“The horror, Arthur,” Mrs. Gable said, wringing a dish towel. “The water just sits there.”
It was a low, chemical hiss that turned into a violent chuffing. Bubbles the color of rotten eggs surged up—not air bubbles, but reaction bubbles. Steam rose, carrying the smell of burning hair, burnt sugar, and something far more organic.
“It ain't water anymore, ma’am. It’s a biomass. A living sludge. And we’re about to show it what thermodynamics feels like.”