𝗧𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗼𝘄'𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗕𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 | an apocalyptic novel ©

Chapter 1

Doomed

1995

The President of the United States hesitantly clears his voice in front of the crowd in the hall. Broadcasters, journalists and ministers from all over the world have gathered here. He can feel their eyes piercing holes into his back as he walks to the podium to make his declaration. The lights almost blind his eyes, so he shields his vision to look at the paper laid out in front of him on the podium.

One simple A4 paper, one sentence on it.

A shiver runs down the President's spine, ending in a feeling of dread creeping into his stomach. Announcing this sentence could perhaps lead to displeasure or a shocked reaction, not only of the crowd but also of the world. A reaction no one benefits from in this case. But the Television broadcasters and radio announcers have started their recordings already.

Tap, tap on the microphone – yes, it's working.

There is no escaping from this situation now.

"This situation is declared an international catastrophe," he finally begins. His voice echoes over the voice of every person in this room, boosted by the speakers next to the podium. Every camera in this hall focuses on him, zooming in on his face, recording every twitch in his face. The flag of the United States gently waves in the breeze from the backstage fan.

An awful dead silence is the response the President receives.

Even the hushed whispers have quieted down.

He expected something.

Everything but that.

The heat radiating from the lights of the stage causes anxious sweat to form on the President's forehead.

A cough amid the crowd disrupts the utter silence. The President scans the crowd to look for such a reaction.

"Objection." A man clears his voice now and stands up, his slim figure towering over the rest of the people. He folds his hands on his chest, and an unpleasant smile is plastered across his face - the kind of smile that is shown in ads on Television. A former Swedish scholar and scientist in global and environmental studies - of course, he was invited to the council announcement. The visitor's name tag he wears couldn't be more omniscient.

Everyone's attention and the cameras shift from the president to the scholar.

"Mister President," the man begins, in fine English disregarding his nationality, "while you are not wrong, I hate to interrupt, but your accusation isn't correct either."

The President raises a brow. "And what makes you assume that, Mister Willbrand?"

Something about this man is like a cautiously sharpened blade, always polished to shine in the spotlight.

Mister Willbrand fixes his glasses. "The global situation regarding the weather change and recurrence of rare phenomena is an international discussion, and yes, it includes a worldwide catastrophe plan."

The President nods slowly.

"But as of the research why and how these things occur, the cause is still unclear. We assumed global warming, climate change, even the Greenhouse effect, but none of the assumptions made a reasonable result of the tests." The man runs a hand along the wave of his graying hair, which makes the President sweat profusely. Something about the scholar's demeanor, his calmness, doesn't sit right with him.

"What are you implying, Sir?" His words sound hesitant now and his fingers subconsciously start to fold the corners of the paper he's holding.

One sentence and an argument is already going on.

"The most common effect we have researched was acidic rain. But what caused it is not the Greenhouse effect, it is indeed something we can't get behind. The rainwater samples we collected have traces of the supplements contained in the atmosphere of Venus," the scholar states.

A bead of sweat catches on the President's eyebrow. "So you're suggesting it is caused by outer space?"

"That wouldn't explain the recently increasing number of tsunamis, Sir."

The Prime minister of Germany locks eyes with the President. It is unclear to everyone in this room what Mister Willbrand is saying.

"What..." the President whispers to himself, still audible to the room, due to the microphone. "Mister Willbrand, what is the point?"

"My time of work is over, but I am picking up my habit of testing. Some could say I'm working again. My team and I will announce groundbreaking news soon."

That causes a collective gasp to echo through the people gathered. Willbrand's early retirement due to his millions of earnings was an international conversation starter, as well as him starting to work again will be.

"What news would that be-" "Sir, elaborate-" "We are speechless! You are picking up work?" "Is it true what you said about the anomalies is caused b-" "Mister President, what is happening?!" every broadcaster and radio announcer is now asking, half surprised, half outraged, filling the hall with a collective sound of gibberish. The questions blur to a steady mumble within the crowd, not one person has left so far. Mister Willbrand takes a seat and smiles at the President, something like satisfaction and victory is painted into his features. The President turns away and looks at the many folds and tears his nervous fingers had made into the page.

A halt needs to be made, now.

"No more questions. This council meeting is declared over, the announcement is official!" he barks into the microphone on the podium to get decent silence into the crowd. Then he walks off the stage, leaving the world in shock.