“This can’t be the end.” One of them whispered, watching the starving, woebegone people, “how has Outopía (Ought-op(Long “O”)-ea) have come to this?”
“Can’t say I know, sir. I really can’t.” “Here it comes. Just like last week”
“Our city used to be wonderous. It used to live up to its name.” Normally, Nathaniel wouldn’t mind talks like this, but he’d heard it dozens of times. At least, he thought so. He didn’t count.
The Sub-Minster continued as they stepped into an elevator. “I remember the time when we had meat. Beef, pork, and chicken. Oh, chicken-”
“There’s been rumors floating around lately.”
“Oh?” The Sub-Minster replied. Nathaniel nearly dropped his jaw. The Sub-Minster rarely stopped talking about chicken.
“Yes, there might be a rebellion of sorts. There isn’t any strong proof, but I did find something.” Nathaniel dug into his jacket pocket. The Sub-Minster looked with raised eyebrows. “It’s this.” Nathaniel held out a water-stained note, reused from an order slip.
<p style=”text-align: center;”>”Beta 7.9:</p>
<p style=”text-align: center;”>You were right again.</p>
<p style=”text-align: center;”>They do have the weapon.</p>
<p style=”text-align: center;”>We must Resurge our efforts.</p>
<p style=”text-align: center;”>We will have Aitiológisi”</p>
The Sub-Minster looked from the torn note to Nathaniel with a glare and said. “Your path ends here” The elevator ding and the doors slid open. Something thumped Nathaniel’s back and the world melded into a pool of black.