April 16, 2043
Sunlight had barely begun to creep through the window of Preston Warbly’s dorm room when his alarm clock began chiming. He stared up at a ceiling covered in superheroes and tried to force his eight-year-old mind to wake up. It was Friday which meant pancakes in the cafeteria and PE in the afternoon. His two favorite things in one day was why he loved Fridays at St. George’s Academy. Across the room in a high loft-bed, his roommate Charlie Lattimore slept soundly on his back. Charlie was usually an early riser and it was rare for Preston not to be shaken awake by him already late for breakfast.
Preston forced himself to swing his legs out from under the superhero covers. He sat up on the edge of the bed rubbing his eyes with the heels of both hands.
“Charrr-leeee?” Preston sang to his roommate. “Oh, Charrrr-leeee? Wakey wakey, eggs and bakee.”
Charlie did not stir in the slightest, so Preston hopped down and made his way to the closet-sized bathroom to brush his teeth. On his way, he passed the gaming corner with its stack of consoles under two fifty-five-inch monitors. A pile of controllers, VR headsets and gloves sat between the crown jewels of the boys’ room—two fully immersive VR chairs. Just about every dorm room at St. George’s had at least one VR chair, but Preston and Charlie were among the few with a pair. Technically, the boys had three if the busted one in Preston’s closet counted.
Preston’s temper could sometimes result in smashed consoles, broken tablets, and at least one irreparably damaged VR chair.
In the bathroom mirror, Preston caught sight of one gaming monitor—the one with a spider’s web of cracks radiating from its center. Two nights ago, Preston had lost to Charlie at Speed Krank 7 for the fourth time straight, so he punched the screen. Seeing it was a reminder that he needed to call his mom and dad about getting a replacement.
With a mouthful of foamy toothpaste and a drippy toothbrush in one hand, he said, “Charlie, come on. Don’t think I won’t leave without you.”
Preston finished brushing his teeth and washed his face. He strode to a pile of clothes in the center of the room and picked up his uniform bottoms from the day before. He slid them on as he tried to wake Charlie again.
“Charlie,” Preston said with a little more force. “Let’s go. Get up. We’ll get stuck with the crusty pancakes from the bottom of the serving thing if we don’t hurry.”
Amongst the pile of dirty clothes, he found a white collared shirt emblazoned with St. George’s seal. He was pretty sure he had only worn it twice that week. He kicked aside dirty shirts, shorts, and socks looking for his shoes. His search brought him near Charlie’s bed. He gave the entire thing a shove.
“Let’s go,” he shouted with his head down, still searching. “You know what my dad says, ‘sleep is for poor people.’”
Seeing Charlie lying there reminded Preston of how much he couldn’t wait to be sixteen years old. Then his dad would let him start taking Z. Legally, he was supposed to wait until he was eighteen, but his dad had said that, as a Warbly, Preston would be ahead of everyone else for the rest of his life. He might as well start Z early too.
Preston continued searching for a while longer before finding one shoe under Charlie’s backpack and the other behind a dusty game console. He sat on the carpet to slide the shoes on and gave Charlie one more plea.
“Charlie, seriously. Get up, man.”
Charlie didn’t move. Preston marched over to Charlie’s bed and shook him hard by the shoulders, bouncing him against the mattress, but he didn’t budge.
“Let’s go. Stop playin’. I’m starving,” Preston shouted. He shook Charlie again. And again. And again. Charlie didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move a muscle.
“OK. Still playing this game? I know what will wake you up.” Preston had no other options. He stomped over to the sink and filled a paper cup to the very brim with cold tap water.
“You leave me no choice, Charles Lattimore,” said Preston. “Wake up or you’re getting wet.” Charlie made no reply to his threat.
“OK. One… two… three.” Preston dumped the full cup of cold water on Charlie’s face and bent over double, laughing himself silly.
“Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t believe that just happened,” Preston said, unable to catch his breath. “But for real, I’ll help you get cleaned up. Come on, let’s go. I am really hungry.”
Charlie didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound. His face hadn’t changed one bit. Not even half a smile. He didn’t squint or furrow his brow. Nothing.
Preston’s stomach fluttered.
Charlie was either the best actor on earth or something was very wrong.
Mr. Robards, Assistant Head of School at St. George’s Academy, left the main office and was on his way to the cafeteria when the Warbly boy ran up in a state of panic.
“What… what do you mean he won’t wake up?” Robards asked.
“I’m telling you,” Preston shouted, “he… won’t… wake… UP. I tried everything. Literally, everything and he just won’t wake up.”
Mr. Robards assumed it was a joke at first, but Charlie was not the type. Maybe Preston had talked him into it, but something felt off. Preston’s insistence and concern seemed genuine.
“I mean, he won’t wake up. Something is wrong, Mr. Robards.” Preston looked more panicked by the minute.
“Preston, tell me what happened. What did you boys get into last night?” Drug and alcohol use among kids Preston’s age was not uncommon.
“Nothing. I swear, Mr. Robards. Please hurry.” Preston pulled at Mr. Robards’s arm.
Mr. Robards could usually tell when a kid was lying and all his instincts told him Preston was telling the truth.
“OK. OK.” Mr. Robards nodded. “Hang on a second.”
Mr. Robards whipped around, poked his head in the door of the main office, and called out to the school secretary. “Call the nurse. Tell her to go up to Charlie Lattimore’s room. I’m on my way up there right now.”
Mr. Robards had gone twenty feet when he stopped abruptly and ran back to the open door to the main office.
“Actually, just go ahead and call an ambulance,” he yelled at the secretary. She nodded her reply. “And tell them to send an actual doctor—not a drone.”
Resuming his half-run to the boys’ room, he pulled a tablet from his coat pocket and began searching the school’s database. He found Charlie’s parents’ contact information and made ready to call them the instant he confirmed something was really wrong with the kid. There were several numbers for both parents and, this being a weekday, he thought work numbers would be best to try first. Glancing at their profiles he saw Charlie’s mom worked at McBane Group. He had no idea what the McBane Group did, but he recognized the father’s employer right away—Ventana Inc.
April 16, 2043
Metropolitan Tribune
Mysterious Illness Infects Child of Prominent Family, One Front for the People Claims Responsibility
Eight-year old Charles Lattimore III, son of powerful pharmaceutical executive Charles M. Lattimore Jr, was taken to St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital this morning in what doctors say is a state of “un-wakeable sleep.”
“We’ve never seen this before,” said Doctor Hassan Uday in a press conference. “We’re referring to it as acute hyper-somnolence or AHS. The patient is in a semi-permanent sleep. Unlike a coma, there are clear signs of brain and other physiological activity.”
Even without a clear idea of what the disease is or what has caused it, doctors remain encouraged.
“We can keep him alive indefinitely, similar to comatose patients,” says Uday. “But a cure or treatment is going to require more time and more research.”
Hours after Lattimore’s illness went public, the terror group One Front for the People claimed responsibility for the mysterious poisoning, but police are skeptical. “We think it’s likely that the organization known as OFP is simply looking to cause more fear,” said a police spokesperson. “But we consider every claim seriously until we can prove it otherwise.”
Just weeks following the first in a series of bombings that have rocked the city to its core, an alleged representative for OFP released a recorded audio message to media outlets stating the terror group had poisoned Lattimore.
April 20, 2043
The Metro Sun News
Who is safe? Third “Boarding School Syndrome” Case Discovered
Following the third case of what people are calling Boarding School Syndrome, doctors are ramping up their work with police to stop its spread. This comes after One Front for the People, the domestic-terror group, yet again claimed they are behind the sickness.
In their statement, OFP parroted previous statements that they are targeting children of the wealthy to “bring to light the inequities that exist in our society brought on by the invention of the vile, unnatural pill that eliminates one of humankind’s most basic needs in the name of the propagation of wealth for the already wealthy.”
Some experts still remain skeptical OFP could pull off such an attack, but officials state that they continue to take their claims seriously.
“We just don’t know what it is,” states Dr. Joyceanne Luss, Chief of Internal Medicine at Metropolitan General Hospital. “And until we do, we can’t claim to know anything about its origin or what vectors are spreading it. Three cases so close to each other are… worrisome.”
April 21, 2043
The City Daily Post
OFP Claims Fifth Bombing
The fifth suicide bomber attack in One Front for the People’s reign of terror struck Sundheim Plaza today, killing fourteen people and wounding at least thirty-seven. The recent string of bombings has rattled city and law enforcement officials. Dozens have been slain and hundreds wounded in what the mayor is calling “the darkest time our peaceful and prosperous city could ever imagine.”
The usual claimant, the group calling themselves One Front for the People or OFP, has once again come forward to take credit for the grisly violence. One Front for the People, a domestic terror organization once thought to be a disorganized band of half-hearted vandals, has re-emerged with deadly force over the last several weeks…