“You say our ward’s locked down so tight because we’re quarantined. You say we’re afflicted with a sickness. That we’re contagious. But we aren’t, Captain. We’re being slowly and methodically poisoned because we don’t matter. Because we ask questions. Because we say no. Because Madra sees us as a burden on the city. She feeds us foul, dirty water, and we die in droves because of it. Meanwhile, you and yours turn the handle, and fresh, clean water flows into your canisters. No one standing over you, looking over your shoulder, beating you and telling you enough.
