The World's End | ONC 2024

ੈ✩‧₊˚ |𝟬𝟮| 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝗼𝗶𝗹

Wylan

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

"Father, I brought some food!" I called out as I entered the cottage. Cleaning the streets was no easy task; it was laborious and time-consuming. However, it was also the only job available to a newly recognized adult until my identification had been approved.

"In here, son. The library," my father's voice boomed as I removed my shoes at the entrance where the sanitation systems took care of them. This was our life now; it was careful and wary. We had no other choice. We knew of nothing else.

My father was a scientist before the Disease. He was researching the origins of the metallic and elemental composition of Veridonian soil before he shifted his research to the Disease. Jackson Cooper used to be a well-renowned name in Veridonia ; and now we were penniless. Our only means of survival was the sweeping job that gave me some food.

I turned eighteen six months ago, and I had to feed the family. That was the job that my father had to do when I was younger. Father believed that he could find a cure for the Disease, but his research was not worth the money for the Government. At least that's what he told me.

Father spent the past five years working in a local grocery store until I reached eighteen.

"Son, you can do great things. I can teach you great things," he used to tell me.

He did teach me great things. He taught me more than the ordinary Veridonian child knew. I was well-versed in mathematics, economics, and all three of the sciences. I did all of that, just to sweep the streets every day. However, it wasn't always like this. My father was a great scientist. He even deciphered the composition of the Disease, something that the Dominion Council suppressed.

I grabbed the butter from the refrigerator. I sighed, staring at the two small milk cartons and a couple of fruits. They wouldn't last longer than two days. Closing the door, I turned to find my father hunched over his workbench in the library, surrounded by books and papers filled with complex equations and diagrams.

"Here, Father," I said, placing the food on the table beside him. "I wish I could get more. Tomorrow's raise day. I'll bring some more."

He looked up, his tired eyes meeting mine with a mix of gratitude and sadness. "Thank you, Wylan. You're doing everything you can, and I appreciate it."

I nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders. "I wish there was more I could do to help with your research."

Father smiled weakly, his hands tracing the notes on the paper in front of him. "You're already helping more than you know, son. But sit. I have something to show you."

I watched him for a moment, admiring his dedication and determination. He never gave up his dream of studying what Veridonia consisted of, even when it brought his health to a dangerous low. As much as he wanted to help me, he was too sick to do anything. The Medici told him that he had perhaps, two years to live. I was holding onto him, because, without him, I would have absolutely nothing.

"Son, look at these traces. Can you see the green? And the faint red?" he asked, pointing at the microscope that lay dusty next to his study.

"Yes."

"That's arsenic and cyanide. It's in the soil. But the Disease-"

"It's in the air," I finished, and he nodded. "Yes, the air. Why is it reacting with the oxygen and the nitrogen?"

Father sighed; his brow furrowed in deep concentration. "That's the question, isn't it? Why is the Disease interacting with the air in such a way? And more importantly, can we use that information to find a cure?"