the path.
A group of armed men stepped out from the roadside palms. Their leader, a scarred man in a sleeveless shirt, raised a hand lazily.
"Afternoon, mga boss," he drawled. "Toll fee. Ten thousand pesos per truck. Pay now, or turn around."
Arnel's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Rosa whispered, "Boss said we don't—"
The Codex whispered in Rafael's mind from miles away, its glow sharp as a blade:"Immediate threat detected. Probability of successful negotiation: 19%. Recommended tactic: stalling until reinforcements arrive."
But what reinforcements? Rafael had none. He grabbed the radio, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest. "Jericho. Don't argue. Keep them talking."
Outside, Jericho leaned out the window of the second truck, trying to sound braver than he felt. "Ten thousand? Brother, that's robbery. These are for flood victims. You want to drink mud instead?"
The scarred man laughed, flashing gold teeth. "Victims? We're victims too. Victims of empty wallets. Pay up."
His men tapped their rifles meaningfully.
Jericho swallowed hard. Behind him, Rosa's eyes flicked to the crates of cartridges. If they lost this shipment, the whole Cotabato pilot would collapse.
Suddenly, a low rumble echoed from down the road. A barangay patrol jeep—escorted by the mayor himself—rolled into view. Villagers crowded the back, holding up AquaPure jugs like banners.
The armed men froze. The mayor leaned out, voice booming: "These trucks are under my protection. Anyone who stops them answers to me—and to Cotabato!"
The villagers shouted in chorus, their voices loud enough to rattle the trees.
The scarred man scowled, weighing his options. He spat to the side, then waved his men back. "Go. But next time, bring cash."
The blockade melted away, the convoy lurching forward. Rosa exhaled shakily, muttering a prayer.
Over the radio, Jericho's voice cracked with relief. "Boss… I nearly pissed myself back there."
At the barangay hall that night, the mayor pulled Rafael aside. "You made waves here, Dela Cruz. But waves attract sharks. You'd better decide fast—are you just delivering water? Or are you building power?"
Rafael didn't answer. But when he returned to his cot, the Codex glowed faintly:"Observation: External allies provide temporary shields. Long-term stability requires independent logistics and security networks. Recommendation: Establish protective infrastructure."
Rafael lay awake listening to the rain on the tin roof, knowing the Codex was right. AquaPure wasn't just about clean water anymore. It was about survival.
And survival meant power.