Quackprep.rg -

The duck’s beak opened wide—not to quack, but to whisper the beginning of the end.

Suddenly, the duck’s empty eye socket flickered. A red light bloomed from within. The image sharpened, and Aris felt his blood run cold. The duck wasn't just a marker—it was a collector . A rudimentary, low-tech drone built from scrap wood and stolen servos. Someone had programmed it to sit, motionless, for weeks at a time, sampling the river water every twelve hours. quackprep.rg

The line went dead.