Chapter 1 – Exposition
Earth: Minnesota - June 2021.
The evening was wet and raining as the lowland Russian-like swamps collided with the Scottish-like highlands of the state's cartography.
A single resident held a phone to his ear, sheltered in the mid-floor of the house on top of a hill, sitting at the foot of a table – shared by a permanent resident in the form of an electric-propane stove.
He didn't even have time to think about how to break the bad news.
. . .
"This is High Arts and Literature College USA; how can I help you?"
Tristan sighed, staring blankly at the university flyer he held on the table.
"Hey Miss Clarice. It's me, Tristan. You remember me, right? I'm supposed to start on-campus in 2023?" His voice cracked with a somber tone.
"Hello Tristan. It's good to hear you again! Did you want to push back your start-date again? It's perfectly fine. You've been absolutely adamant on not having any student loans, so we've found another grant that you might qualify for. Did you want to check that out?"
"About that…" Tristan rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
"I'm afraid I'm just going to have to cancel completely. I'm sorry, but…"
Pause.
"I'm sorry, did something go wrong?" Clarice's radio-like voice pursed.
Pause.
"My friend was in a car accident."
Tristan's breath became deeper.
"His insurance is paying medical, but...
"His car insurance had a breach of contract. I covered the cost for a new vehicle."
"…"
"I'm not gonna be able to make it.
"I'm sorry, Miss Clarice."
You could hear the individual rain impacts pattering on the window.
"It's… It's all right Tristan. Did… Did you want to go over the possible grants that could make up for it?"
"There's… another issue."
"… I'm listening."
"I'm allergic."
"... To what?"
"The vaccine."
"… How bad?"
"I'll die if I take it, bad."
"…Oh no." Clarice's voice stumbled.
"I'm… I'm so sorry Tristan, but the mandate can't last forever. Eventually things will calm down and it will no longer be in effect. Then you'll be able to take classes with us on campus, like you've wanted, right?"
"…I think we both know the dark truth to that question." Tristan answered.
You could hear the individual rain impacts pattering on the window.
"I wish you were wrong, Tristan."
"I wish I was too. I'm sorry, Miss Clarice."
"It's not your fault, Tristan. None of this is."
"I know."
Tristan sat in the room in silence.
"Hey, thank you Miss Clarice… For everything. Goodbye."
"Goodbye… Tristan."
*Beep*
Tristan put down the phone and stared at the flyer. It was sealed in plastic, dated September - 2018.
High Arts and Literature College USA – Come and have your creative works brought to life! From books to plays, poems to music and art to comics! Get the finest education in creative arts and meet your future pen pals here! Become the writer and/or composer you dream to be HERE!
Tristian slowly placed the flyer in a paper bag with the rest of the junk mail. Paper makes good kindling for the woodstove. He sat there for a while.
It was quiet.
It was so quiet that you could hear the individual rain impacts pattering on the window.
"I'm not some crazy conspiracy theorist. I'm not an objectivist. I'm not a protestor."
"People have died from the disease, so you'd think having a vaccine would be a good thing… Right?"
Tristan's unquiet mind spoke akin to a college lecture professor, lecturing deeper into Nietzsche's abyss.
"But this mandate ruins everything. Everyone is either rushing to embrace this impending dystopic nightmare, or is being demonized for questioning it…
"I'm being demonized because I literally cannot comply!"
Nietzsche's abyss gazed back like a Lovecraftian giant of eldritch depth, dragging Tristan's never quiet mind deeper and deeper, away from the light.
"It seems like just yesterday, everything was heaven on earth, then in less than a year, everything and everyone has collectively decided to go insane…"
A mix of anger, sadness, and melancholy rushed through his head.
It started with a tear, followed by another, then replaced by more as Tristan wiped them away.
He started to break down. Wiping away the tears was like trying to wipe away the rain.
Finally, Tristan calmed himself down, looking outside – looking for anything to save him from the abyss.
"Wait… That flash wasn't lightning?"
*BZRRRT… BZRRRT*
The storm warning on the radio went off, followed by a familiar text-to-speech voice
"Remain calm. The following severe weather alert is for the following counties: Anoka County, Pine County, Chisago County, Lexington County, and surrounding counties. Remain calm."
*BZRRRT… BZRRRT*
"Oh… OH! OH *profanity*! OH *profanity*!" Tristan snapped back to his senses, hauling himself downstairs into the basement. He didn't need to wait for the synth voice to tell him the reason.
. . .
As you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back.
- Nietzsche
. . .
Meanwhile
Terra - Somewhere between Kazimierz and Victoria;
By a seemingly infinite grassland bordering a boreal forest with a road acting as a cleanly cut border between grass and woods.
On the side of the road lay a single cabin and an Originium generator.
On the front porch staring into the sunset, a lone Perro operator rose from her chair, observing the crystals growing out of her right hand, up her arm: a symptom of mid-stage Oripathy.
The specter of death was looming over her head closer and closer…
"It" could come anytime between next week and two months.
She already "outfitted" her room for the occasion.
. . .
"Treatment time" She walked into the cabin, then the basement. She popped-open a hatch after pulling back the rug, revealing the below-basement entrance.
It only took a minute to descend the ladder into the secret sub-structure, but for her it felt like an hour.
Her hand throbbing from the crystals' invasion from her palm to the back, contained in a black, smooth finger-less glove.
She took the syringe and injected the treatment into her arm. After an initial moment, her hand finally ceased crying in pain.
She sat there for a moment looking at what seems to be a rook chess piece painted within a triangle on the side of the secret basement wall.
"May I enjoy my life and practice my art
Respected by all men and in all times\\\\"
She took off her jacket and read them again - pondering the meaning behind those words. She's read them a thousand times, but this was the first she actually thought deeper about it.
There was a power-generator, fueled by raw, originium ore. That's how she got infected.
Rhodes Island tried to teach her anything else, but there was nothing else she knew how to do. She tried to learn other things but nothing stuck – except originium generators and the power they provide: The measurements, maintenance, tools required, so-on. It was the only complicated subject she could reliably learn anything about and grasp.
In some twisted, cruel way of luck and fate, it was this job, holding this safe-house in the middle of nowhere that was only one she could reliably hold down. It was like she was born and doomed to always be in this role.
The job that costed her everything was the only one she knew how to do correctly.
She put her jacket back on.
Before ascending back up the ladder, she gathered into a bag and tossed up three extra syringes of treatment, three months of food and an extra blanket.
*BZRRRT* The radio on the desk blared.
*BZRRRT*
"*Leithanien profanity*!" She ascended the ladder, threw the bag back into the basement and secured the building.
. . .
Earth: Minnesota, same time.
Tristan almost had a premature heart attack when his phone rang.
"Hey mom! I'm already in the basement. Everything seems ok for now! No broken windows yet!"
"Oh, thank God you're all right!" An extremely relieved woman answered from the other end.
"I was just calling to tell you we're all safe in Wisconsin and it looks like we're stuck here for now. Is everything okay?!"
Tristan readjusted his position on the floor. "Yea mom. As I said, no broken windows yet." He tried to jest.
"That's g-… Tri-…tan."
"Uh… Mom?"
"Tri-…?"
"Mom you're breaking up."
"…"
Tristan looked at his phone and saw that the call ended. He called back.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN NO SIGNAL?!" He yelled at the synthetic voice notifying him.
*CRA-BOOM!* The lightning and wind yelled louder and louder outside the house. Tristan couldn't see anything from the basement.
He just had to lie down in the basement and wait out the storm.
If you're here, thank you for reading this bizarre work. I appreciate it, but I do need to address something;
I DID NOT COME HERE FOR ANY REAL WORLD CONTROVERSY. I made Tristan the way he is for IN STORY reasons. ALL THE DECISIONS MADE WILL BE EXPLAINED IN FUTURE CHAPTERS!
the timing of a story with characters like this could not be worse!
This story and the content, in accordance to what's going on is just a bad coincidence and nothing beyond that! I know there's a lot of anger, discussion, argument, hate and pain going on in the world right now and everyone has my condolences.
I state this again; it's just really bad timing!
Thank you very much for your time and for checking out Chapter 1.
Have a great rest of your day/night!
