There is not a day that we are not pressed into thoughtless customs. Since childhood we are so blindly instilled with the concept of tradition that when challenged with a new situation, most of us approach it timidly, hesitant or even repulsed to act without first observing what others are doing. Why, then, do we do the things we do?

Life was a perpetual cycle that began in a nice sheltered preserve called "the containment" that we all dwelled in until we hit 17 years old. On that dismal year, the foreboding pall of anxiety draped over the depth of our mind since childhood was suddenly seized so it itself should give us a good scourge, then thrust us into a mad world of danger and trepidation. Plunged to the dreaded pits, we're then meant to fend off death long enough to make a living, find a family, and return to the containment to raise new kids and start the cycle again.

In order to sustain life in the containment, it was imperative for every family to submit.
As the capital of wealth was located outside of the containment, never leaving meant eventually exhausting one's family resources. And so it was; the way of life. Because parents were away for the majority of any child's life, we were left to be raised by our grandparents, and only saw our real parents on rare occasions. My grandfolks were the ones who taught me the system, and it would be my estranged birth parents that would one day teach it to my own children while I was away.

Consequently, birthdays were not happy as they ought to be. Each ephemeral year dwindled away bitterly, one by one drawing incessantly closer to inexorable misery. Furthermore, the populace being composed only of children and grandfolks was, admittedly, a little bizarre. Though this was all we had ever known, the contrast of vigorous youth versus senescent elderly was nonetheless striking.

The health of the elderly was anything but good; scarcely any retired from the "real world" as it was called without some form of malady. Many returned with a fatal disease, and many had to be quarantined lest there be an epidemic within the containment. A lot of kids were left in a flat miserable predicament due to high death tolls, especially my neighbour-friend, Olus, who didn't have much hope of any family at all after his grandparents rotted away and his parents continued to work day after day in that same wretched wasteland that had slowly killed all those before them. He always had a weak immunity; I suspected it was the same with his other family.

Altogether, none of this ever sat well with me - not that it did with anyone. I wasn't a really good kid because of it. Although meant benevolently, what my grandparents indoctrinated me with, immersed me with - this system - ultimately led me to rebellion. As I grew, my defiance grew also. Respect deteriorated. And it was not purely out of insolence that I did this, not at all; but to revere the very ones determined to throw me to the lions, I found to be a maddening feat. We would never understand each other.

≈

3024, what a bizarre year. The distinction between dream and reality is still a blur, and I remain to this day ambivalent as to whether it really happened or not.
There had been a virus going around and the town was in a fit. I was ten years old at the time and almost thought the world was ending with all the talk of deadly outbreaks and relocation. Despite many attempts on my grandparents' part to conceal the matters from me, I still heard almost everything one way or another. It was during one of these "grown-up talks" when I was sent outside, that I saw the most extraordinary thing.

As I was pressing my ear against the curtain-drawn window as discreetly as I could, listening intently to the muffled susurrus of conversation, I noticed a slight jerk in the drapes and leapt back in such panic that I tripped on the brim of the porch and fell flat on my back.
While I was lying there, waiting apprehensively for someone to come out and scold me, I noticed something peculiar about the sky, but it seemed to vanish before I was really looking. I was about to excuse it as nothing when it suddenly reappeared - an unbelievably large eye peering down through a circular lens, as if watching us from space. It was perfectly distinct. I was stifled, absolutely astonished, and though it was a fleeting moment, I was so bewildered that I remained there for hours afterward struggling to form a conjecture.

This phenomenon had led me to a complete cognitive reform. Mere figment or not, I was determined to find the answers. Olus and I began spending most of our days at the frontier, the actual bulwark segregating the containment from the 'real world', and watching the people coming and leaving. It was a truly sorry sight. I, however, proved to Olus that neither my incentive nor perseverance were toiled in vain when we began to notice unusual incidents and repeated patterns. We were best satisfied at the imports terminal (though not authorised whatsoever to be there) as we were able to see not people going into the world, nor people coming back; but, rather, people IN the world, living, working, perishing. It was here that we made our most notable discoveries. The first I remember well...

A shipment had come in to the terminal fairly early in the morning not long after we arrived in our secret niche of the loft overlooking the loading zone. Looking out the dormer window, I remember exchanging a comment about the porter: "He looks rather well off," one of us said. And the man did indeed look unusually well off for the 'real world', burly with ruddied complexion and without apparent ailment. But later that day in the evening when he returned with a last shipment, Olus and I were unpleasantly surprised. The same man was now grossly bilious and pallid, fatigued with his load, and coughed up, on some occasions, blood. After that he wasn't seen again.
Conversely, we also witnessed hopeless cases of moribund patients that miraculously recovered against all odds. Something certainly queer was happening, however covertly.

The cases continued. By extensive eavesdropping and inquiries, we managed to hear all sorts of stories - a woman with cancer who died of a plague; a man with asthma who died of kidney failure; even a decently healthy man who suddenly developed tuberculosis but, oddly, recovered from it almost as quickly as it was contracted.
And among all these, the burly porter never stopped haunting us. By the time we were twelve, we had already formed a number of conspiracy theories and were developing them rigorously. It was only a matter of time, we thought, before we solved the mystery.

≈

Dr. Emen Ilger Belding. This acclaimed scientist forever revolutionised the pharmaceutical field. The demand for his internationally celebrated research was so ardent that any conference that he was as little as attending, became the absolute priority of any MD's itinerary.
As a boy, Dr. Belding was heavily impelled by his father, founder of the highly successful Clive Belding Institute of Medical Research, to one day enroll in medical school. Belding heeded his father's wishes and began attending medical university after turning 17. Shortly after graduating in 3022, his father passed away. Belding inherited his father's vast estate, the Clive Belding Institute, and also came into possession of a strange and beautiful old family heirloom, the Rodaire's Astronomical Globe, to which was attached a small note and key.

"To my diligent son, Emen:
Hidden within this globe you will find the secret to my success. My notes can all be found in a secret study in the laboratory basement, accessible with this key. Do not delay."

In the year 3024 there was an airborne virus on the loose which put a great majority of the population at risk. Medical researchers were desperate to find a means of containing the virus when suddenly Belding emerged with a groundbreaking cure. His vaccine proved a major victory, and his colleagues were baffled. How did he find the vaccine so effectively without resorting to human testing?

"The future, my friends, is a future without human testing," proclaimed Dr. Belding. "We are no longer living in an age of bizarre laboratory experiments, mad schemes, and science gone wrong. The field of medicine has advanced beyond the primitive techniques of yesteryear, and been unshackled from the manacles of inhumanity."

Overwhelmed by critical acclaim and praised for his innovative work, Dr. Belding's career flourished and the Clive Belding Institute continued to pave the way for the medical profession.

≈

Olus and I were now mere weeks away from turning seventeen - him in six, me in four. The moment we had fled our entire lives was now drawing closer every waking moment. But what we had accomplished and worked our lives for was not futile: we would not let it be. If we learned anything from our studies, it was that there was something wrong out there that we didn't want to meddle with. The days ticked away like seconds, until departure came. My family readied themselves to escort me to the frontier where we would exchange our last embraces and bid each other fare-well.

"Nim?" There was a silence. My grandmother hearkened in vain, for I did not reply.
"Nim," she echoed, discovering me in the yard. "It's time to go." After a long harrowing silence I felt her come sympathetically close and anticipated that she would proceed to then condole me and make running to my death seem a lot nicer. As much as I might have appreciated the endeavor, I had no intentions of letting her.

"My dear Nim," she started. I seized the opportunity and interrupted her promptly.
"I'm not going." My younger siblings were watching from the door and there seemed to be a stifled gasp amongst all of them - as though they were surprised, even having half expected it from me already, but quickly reclaimed their composure. My grandmother predictably resorted again to words of encouragement, but I was absolutely adamant with my decision. I sensed a modest bit of panic now in her tone and countenance. Nothing she said was of use, and nothing had prepared anyone for my behaviour.

Days passed and I had not left the containment. It was planned that I was to be forcibly removed by authorities in a matter of days, but I resisted tenaciously until they realised that they could not force me to work without some manner of abuse involved, an idea which my family was not fond of. Eventually I was let off, though not without daily harassment.

Word rapidly spread about my refusal to leave the containment, and suddenly like a wildfire it was happening everywhere. A revolt.

≈

Meanwhile, a recent outbreak of the plague meant impending chaos for Dr. Belding. As it began to spread, he was bombarded with demands for treatments. Panicked, Belding scrambled to his laboratory and began to concoct the requisite drug.

The day was spent preparing formulas and conducting various tests on the infectious bacteria, and when evening fell and Belding's colleagues retired for the night, he crept down into the basement with his samples and research material and, wielding a key in his fingers, unlocked the secret door leading to his father's study. There it was, the illustrious Rodaire's Globe, perched on an elaborate stand in the heart of the chamber. Reaching for a hand lens from the shelf (of which there were many, all lining the walls and packed with a motley of books) he drew it near the globe and, squinting his opposite eye, looked carefully into it. It magnified, not an inanimate object, not an empty replica, but an entire living world. He was wary to keep a distance from its surface while surveying. Turning to a chart open on his computer's monitor, he looked it over a moment, paying special scrutiny to the section on statistics.

"Population - remarkable!" he exclaimed. There had indeed been an increase in population within the globe - or at least a declining death toll. Eagerly sprawling out his instruments and various work things, he took the hand lens once more and began scanning the globe for a healthy victim to expose. But upon searching, he found that in fact there were very few to come across - no new people as the stats suggested, but only all the old ailing patients as before. Vexed, he withdrew from the globe and furrowed his brow. After a second review of the statistics, which posed precisely the same figures as previously, he returned to the globe and resumed his search. As the results came up dry once more, he wondered if there was some sort of obstruction at the containment arresting the cycle and moved the lens promptly to the other side of the globe wherein laid the containment. Dr. Belding was astounded, for there was nobody at the frontier. Nobody was leaving.

Nobody was leaving.

Belding's breath grew stertorous and anxious.
"What of the plague," he choked. Certainly this problem came at a time of supreme inconvenience. Dr. Belding tensely browsed the bookshelves, collecting as many of his father's notebooks as possible and then piling them all on the floor. Belding, too, retreated himself to the corner and proceeded to study every single note that was made. Not a word was missed. But to no avail... for nothing of this sort was even mentioned in the notes, as it had not happened before. Dr. Belding knew (for it was mentioned persistently in the notes) that he could not simply test those within the containment, as there was a high risk of epidemic that could easily infect all potential candidates for future experimentation and become wildly uncontrollable. His father's notes implored him not to attempt this. Surely he could not put his father's entire life's work at such stake - nor could he risk his own inheritance and success! And so he made a decision - albeit a risky one - to expose the bacteria, and then the vaccine, to, not the porters, but the direct resource workers, who were generally kept rather healthy. There was a risk of contaminating the food supply, but it could be combatted a great deal easier than a pandemic, and if devised with vigilance and tact, might be avoided altogether. Belding took all possible precautions and spent another nine meticulous hours analyzing every last detail of his work and completing as many tests as could be done without human exposure. Finally, he was ready.

After days of scrupulous labour, he emerged, victorious, and released the result of his efforts for production at once. The public was ecstatic! The miracle drug was a success and the diseased masses were recovering remarkably. Not a week later, mobs of journalists were already flocking outside of his estate determined to interview the medical pioneer. But, bizarrely, he was nowhere to be found. Days passed and the media went into a frenzy, printing and broadcasting a multitude of stories concerning the doctor's disappearance, but he remained a mystery. After things finally began to calm down, authorities launched a private investigation of the Clive Belding Institute. Dr. Belding's body was discovered in the secret study in the basement of his laboratory, his reeking corpse covered in fulvous cysts and overcome by pestilence. In his frail, decrepit hand rested a note.

"To my colleagues, to my supporters, to all whom have endowed with me their trust.
I leave with you my legacy - a great legacy that ultimately befell me. Medicine has not indeed advanced to quite the degree that I once claimed. Have no doubts about my vaccine, for it has clearly proven efficacious and safe. I, however, have discovered a troubling matter to which I have no power. I am immune.
Therefore, I hereby perish under my own affliction with one final request: that my family's treasured Rodaire's Globe be donated to the prestigious Abereg Museum for exhibition. I offer up my estate and all my belongings to charity, and leave the Clive Belding Institute to my esteemed colleague, Doctor Tadnis. To end this valediction, I wish the best for all of you and hope you will always strive for excellence in the medical field. Fare well.

P.S. I advise you NOT to touch the Rodaire's Globe. Please place the glass casing over it at once and handle it with extreme, solemn care. It is a precious artifact and should there be any exploit whatsoever, I'd turn in my grave."

And that is how the 'real world' was reclaimed. By us. At least... we surmise.