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Running through the thick snow with all my energy, I rapidly approached the massive hole we had spotted once we entered this area. I was hoping, desperately hoping, that what we had just stumbled upon would be what would drag us out of certain death. And, against all odds, there it was.
A Generator.
It had taken us weeks, and we'd gotten separated due to a blizzard on our way northward, but despite all that we still found it. Sitting right at the bottom of that massive hole, deactivated but definitely still functional, was a Generator. A heat-giving miracle in this Frostland, one that not even the howling winter wind could overpower, provided we managed to toss enough coal at it to keep us warm.
After everything that happened, there could still be a chance at survival. I knew we shouldn't have tossed in the towel just yet! If we played our cards right, and worked together, we could carve out an actual life for ourselves here. It'd be perilous, we'd have to make some drastic changes to our lifestyle as well, and we'd also have to build everything from the ground up given how abandoned this place is... but it's still a possibility. One that we can't waste.
Shivering a little from the cold, I turned my head back to the rest of the group behind me, I shouted out to them. "It's here! The Generator is here!" I called out with excitement. The moment they heard me, everyone began rapidly running toward me, reinvigorated with strength as they pushed through the harsh cold. Stopping beside me, they looked down at the Generator, and I couldn't help but smile. "We've got a fighting chance, now! Winterhome should be close by, too, meaning we can call on them for aid once we're set up."
"Easier said than done, but... I agree. It's a bit weird how abandoned this place is, but we can make it work." One of the Engineers piped up, rubbing his hands together to try and preserve some warmth with a smile on his face. Even the more pessimistic of us feels hopeful with this before us. "I think I see some coal down there. If we get the Generator up and running, we should be able to start building some temporary housing while we gather the resources needed to get ourselves permanently situated. Then... I think we should look for the others, the ones who got separated in that blizzard."
At the mention of that, the general mood of the group went down almost immediately. Of the few hundred we started with, barely a hundred remained. Then, we lost a fifth to the frost. Now, there are only eighty of us remaining, and we don't know what happened to the rest. "...Yeah. We should search for them, if only to bury their bodies. They deserve that much." Another refugee said solemnly.
"Agreed. Before we do that, though, we have to get down there first. Once we get down there, we should also decide on a Captain, but let's take things one at a time for now." Another Engineer responded, wiping some snow off her face. Not that it does much, but it clears her vision briefly. "Can't rush things, after all, can we?"
"No, you're right. Let's get started then, everyone." I nodded, getting ready to climb down the hole. "Let's build the last city on Earth. One that will survive, no matter what. Let's build New London."
The City Will Survive
It has been a long, gruelling ten days, but we've finally gotten ourselves mostly set up down in this hole. Really, despite how inconvenient it was to get down here, the fact we're building New London down here at all means that we've basically never got to worry about the wind. It just passes by above us now most of the time, which is a nice change of pace compared to getting blasted by it constantly.
The Captain we elected to put in charge has been doing good work, too. We've all got warm places to sleep in, even if it's all just tents at the moment, and we're starting to stockpile the resources needed to build up New London even further. We have even gotten started on steel production, which led into creating coal thumpers so that we always have a steady supply of coal to fuel our Generator.
Not just that, we've also been finding some refugees in the Frostland. Not ones that were separated, unfortunately, but it does mean we've got a lot more hands on deck now. Even without making contact with Winterhome for aid, we've been doing quite well thus far... Even if we've had to make a few sacrifices. Longer work hours, for one. For another...
"Here you go. Next!" A cook said as he handed me the bowl of warm soup, which I took into my hands, muttering a quick thank-you before finding a seat at an empty table. I never really enjoyed soup as a meal all that much- It's an economic and efficient meal, sure, but I never enjoyed it even back when mother made it, and somehow this stuff is worse. Thin, barely filling, almost tasteless. I can get the reasoning behind this decision, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.
Still... I dip my wooden spoon into the bowl of thin soup and shove it into my mouth, letting out a quiet sigh as I keep sipping it up. Food is food at the end of the day, and I guess it could be worse. I'm not starving, for one, and it's not like the soup is totally tasteless. Have to find the silver lining somewhere, right?
I keep an ear out for the other people in the Cookhouse, the mix of Engineers and various workers that share some talk with one another before they have to go back to work. A routine I've gotten rather used to. "The temperature's going to drop soon, so I recommend putting on another blanket. The tents are heated, but it'll only make it barely liveable." A scientist tells a table of workers, shrugging lightly. "Fortunately it will rise a day later, so it's not going to be a permanent thing."
"And here I thought negative thirty degrees was bad... Well, thank God it's only for a day, I suppose." A worker laments, taking a sip out of his bowl of soup. "Honestly, I'm kinda jealous of the folks who get to live in those bunkhouses. I'm still stuck in a crowded tent."
One of the workers, a builder, gets a bit annoyed at that statement. "Hey, don't rush us, okay? Building a bunkhouse isn't exactly something that can be done in a night's work. The fact we're even erecting them so quickly is a miracle-" The builder is interrupted by a snort, and looks toward the person in front of him, who seemed to be on the verge of laughing. "What is it?"
"You're erecting them so quickly- Pfttt!" The worker bursts out into loud laughter, slamming a hand onto the table and spilling a bit of his soup as he devolves into giggles. The rest of the table follows suit, though the builder seems rather miffed about it. Despite that, though, I can still spot a faint smile on his lips. At the sight of that, I can't help but smile as well. Good-natured banter between friends never ceases to brighten my day, even if I'm not part of it. It feels like a piece of life from back in London. Things might have kind of sucked, but we still had a good time.
Perhaps things can be the same here, in New London. I think that can happen, anyway. We've been doing quite well thus far after all, so I'm feeling quite... hopeful. Yes, I think that's the right word. It feels like no matter what happens, we'll have each others backs. The city will survive, no matter what we're faced with.
The City Will Survive
Once we were fully on our feet, our Captain sent out a scout team to look for Winterhome. In the end, it resulted in a marvel of technology, an Automaton, being sent to help with our work. Despite the... less than stellar use it was put in before the Empire fell, it was still an incredibly useful piece of tech that made our lives a whole lot easier. A worker that would never tire came with that benefit, naturally.
However, this great boon came at a steep cost. That being...
"Winterhome is dead... Everyone's dead... There's no hope for survival in this... accursed wasteland. You're all doomed. You must escape!" A severely frostbitten man cried out before a large crowd, myself among them, before falling over and stepping foot into death's door, leaving behind a revelation that shattered the morale of New London. Winterhome has... collapsed? How could that be, it was always the most well-prepared of the Generator Cities, an incredibly advanced bastion of humanity that could weather the Frost easily. So how could this be?
How could Winterhome simply fall apart like this? And, more importantly, if not even Winterhome could survive the Frost, could New London even manage to pull through? We thought we could rely on Winterhome to patch up anything that went wrong on our end, perhaps send some resources, but if Winterhome is gone and we're alone here, without any aid...
"Coming here was a fools errand. We should go back!" One worker cried out in panic, making a mad dash back to his bunkhouse. The first one to break. The first of many.
"Why did Winterhome fall? Are we all going to die here too?" Another worker murmured audibly, shocked by the news the Winterhome refugee delivered, his worries stoked by the panicked cries of the worker who ran. The second.
"We should've stayed in London. Surely it couldn't have fallen like this!" One more worker declared, denying the image of a frost-covered London that had been burned into our minds the day before we embarked upon our long journey. Foolish. The third to break down, but not the straw that would break the camel's back.
No, it was this one. "How are we supposed to survive if they didn't?" An Engineer said to nobody in particular, voicing the most stressing concern that this revelation has brought to our table. Winterhome, the most advanced and prepared Generator city, one which had the direct backing and use by the Empire before it collapsed, had now followed suit. If, even despite that, it had fallen... then what are the chances of new London doing what it couldn't, especially without the expected aid we thought we'd receive?
"They're all dead?! How will we survive without any help? We have to go back to London! There's no hope for us here in this frozen desert!" A worker- Arthur, from the Cookhouse, yelled. Turning on the back of my foot, I walked away from the commotion, my own thoughts brewing in my head silently. Winterhome had fallen, yes, but that doesn't mean anything just yet. We've held our own against the elements for fifteen days, we can continue to do so.
That isn't what worries me. What does worry me, is what the impact of this fear that has gripped the heart of New London will be... If there's a mass exodus, like what some are proposing, New London won't just take a hit to manpower that it simply can't afford to have, those people who leave will almost certainly die. London is a wasteland, it has absolute fallen without a shadow of a doubt. If they go, they will be wandering the Frostland to a place that will only kill them.
For their sakes, I hope they reconsider. For our sakes, I hope we remain steadfast and strong. Captain, don't fail me now, please. The city will survive. It has to, with everyone preferably still here and alive, if possible.
The City Will Survive
Standing in the middle of a crowd gathered in front of the newly-built Propaganda Center and the worker in charge of running the building, I stare at the building, which was equal parts elegant and foreboding. The worker in charge gestured toward the articles and posters she had made, guiding the eyes of those gathered to them while I focused on the building before me. So, this is what you decided to do in order to keep the order, Captain.
How far will you go in order to maintain this, I wonder? Now that you control the news, you can puppeteer the narrative, give people hope. It's what they want, certainly, but at the same time... perhaps this is the first step toward crossing that line which should never be crossed. Looking away from the building, I glance at the articles pinned to the wall. 'Guardsman saves child', says one. 'Captain Signs Moonshine Law' says another. The list continues, filled with articles that praise the Captain's decisions and highlights the guard's heroism.
I can't deny that they haven't been effective. Crime has been reduced, now that there are people watching out for any occurring, which I can hardly complain about. So far, the Captain hasn't gone too far just yet... but still, I can't help but worry. What are the lengths that he will go to for the sake of New London, and how much far are the citizens willing to support his actions?
Then again, considering what could happen if the Londoners gain enough traction and leave New London ...Maybe this isn't too bad. Compared to the city falling apart and the Londoners dying out in the Frostland for the sake of a goal that would only kill them in the process of its completion, perhaps maintaining order in this way was simply a necessary evil. I hope that's the case, anyhow, and that our Captain has the self-control to not go beyond what must be done. If that's the case, then maybe this was for the best.
I'm still going to refrain from going anywhere near the Propaganda Center, though. If the rest of the citizens want their reassurance, then so be it, but I'm going to at least try to avoid it so that my own thoughts aren't tainted by things other people try to plant in it. I'll probably succumb to it sooner or later, admittedly, but I'm still going to try.
"Don't toss your humanity aside for the city, Captain." I murmur quietly, the boisterous cheers and yells from the rest of the crowd drowning me out as I turn away from the crowd and slowly walk back to my bunkhouse. "The city will survive, but only if we don't cross the line. I pray you exert caution, so that we don't lose what we are fighting the world for at the end of it all."
The City Will Survive
Taking my last swig of beer, I gently place the empty glass on the counter and slide it toward the bartender. "Thanks for the drink." I say quietly, placing a small tip on the counter as I step foot out of the public house, leaving behind the bustling building and shutting the door tight behind me, making my way toward the Infirmary so I can get started on work. Passing by a few guard towers and keeping my head down, I ponder the current situation of New London.
The Captain's decisions, while... questionably authoritarian, have done good. The panic that came from the fall of Winterhome has mostly subsided, and while the Londoners are still causing problems by stealing resources, they seemingly haven't been growing in numbers for a few days, which I am thankful for. Despite that, however...
"Listen to me! The Captain is not capable of weathering the Frostland, if Winterhome fell so easily, what's to say that New London won't as well?!" A Londoner preaches to a group of citizens, who don't particularly seem to care for what he's saying. "We aren't as well equipped as they were, and they still collapsed entirely! Their city was a wreck, you heard the scouts! We have to abandon this place, before we succumb to their fate as well!"
A worker scoffs. "Please, you heard the Winterhome refugee, didn't you? It fell because some army captain got a big head and thought he could boss people around, Winterhome fell because an incompetent buffoon was in the leadership role, not 'cause they weren't prepared. Our Captain has been good, he wouldn't make the same mistake." He says bluntly, many of the other workers nodding in agreement.
I shake my head gently at that notion, staring up at the guard tower looming over us. Winterhome fell because of an authoritarian regime... Perhaps our Captain is more reasonable, but there's no denying that he's following their footsteps. Guard towers, a Propaganda Center, and the new Pledge of Loyalty law? None of this bodes well to me, not at all. Perhaps the earlier laws were reasonable enough, but a Pledge of Loyalty, asking for people to spy on friends and family, and then promptly rat them out to the authorities...
"Hmph. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, I guess." I murmured quietly. The certain doom that the Londoner crisis would put us in, and the authoritarian laws signed by the Captain to counteract it. Neither are things I want to succeed, but... I suppose the Londoner crisis would be worse. Barely, though.
Letting out a frosty sigh, I walk past the crowd gathering in front of the Londoner preacher and step foot into the Infirmary. Nobody was frostbitten or sick today, thankfully, but that's no excuse to neglect this building. Have to keep things clean and sanitary, after all. It's our duty to keep as many people alive as possible, even if it's just so that we don't suffer a loss to the workforce of New London.
...I pause for a moment, re-examining my thoughts. When did I begin thinking like this? When did the loss of life go from a tragedy to just an inconvenience for the city? Running a hand through my hair, I let out a shaky sigh as I lean against a wall, trying to stabilise myself. It doesn't work. When did I go from so hopeful for this city, thinking we could reclaim some fragments of our old lives to becoming so... worried? Pessimistic? What even is the word to describe myself right now, I don't even know-
Deep breaths. Take in a deep breath. Don't panic because of this, focus! Don't let yourself get dragged into the same panicked spiral that the Londoners fell for, you have a brain, so use the bloody thing!
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I feel myself start to calm down as I continue leaning against the wall. This is... not right. No, it can't be, all the dead and sick are living breathing people who are more than just some cog in a workforce. I have to remember that. Don't let the mentality of New London get to me, don't let this dogma of order and toil infect my thoughts and change who I am. I don't want that to happen.
The city will survive, but what about our humanity? Please, God, let us retain it by the end of it all.
The City Will Survive
"Our Captain is trying to keep you content, ignorant, and under control." An angry ranter spits out with disdain in front of a large crowd, gesturing toward to the Propaganda Center and the newly build Agitators, constantly blaring recorded messages from the Captain telling us to work harder for the sake of New London. I've... gotten used to secretly wearing earplugs underneath my hat now, admittedly. I don't want to constantly hear that.
Staring out the window at the ranter, he continues, unaware of me in the audience. "Remember the New Poor Law? The workhouses? That's how we live now! We're supposed to work and be quiet! But it's not too late. We can still fix things, and stop the Captain before he causes New London to fall into utter tyranny!" He declares. Glancing down at the crowd before him, only a handful seem to really be taking his words to heart and realise the situation they're in right now, but the rest...
The rest don't seem to care about what the ranter says, even though he's right. Guard towers keeping watch over the entire city, a prison to lock up dissenters, a Propaganda Center to control the narrative and spread idea that it's only through toil and order that we survive, the Pledge of Loyalty law, and now the patrols by guards? I've witnessed the guards punish people for being discontent over the Captain's leadership, shutting down any discussion saying so. It's gotten to the point where some people are having to look over their shoulder constantly...
...That's not even considering how the Pledge of Loyalty works. It's a system rife with corruption- I've already heard a few accounts first-hand from people being blackmailed due to the system. New London might be the last bastion of humanity in the Frostland, but in some ways, dying out there might've been a better idea, compared to the slow choking out of dissent. Plus, even when functioning properly, it's...
I don't even know what to say, really. It's so hard to feel optimistic here- Hope for the future is high, and the citizens believe that we'll be able to survive out here in the Frostland no matter what happens, but how much of that is genuine and how much of it is a consequence of the brainwashing propaganda and oppressive guards silencing all thoughts saying otherwise?
Was it truly worth it, in order to stop the mass exodus of the Londoners? Was it truly worth the sacrifices of freedom and privacy, of even having our own thoughts being taken away? I don't think so- Evidently, neither does the angry ranter, but the rest of New London?
They don't. They want the order, the reassurance, the security. Honestly, the levels at which they continue to support the Captain's decisions are... staggering. Certainly, he has made good calls, and the research from the various scientists ordered from him has given us houses to sleep in instead of bunkhouses or tents, and the Generator is not just more efficient, but heats a wider area, and we even have some amenities to relieve our stress with. Still, those laws of totalitarian order, sprinkled in between...
I let out a small sigh. At this point, I hope... I hope the Londoners leave. Death out in the Frostland would perhaps be more merciful than the situation currently in New London, and perhaps they may even stumble upon another Generator city to live in, one that hasn't devolved into something akin to this just yet. It's a fleeting fantasy, unlikely, considering our surroundings, but... who knows?
Maybe they'll even stumble upon an abandoned Generator site and build their own city. Considering how things seem to be going in New London, I... I hope that's what happens. The city will survive, but at the cost of our freedom and thoughts. I pray that they are braver compared to the coward that is I, unwilling to say anything about the situation and silently going along with everything.
The City Will Survive
...Well, there goes that hope. The Londoners have collapsed, and rejoined New London, unwilling to leave. That's supposed to be a good thing, it's what I wanted at the start of it all, certainly, but now I feel rather sad about it. Funny how things work at times. The Londoners were dragged back into the fold by totalitarian laws that should have further justified their desire to escape, but instead brought them back in. Maybe they were cowards at heart too and just wanted a reason to ditch their mission.
I could hardly blame them if that was the reason, I suppose. Yet, there's this small feeling of... anger, deep in my heart. The Londoners, because of their panic, caused the Captain to put into practice these totalitarian laws that crush any notion of dissent. No matter how you cut it, the reason for all of this happening is because of them, and they didn't even have the courtesy to at least do what they said they would and leave. Maybe that would've made me happier, because at least it'd mean someone was able to get away from New London. Instead, they're back in the fold, and now?
Now, we have an oppressive city that is one law away from having the Captain as a despot. Well, more than he already was, I suppose. If there was any humour capable of being extracted from this situation, I suppose it'd be the fact that the citizens of New London were the ones clamouring for all of this to occur. They wanted order, and they got order in the form of an guards stamping out dissent and brainwashing propaganda being spread.
...It's getting harder to get out of bed, now, with all of this looming over my head. I can't even look forward to reading some poetry anymore either, now that the poet drank himself to death. His writing about the death of hope- real hope, not the hope created by crushing dissent, rang true for me. At least I still have a few pieces of his work to look over if I feel like I want to, but still. That's one more person in this already small group of people aware about the situation and how bad it could get gone. A shame, truly.
I wonder if the Captain had the courtesy to at least bury his body. I'm not exactly in the mood to ever visit the cemetery unless I absolutely have to, so I guess I'll never know.
Stepping foot out of my warm house, I shut the door behind me and walk down the streets, looking at the swathes of people surrounding me. All so happy, so hopeful, seemingly content with the city that they live in despite fully knowing what the city has become. Seeing all that, it feels as if I'm completely separated from the rest of them. As if I'm all alone, the only one that seems to care.
The city will survive. That's all that matters to them. Lowering my head, I continue walking, taking out some earplugs and shoving them in to block out the noise. Off to work I go...
The City Will Survive
The Great Frost. That was what New London would be facing soon- A massive, terrible frost storm that had forced the massive amount of refugees to come here for shelter and aid, guided by someone called Nansen, and it's coming within a week. Thank God, the Captain hasn't forsaken humanity completely, and accepted all the refugees into New London despite the protests from some of the other citizens. Yet, even that small bit of silver lining can't ease the worry in my heart.
We've weathered negative seventy degrees. New London has come a long was since first being founded, but something of this magnitude is unheard of. From what the refugees and scientists say, it's an unfathomably cold storm that utterly decimated everything in its path. Not even the Generator, capable of counteracting the harsh cold, would be able to fully counteract it. It's an insurmountable, hopeless obstacle. The only thing we can hope for is that we'll be able to somehow weather the Great Frost, but as it stands, that seems nearly impossible.
Heating the entirety of New London to at least slightly mitigate the Great Frost, stockpiling enough food to feed all of us, the preparations that the entirety of New London has to make is... daunting, to say the least. Maybe, just maybe, the Captain's totalitarian laws will save the day... It will, at the very least, keep the more rowdy and panicked citizens in line and prevent them from causing further problems.
I hate how I'm somehow appreciating the Captain's decisions in this regard. It feels like a betrayal to everything I've held to since coming to New London, but it's simply the truth of how I feel. Maybe I should visit the public house to relieve some of this tension in a more carnal way, later... Though, maybe that'd just add to this feeling of betrayal. It's not as if the women who work there want to, after all.
...How little that thought dissuades me is sickening. No, I can't resort to that, I'll just try to bargain for another glass of beer, if only for the sake of my own guilty conscience.
The Captain has started actively sending out scouting parties for the remaining refugees, the ones which were too weak to come to New London. A decision I can support, truly, but one that could come with heavy consequences. From what a few cooks are saying, we barely even have the food rations for everyone in New London to subsist off of for even half a week. What will happen if we invite more people into New London, who are already weak and frostbitten, and are unable to help with the efforts to prepare for the Great Frost?
A heavy feeling of dread fills me. The more I consider the situation, the more hopeless I feel. Yet, I must set it aside, and we as citizens, even with my disagreements when it comes to how New London is ran, must work together if we have any hope of surviving the Great Frost. Otherwise, I fear we may become one of the doubtless many Generator cities swept aside and destroyed.
God, grant us this miracle. The city will survive, no matter the cost. It must, otherwise everything we have done and fought for in this Frostland will have been for naught.
The City Will Survive
A shiver runs down my spine as I stare out the frosted window, the frigid gale having finally hit New London, rendering the benefit of building the city down here null and void, alongside making even the Generator creak under its pressure. The time has come. The Captain has, against all odds, managed to get enough supplies to last a week. The Great Frost has descended upon us, and now all we can hope for is that the city is well-prepared enough to survive even this insurmountable obstacle.
Even despite our Captain's best efforts, however, it doesn't seem like we'll be able to. Negative ninety degrees, and it's slated to fall even further soon. Our houses are just barely insulated enough to keep us warm from the Great Frost for now, but the moment the temperature dips further, I fear we'll soon become frozen despite our Captain's best efforts. With that thought on my mind, I begin spiralling into a stream of what-ifs.
What if this is how it all ends? New London, the last remaining city on Earth, destroyed like this? All the things we've done, all the freedoms we've sacrificed in the name of the city's survival, all for naught? All the refugees we've accepted, who are counting on New London as their final hope at survival, their struggle rendered pointless because even we weren't prepared for this oncoming storm?
What if the storm lasts more than a week, and all the supplies we've stockpiled aren't enough? What if all the coal New London has gathered runs out, and we can't keep the Generator and steam hubs powered anymore? So many possibilities, and each of them as terrifying as the last. Letting out a frosty breath, I rub my hands together as the cold begins settling in. I can't let myself dwell on these possibilities for long... I'm going to drive myself insane if I do.
"Bloody hell... The end really is here, isn't it?" One of the people living in this house say suddenly, standing beside me as he stares out the window as well, which at this point has become nearly opaque from all the frost covering it. "How the fuck are we supposed to survive this?"
I give him a gentle shrug. "I'm not sure, honestly. We can only hope that we're able to somehow pull through, though. Otherwise... well, we won't be alive to see the end of that possibility, now will we?" I joke a little, smiling lightly as I turn around, heading for the door. "Come, let's get to work. The only way we're going to survive the Great Frost is if we band together, after all." I say, slowly walking toward the door and shivering the moment I open it, having been blasted by a strong gust of cold air. Right, the streets aren't as warm as the houses. I forgot about that.
Glancing at the heater attached to my chest, I mutter a small prayer as I step foot outside, followed by my companion from the window as we go our separate ways to our individual stations. Looking around New London, seeing the guard towers, the Agitators, the Propaganda Center looming in the distance... a new thought springs to my mind. One that I can't lay to rest.
Once the storm passes, and New London survives, will it all have been worth it? The question that had come to my mind from when the Londoner crisis was still active, has now chosen the worst possible time to re-emerge. These measures, as oppressive as they are, have managed to keep New London in line and grant us a fighting chance at survival. But, if it came at such a heavy cost, was it truly worth it? the objective answer is obviously yes, several hundred lives are worth just about any sacrifice taken to save them, but...
Once everything has settled, what will be the aftermath of all these decisions? The city will survive, certainly, but after the threat has blown over, will another one inevitably arise due to the consequences of the totalitarian laws signed by our Captain? I feel as if I know the answer, but if I do... then it will be one I dread.
The City Will Survive
Negative a hundred and fifty degrees celsius.
Running around the Infirmary, working as hard as I can to keep as many of the frostbitten citizens alive, that's the number that sticks to the front of my thoughts. The eye of the storm, the worst of the Frost. Scientists say that the Great Frost will pass soon after, but... it's so cold, nearly everyone has abandoned their posts. Everyone except us, the people who run the medical posts and infirmary.
We can't abandon our stations. If we do, the sick who are here will die without a shadow of a doubt. Even as frostbite creeps up on myself, I can't allow myself to give up and toss in the towel just yet. If there's any hope, whatsoever, that we may somehow be able to survive the storm still alive, then it is my duty as a doctor to make sure as many people as possible are alive to see another day. We've made it this far, we just need to push past the final stretch, and we'll have survived. I know it.
Working overtime, not sleeping a minute, I gesture toward the other workers here to check up on a few of the other patients as I quickly take stock of how the gravely ill are doing. Several have been amputated, and are now using prosthetics. Others are a foot in the grave, and the lucky few are managing to somehow recover despite the temperature. Seeing this sight, I quirk a slight smile as I turn my head to the completely frozen over window. How long have I been up? How much longer will the storm last?
So many people have sacrificed themselves for New London's survival. The forty-five volunteers who went down into the coal mines and died in order to give us a fighting chance at survival, the scout teams who never made it back in time, the people who have died to frostbite due to the cold in spite of our best efforts. Hugging myself tightly, I force myself to move forward. There are still people who need to be checked on, and I can't waste a second thinking about anything except saving lives.
I have to honour the people who have perished in my own way, and ensure that as few people follow them into the afterlife as possible.
The city will survive. The people will survive. I will do as much as I can to ensure it.
The City Will Survive
Standing stock still outside of the infirmary, I feel the howling gale of the Great Frost slowly fade away, the temperature of the city begin rising. Upon the dawn of our forty-ninth day in New London, the entire city falls into silence as we take in the rising temperature. From negative a hundred and fifty degrees, to negative thirty at a rapid pace. Soon, it feels almost sweltering, and the only thing the people around me can think of first to do?
Cheer! Cheer that they- that we, as a collective, have survived the Great Frost! That against all feasible odds, despite the fact that the storm we were faced with was almost insurmountable, we still managed to pull it off! New London has defied fate, nature itself, and lived to see another day!
I can't help myself either, erupting into a joyous cry as I raise my hands to the air and toss aside the extra-thick layer of clothing I wore to keep myself warm. For the time being, I no longer had any use for it. "It's over, I cannot believe it, it's finally over..." One worker murmurs, staring up at the sky with a plainly-visible expression of ecstatic surprise, his arms hanging limply by his side and the tools he held in them clattering to the ground.
"We survived! We made it!" Exclaimed an Engineer, jumping with joy as he let out a bombastic cry of sheer happiness. Soon enough, every other citizen of New London joined them, and the city went from eerie silence to a cacophony of joyous celebration. For a moment, I couldn't help but join them as well- Why wouldn't I? We surpassed the odds! We did what we thought was impossible, conquered the improbable, and survived the Great Frost! Such a feat deserves celebration, doesn't it?!
And yet, the moment I locked eyes with that same, looming Propaganda Center from long ago, that heart sank and the overwhelming joy I felt was dashed. All too quickly, everything came to me at once, and now that I was no longer occupying myself with work or other concerns... I came to that dreadful conclusion.
We started as formless rabble. Refugees from London, escaping northward to find somewhere to carve out a life in. Battered by the elements, when we first found the Generator, we were ecstatic, and elected one of us as Captain to lead us. A trustworthy, charismatic leader would do good for us, we thought. And, in a lot of ways, he was. But in others... perhaps not so much.
Thin soup became our main meal. An economic decision, if unpopular. Then, oppressive guards came down on any dissenters, cementing the Captain's power. After that, the Propaganda Center, spreading the brainwashing messages that the Captain wanted us to hear, almost definitely manipulating the narrative to his favour- After all, it was our only source of news. Soon after, the Pledge of Loyalty, making people spy on each other. Once that created enough 'convicts' to lock up, prisons were built to punish dissenters.
All of that saved New London, ensured its survival even despite the worst of circumstances coming to pass. Yet, I fear that we have gone too far. New London is now a totalitarian society ruled by a despot in all but name, strangling out any thoughts that would inconvenience our Captain, and the people love it. They clamour for more, demanding the Captain to exert more control to ensure their security and status as one collective society.
And through that demand, order was abused. Such a thing will undoubtedly lead to future strife. We may have survived the Great Frost, but near the end, what nearly tore us apart was discord. Panic. Things that will continue to spur the Captain to exert more control, until this abused order causes one final problem for New London. One which, I believe, will cause all of it to come crashing down. Looking around myself, seeing all of these cheerful faces, those foreboding buildings standing tall above all of us, and with my final dreadful conclusion having revealed itself... I can only ask one, final question.
The city will survive, at least for now. But was it worth it?