A/N: Just a background on the protagonist.
There was once a lonely young fellow named Reverie Schneider. And he had grown up to be somewhat like a ghost, unknowing to himself and others.
Had I not been the same person as him, I would have begun with this.
And I hadn't begun writing this thesis just so you could say I didn't deserve it. Because I did. I am not here to beg for pity. Instead I hope for cooperation and faith. I am not blasphemous, to say the least. In fact, I believe that I would never come to regret my gambit.
It began in the year of clockwork and machinery; a new age for mankind. 1757, the automation era.
The first cell tower had just been built; the first supercomputer had hit the market. Oh, golly, what comes next?
My mother's funeral.
I was only nineteen when my father claimed that her life support failed. He was a damned liar.
He had told me to keep on studying and to go to university. His words "cheaters never win" reverberate in my mind when I eyed the rich handsome brat that smuggled that scholarship off my hands. Said brat came out of a luxury automobile and wore fine custom-tailored suits. It had seemed like angels playing trumpets were dancing around him
What is it that rich folks find amusing with snagging a poor fellow's scholarship? Believe it or not, I was valedictorian!
My father smoked on the hood of his busted multicab. He was just as ragged as his truck. "Let's go," said my father. And as if that was too kind, he added, "rascal."
I slid into the back of his multicab. Then I was reminded of my late mother's words:
"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."
Now that I'm grown, I find it strange that she would say that to a child. And despite my words, I don't believe I even got near getting that scholarship.
I decided to study linguistics in a community college where I met a handful of people.
So I decided to improve myself further.
By the words of my elder brother: "What you look like is the manifestation of your inner self."
My elder brother was my number one inspiration to keep on living. He even kept on living with my deadbeat father even though he was an illegitimate child. He was as wise as a great elder should be. He had comforted me when I didn't get into my dream university and had protected me from my father.
So for once in my life, I made my own saying:
"Lean is law."
I pasted a piece of eggshell paper on the wall of my dormitory quarters. Written in Hermanic as Anglo-Saxon did not exist then, "Lean is law!"
The moment I had written these words, I was ecstatic. I violently craved for the perfect body. Just for her, just for me. Here was the beginning, I said to myself.
A year or two passed, and my body was lean as ever. My stomach was flat. It was as if I had ten pieces of dinner rolls surgically placed on my stomach. My biceps were huge and hard. And I had an excellent V shaped body.
Now guess what comes next.
This time though, we didn't have a funeral.
Instead, all I got was a portable computer with multiple files on it.
And one of the notes inside the portable computer was a message from Levi, my brother.
"Live on."
It was no surprise, after the conflict, when my father sent me to a mental ward. All I had was the portable computer given by my brother.
It felt so strange, the death of my brother. Because for once in my life, I was truly alone. No comrade to lean on to.
The portable computer echoed a ding! A message.
« Thanks for agreeing! Here's the outline [ioak-outline.pdf] »
I stared at the message then the keyboard. It was difficult to type on as it was not in alphabetical order but I persevered.
Inside this portable computer had been a life my brother had in secrecy.
The moment I clicked the mouse it was as if a trumpet blew into my ear.
-
1759
A young man blew through the hole of a trumpet; the kind used for the eve or dawn of a new year. He was brown-haired and his growing mustache stretched as he grinned towards another young man. Due to the lightless moon, his face was barely seen besides his mouth that shimmered by the glow of fireworks.
"One." The darkened fellow began.
"Two." The other followed.
Then in unison, "Three."
The camera flashed.
"Is it recording, Reverie?"
"I think so. This new tech is too confusing."
"Never mind that. What were we about to say?"
He rummaged through his shirt pocket.
"Hurry, you rascal. Ugh, don't mind. We'll make up as we go."
He dropped his hand and nodded.
"Okay, let's do it."
"One, two, three—"
They hold each other closer to fit the camera's view.
"We are the harbingers of the apocalypse."