Or maybe it was because once you see how fragile human life is up close, you don’t get to sleep in anymore.
Tom groaned from the hallway as I walked past. “Tell me we’re doing something less disgusting today.”
“We’re fixing the sewer system.”
He stopped in the doorway, hair sticking up on one side. “You realize how ominous that sounds without coffee?”
“Everything sounds ominous without coffee.”
A Minerva drone floated by carrying two steaming mugs.
Tom blinked. “She CAN make coffee?”
Minerva’s voice came through a speaker grille.
“I cannot ‘make coffee.’ I simply extracted water at ideal temperature and passed it through the ground beans you left on the counter.”
Tom accepted his mug reverently. “That’s… basically magic.”
“No,” Minerva replied. “It is simply chemistry.”
“A chem-mage?” he suggested hopefully.
“No.”
I hid a smirk and took a sip. Perfect temperature. Perfect flavor. If Minerva ever gained a personality quirk, I hoped it involved coffee.
Even at sunrise, the town was buzzing.
People washed clothes in tubs, hung linens across railings, or waved cheerfully as we passed. Ever since the water came back a few days ago, everything had started to shift. Clean water gave people dignity, stability, purpose.
But the smell that hit us when we parked near the old sanitation facility?
Yeah. That was the smell of reality.
“Oh God,” Tom gagged. “No amount of anime training prepares you for this.”
Helen approached us wearing gloves and a scarf wrapped around her face. “Good morning! Don’t mind the smell — it’s actually better than yesterday.”
“That’s worse,” Tom muttered.
Helen ignored him like a professional. “We’ve kept most people out of the waste treatment area until you could take a look.”
Elena joined us, though I hadn’t expected to see her. “Morning. I’m just here to explain exactly how many medical emergencies will happen if you don’t fix this.”
“Motivational,” Tom said weakly.
Elena nodded. “I thought so.”
The wastewater treatment plant sat a few blocks east of the water treatment facility. In better times, townspeople barely gave these buildings a thought. Now everyone understood they were as vital as power plants or hospitals.
The smell wasn’t overpowering, but it was… present. Strongly present.
Minerva’s drones already surveyed the exterior.
“Preliminary analysis,” Minerva said. “Structural integrity: stable. Overflow risk: medium. Electro-mechanical systems: total failure. Biological treatment basins: compromised.”
“Compromised how?” I asked.
“Lack of active aeration. Resulting in anaerobic bacterial takeover. Hazard: high.”
Translation:
Without airflow, the bacteria responsible for breaking down waste had died or mutated. The wastewater was now rotting instead of processing.
Tom gagged again. “So we’re fixing magical zombie sludge?”
“No magic,” I said. “Just biology.”
“That doesn’t make me feel better.”
We entered the main control building. Panels destroyed. Wires melted. Motors fried. Pumps locked in place. Every electronic component was cracked, charred, or fused.
The Great Reset had hit the place harder than the water facility — probably because the sanitation plant’s systems were older and more sensitive.
Luke arrived a few minutes later, toolbox slung over one shoulder. “Alright, what fresh hell are we dealing with today?”
“Wastewater,” I answered simply.
He exhaled through his nose like a bull. “Perfect. Haven’t had to unclog the apocalypse yet.”
Marianne also joined us — apparently sanitation work woke her at dawn by instinct alone. “Let me see that pump motor,” she barked.
I gestured, and she leaned in, frowning. “Yeah. She’s cooked. Might as well have thrown lightning at her.”
“Well…” Tom began.
“No. Don’t tell me,” she said.
“…okay,” he finished.
Before rebuilding anything, we needed consensus.
I laid out a rough diagram in chalk on the concrete floor.
“Modern wastewater systems use several stages,” I said:
-
Preliminary screening (remove solids)
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
-
Primary sedimentation (separate sludge)
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Aeration basin (bacteria break down organics)
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Secondary clarifier
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Disinfection
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Effluent release or reuse
Marianne nodded. “Yup. That’s how ours used to work.”
“Since all electronics are dead,” I continued, “we need replacements that work with low power, are easy to maintain, and can’t be destroyed by another flux event.”
Luke cracked his knuckles. “So we’re going manual?”
“Manual-hybrid,” I said. “Some things can be powered mechanically. Some with simple electrical systems. Some with hand-crank or belt-drive backups. And some with low-level mana reinforcement.”
Tom perked up. “So magical zombie sludge can be fixed with magic!”
“No,” I corrected. “With engineering.”
“Magical engineering?”
“Tom.”
“Fine.”
Elena pointed at the aeration stage. “This is the one I’m concerned about. Without oxygen, the waste becomes toxic. People start getting gastrointestinal infections, skin rash outbreaks, even respiratory issues.”
“Which we’ve been seeing,” I said.
She nodded grimly.
Okay. Time to build.
I opened the door.
“Let’s gather the knowledge we need,” I said. “Marianne, Luke — come with me. I’ll need your experience.”
Tom followed, wide-eyed even though he’d been here several times.
Inside the Library, I began pulling reference material:
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Civil engineering textbooks
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Municipal wastewater manuals
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Fluid dynamics papers
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Historical sanitation designs (pre-electronic era)
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Mechanical pump schematics
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Gravity-fed filtration systems
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Early aeration concepts
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Reusable filtration media
Streams of data lifted into the air.
Luke let out a low whistle. “Boy, this place is somethin’.”
Marianne folded her arms. “Alright then. Teach me what we’re buildin’.”
We formed a holographic model in midair — pipes, basins, pumps, flow paths.
“Modern treatment relies on energy-intensive aeration,” I explained. “But older systems used angled baffles, mechanical paddles, and gravitational drop to oxygenate water.”
“Like old-school waterwheels,” Luke said.
“Exactly.”
“What about the bacteria?” Marianne asked. “Half our biological colony is dead.”
“We’ll restart it,” I said. “We still have some aerobic bacteria left in the clarifier. Minerva’s drones can collect samples from natural streams to seed fresh cultures.”
“But that takes time,” she said.
“I can accelerate growth using a Library-assisted incubator,” I replied. “Mana doesn’t replace biology — it just speeds the multiplication process.”
Marianne’s jaw tightened. “That’ll do.”
We continued designing:
-
Water flows down multiple angled channels
-
Gains oxygen with every drop
-
Requires no electronics
-
Easy to maintain
-
Almost impossible to break
-
Belt-driven
-
Can run on a small generator or hand-crank backup
-
Durable
-
Simplicity = longevity
-
Uses low-level mana warmth
-
Bacteria thrive
-
Reduces smell
-
Boosts breakdown speed
-
No electronics
-
Settles solids naturally
-
Can use UV lamps powered by small mana batteries
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Plus backup chlorine injection (produced locally from salt if needed)
Tom raised a hand. “Is this… like steampunk plumbing?”
“No,” Marianne said. “This is old-school engineering with cosmic cheat-codes.”
She slapped me on the back. “I like it.”
Next came the work.
For hours inside Library-time (minutes outside), I manufactured:
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composite pipes
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aeration baffles
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adjustable paddle systems
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gear assemblies
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filter housings
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sludge line impellers
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UV disinfection casings
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sealed inspection hatches
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reinforced basin linings
Each piece materialized under my hands with a hum of mana and the sharp scent of newly created materials.
The System pinged me several times:
[Progress: Sanitation Infrastructure Node – Component Creation 34%]
[Information Construction Level Increased]
[Mana Efficiency Improved]
Tom stacked completed parts into neat piles while Luke tested moving components.
Marianne squinted critically at the assembled gear.
“Sturdy. You built these to last.”
“That’s the idea,” I said.
“Good,” she said. “We ain’t goin’ through this disaster twice.”
We returned to the real world carrying a small mountain of components.
Volunteers helped lift pieces into place. Luke coordinated the mechanical attachments. Marianne supervised pipe connections like a battlefield general.
The gravity cascade was installed first.
The sound of water rushing downhill echoed like new life into the system.
Next came the paddle aerator.
Luke cranked it manually to demonstrate.
The paddles spun, churning water, mixing air.
“Beautiful,” he muttered.
Elena watched the process, arms crossed. “This will help infections, right?”
“Significantly,” I said. “Once the bacteria colony stabilizes, the water output will be much cleaner.”
“And the smell?” Tom asked hopefully.
“That too.”
“Bless you.”
Minerva’s drones arrived carrying samples from various freshwater sources in the region:
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streams
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ponds
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unpolluted wetlands
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a few from the farm’s runoff system
We carefully introduced strains of aerobic bacteria into the aeration basin and the sludge digester.
Then, using a Library-generated incubator chamber, I created controlled, accelerated growth.
The water began to bubble.
The smell faded.
The color lightened.
The System chimed:
[Biological Treatment Stage Restored]
Marianne leaned over the basin, inhaled deeply, and nodded.
“Smells like a proper sewer again.”
Then, after a moment: “Never thought I’d miss that smell.”
The UV chamber hummed softly once powered by a mana-infused battery.
The backup chlorine line was installed but left idle unless needed.
We opened the final outflow valve.
Water streamed through into the outflow channel with a clarity that hadn’t been seen since before the Reset.
Luke clapped slowly. “Well I’ll be damned. It works.”
Elena checked a sample with the new test kit.
“Biological contaminants reduced by over 90% already. Once the colony matures, it’ll reach safe output.”
Tom raised his arms in triumph. “We have conquered the poop dimension!”
Marianne slapped the back of his head.
“Don’t say that in my treatment plant.”
Word spread fast.
People gathered outside the sanitation plant, waiting nervously for updates.
Helen stepped forward as we emerged.
“Well?” she asked.
“It’s repaired,” I said. “Fully functional by tomorrow. Stable and self-sustaining.”
A cheer erupted through the crowd.
Not a panicked cheer.
Not a desperate one.
A cheer of genuine relief.
For the first time since the Great Reset, the town now had:
Helen hugged me before I could dodge. “You keep doing this,” she murmured. “Putting the world back together one system at a time.”
“I’m not doing it alone,” I said.
“No,” she agreed, pulling back to look at the others. “But you’re the reason we believe we can.”
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Minerva’s drone hovered beside me.
“Robert,” she said quietly. “I have detected a change.”
“In what?” I asked.
“The anomaly on the ridge.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of change?”
“The dimensional resonance has increased by 0.7%. This exceeds expected drift.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the Anchor is becoming more active. More… awake.”
Ava floated beside me, unusually quiet.
“Robert,” she whispered. “Something is coming.”
I exhaled slowly.
Day 12.
Twelve days since the world reset.
We had rebuilt water, medicine, and sanitation.
But the cosmic clock was still ticking.
“Alright,” I said softly. “We’ll check the anomaly tomorrow.”
Minerva pulsed a soft blue. “Understood.”
Tom joined us, oblivious. “So what’s for dinner?”
I forced a smile. “Food first. Dimensional crisis tomorrow.”
He paled. “Was that sarcasm?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I wasn’t sure myself.