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<div style="text-align: center; font-size: 40px; font-family: eurostile; letter-spacing: -1px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000000; color:666666;">oliver james plont</div>
<div style="text-align: center; font-family: eurostile; font-size: 18px;">oli</div><br><br>
<center><div style="width:400px; background-image: url(http://i266.photobucket.com/albums/ii273/hyperactivehippo/oli1-1.png); height:200px; -moz-border-radius:2 2 2 2px"></div></center>
<center><div style="width: 400px; font-family: eurostile; font-size: 20px; color: #666666; letter-spacing: -1px; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #000000; text-transform: lowercase; padding 0px 0px 2px 0px;">officials · twenty-five · ryan taylor</div></center><br><br><br>


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<center><i>"the world wasn't always this way. i remember when it wasn't..."</i></center>
<p>
"It's been a while since I've talked to anyone about this. Really, I refrain from doing so. I don't rightly see why I have to...but since you so <i>nicely</i> asked, I suppose I shall. The name is Oliver James Plont. I'm twenty-five, and yes, I am an official. My age is no reason for you to doubt my power, of course. I am the son of a very prominent man, a politician, who was on the board for developing D170, and D172. His name was James, my mother's was Mary, and I am their only child. Stereotypical family, yes? We resided in New York City, where I lived with my parents til the age of twenty-four, in a penthouse nonetheless. Wealth was not of the odd sorts, for, as previously stated, my father was of high importance in this country. The details of his occupation were not known to me for most of my years. My mother isolated me from such things; I lived a normal, basic childhood. I...can't really say much about this time in my life, for it's not fully important. I grew up. I learned. Life was simple. There wasn't anything to be worried about. I'm sorry, but that's all the information I can disclose to you. I'm not all about growing up. The real infractions in my life are much later. Or, sooner to the present time.
<p>
<center><i>"you know, revolts are quite welcome now."</center></i>
<p>
"Ah, yes. I was twenty-three when things started to run down-hill. The news was constantly speaking on the over-population of the world, lack of food supplies, rebellions, and mass chaos. I was old enough to understand that things were not all right; Not exactly a hard depiction to decode. I'd ask my father occasionally if he knew of anything. Whether it be a way to control the masses, keep everything in line, or something, he'd always answer, "You'll find out soon enough." That meant nothing to me, of course. So, I did my own research. I'm very skilled with computers and technology, so I'd hack into the CIA's mainframe database, and figure it out. I'm not proud to say I used my talents for these reasons, but the pit of my stomach wouldn't let me rest until I found out what was going on. By the end of 2015, I was aware of D170. I didn't know what it was used for, but I did know my father was involved in developing it. A fact that still haunts me to this day.
<p>
"My father came rushing in, dismayed and all chaotic. A sure sign that something large had happened. He kept mumbling, "It's happened, it's happened." Of course, he was referring to the sickness breaking out. Quickly, I realized the severity of the virus. With more hacking, I found the origin, dosage, amount, and any other facts about D170. It was...impossible. I couldn't believe that my father could be a part of such a crude and disgusting thing. Prisoner euthanasia? It was glorified murder. I still cannot get past the enormity and mass hatred I have for the whole operation. Of course, at this point in the story, I was much more angry with my father...
<p>
"Death was the only thing that was constant at the time. It was the only thing that was of surety and concrete fact. I kept up with the government, making sure to note their future attempts and efforts for recovery. It came in the form of a vaccination. Ecstatic, my family drove to a government facility, and were injected. I was unbeknownst to the luck and blessing it was. My father's position in the whole thing guaranteed us be injected with D172. Unlike most of the population...
<P>
"I caught on to what America was doing. It was simple. I can't say why, exactly. Most likely a feeble attempt to recover their own conscious. I'm...disgusted at this point. I can't even comment on what I witnessed. Being the son of a father that troubled, that stalked up with secret...It's wrenching.
<p>
<center><i>"to change from dawn to dusk, there has to be a revolution."</i></center>
<p>
"As you can probably tell, I'm not one for the details in life. I never have been. But...everyone died. The horrid stench of rotten life waded in the air like some old woman's perfume. I couldn't even bring myself to walk outdoors. With the lack of electricity, my hacking skills were becoming a loss. My intelligence and wisdom guided me through life, though. My mother was...killed. How, I can't tell you. She simply didn't come home one night. My father knows, but he too...Well, alright. One evening, my father sat me down. The topic of that conversation was completely federal, secret, and of the utmost importance. He explained everything; From D170/D172 to the future wrangling up of survivors. I was let in on everything. I promise, <i><b>everything</b></i>. My father guaranteed that I'd be given "military" or "official" rank, and I were to report to the CIA offices tomorrow. I didn't know why, but...My father committed suicide that evening, leaving everything in my possession. The details are not important, but I was ranked. I gained as high recognition as my father had. After evaluations, tests, and any other form of recognizable task, I became an "official". I bulked up, and gained the greatest military combat training as well.
<p>
"I was elected to be an undercover official. My guess is because of my age. Who would respect a twenty-five year old? No one. So, I went along. I acted and was counted as a survivor. I lived in the bunker. There were a few of us, government officials I mean, and we'd all get together after hours. A secret link of electricity was provided, along with other basic items. We kept up with what our elders were doing. it...really was hard. Scary. Damp. Dreary. But, I had to do it. Whether I liked it or not, this was the world we faced. It was the world that I lived in now. I had to uphold my father's name, and partake of this horrid practice.
<p>
<center><i>"they say we're all mad, and i'm certain that they're right."</i></center>
<p>
"One year earlier than promised to us by the guys uptop, the bunker doors opened. I was astonished. We were not prepared in any way, shape, or form. Of course, my group and the other officials were. We knew the dangers present. We knew that zombies were rampant. We knew. But, they didn't. And by law, we couldn't tell anyone. Not even a brother, wife, or best friend. It was hard. Not to say that I knew anyone; I had been located in the Las Vegas bunker, and everyone knows New York is far from there. But, 'tis all small talk.
<p>
"I...don't believe there's much else left to say. I'm quite nomadic now. I go wherever the government needs me to be. I live solitarily, and don't keep close ties to anyone but the military and government. I'm not allowed to. Of course, I still get...homesick. Sad, scared. But, I rarely let this get to me. I'm not one for much personality, really. I am who I am.
<p>
"Of course, <i>Oliver said, reaching inside his coat pocket.</i> I'm not allowed to have said any of this to you. <i>He pulls out a black handgun, loading it with bullets.</i> It's not anything personal, man. <i>He holds the gun up, his arm perfectly straight and unwavering. A simple smirk spread upon his face.</i> But...you know too much. <i>...He pulls the trigger.</i>"
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<center><i>sorry it's not all pretty. i'm too lazy now. yeah? <3
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and this isn't my best...just the one i could find. D=</i></center>
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His heart was breaking. Right there, in front of his eyes. He could feel the fibers that glued his cardial tissue together rip and pull away from each other. Why? The incessant, horrid reminder of school was presenting itself before him. With one beep after the other, the alarm clock perched perturbingly close to his head was blaring. A groan escaped his lips as his hand slammed down upon the snooze button. Why? Why did he have to wake up at such an unforgiving hour? He groaned and moaned again. He tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable spot. Maybe then he could excuse himself from going to school. But, alas, he could not. He cursed under his breath, and threw the covers off himself.
<p>
Running his hands over his face, he tried all means to wake up. He decided the best way was to force his body to get up. Painstakingly, he tossed his legs over the edge of the bed, and was at least semi-up. Blinking his eyes, as they were not used to the light, he found it harder than usual to wake up. This was probably due to a party he attended last night...But that was of little matter to him. Despite how much he wanted to avoid the place, school was on his mind. There was some test or something he had to take that day, and it really would be better to attend. With a sigh, he grumbled up, and walked over to his bathroom to get ready for the day.
<p>
In a mere ten minutes, Noah had showered, done his hair, brushed his teeth, and all other morning necessities. How he got through doing so much in so little was beyond him, but he assumed it was that all guys could do such a thing. His eyes were still not cooperative, and he fought to keep them fully awake. Deciding that an energy drink would help, he shuffled over to the kitchen fridge, and took one out. The breakfast of choice? A blueberry pop-tart. Simple, effective. That's the way he liked it. He stumbled over to his desk, and grabbed his school supplies. They weren't much, but the teachers required them of him. He shook his head, and took one final look in the mirror. His simple blue-gray v-neck was nice, his black skinny jeans were fitted, his yellow converse were cozy, and all other accessories were in place. He sighed, and didn't even bother to check the time. Noah simply headed out the door.
<p>
The pace his feet carried him at was brisk. The school wasn't too far away from the dorms, so it was an easy walk. Much to his surprise, there were students outside the front doors. Usually, they were all heading inside the school, for the bell had rung. Flipping out his phone, Noah finally noticed the time. Early. He had made his way to school earlier than normal. Another groan escaped his lips, and he shook his head. Why on earth did he let himself come at this hour? He could've slept a tad longer, taken more time for breakfast, or something. His pace slowed, and his head hung. He wasn't really in the mood to talk to anyone.
<p>
Finally, he made his way to the main hall. There were far too many students for his liking. With the sudden realization that had occured, Noah's mood wasn't too happy. His head still hung, and he decided to try and block out this mini fiasco for as long as he could. Standing in the middle of the hall, he took out his phone, and began to play a game. The early morning didn't make his common sense kick in; Thus, he remained in the middle of the hall, during a busy school time, where anything and everything could occur.

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