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The world was as desolate as a desert, though one could argue that a desert had more life than the city that was left with a mere skeleton of what it used to be. Perhaps L’manburg was destined to meet this apocalyptic fate, a limbo created from nuclear war, as radioactive waste eroded the buildings that once stood for liberty, for justice, for independence.
Everyone was dead… except for two. A father and his son.
These two hid out in a bunker just on the outskirts of the main city of L’Manburg, with just two twin beds, and a bunch of canned goods they stole before shit hit the proverbial fan. They had no idea about what the world looked like, how the sun appeared to be brushed with emerald to conceal its golden hue, how the clouds hung lower to the crumbled surface, bowing downward in a twisted sense of pity.
Haunted echoes of laughter taunted the abandoned streets, as shattered streetlights danced across the eroded cobblestone. L’Manburg was no more. A ghost town riddled with secrets, now blanketed with death and decay.
A single monument remained. A doomsday clock installed just before the “Event”. It ticked down tauntingly, seeming to anchor in this thought that the world was indeed ending. The clock’s face seemed to smirk as every second passed, until…
There were 3 hours left.
Three hours until the world ends. That was what Wilbur told his son, Tommy. The blonde’s groggy eyes appeared defeated, exhausted, isolated. He wanted to explore but his tired legs wouldn’t let him leave the bed, the same bed with scratchy red sheets and uncomfortable wool blankets that he’s forced to sleep on till the last can runs out and he and his father ultimately starve.
The world was too dangerous to go outside with the noxious fumes that permeated throughout the formerly fresh and pleasing air. Overexposure to the chemicals in the air, according to Wilbur, could very easily kill if you were out for too long.
Wilbur didn’t want to risk his life, nor Tommy’s, so they stayed in the bunker and listened to the same songs on an old cassette tape day in and day out. They ate the same foods, had the same drinks, rationed out so they could survive as long as possible. Neither of them knew they were the only ones left in L’Manburg, the empty hope that there was someone else out there that survived with them seeming to be a constant - yet equally fleeting - thought.
Before the “Event”, Tommy had friends, before Wilbur scooped him away and into the bunker, as his very friends died a few days later. Tubbo, Ranboo, Michael… all of them did not survive. The “Event” seemed to pass through the entirety of the world, slinking its way through portals and destroying the Nether, as the boiling lava turned a hideous green, the End also falling victim to this catastrophe. The Ender Dragon herself eroded away as the one single monument of peace within this world was destroyed.
With the very creature that loomed over the world dead, everything slowly began to crumble away. The Doomsday clock moved faster, seeming to forget about time itself, until it slowed to a crawl, time seeming to pause until it, one day, decided to resume like normal.
Though, it’d be the last day it would ever be in operation.
“Wilby,” Tommy whined, tired of having to spend yet another day in the tin can his dad called a “bunker”, “I wanna go outside, just once.”
“It’s dangerous to be outside, besides, there’s only four hours left until the world is hereby over. I want to survive the apocalypse. I want to outlive the world, Toms…”
“It’s always what you want, Dad. Wanna know what I want? To live. Just fucking once. If I die, I die knowing I lived for just a moment, not listening to some cassette for the billionth time and eating old beans.” Tommy got up and went to get dressed, something he hadn’t done in a while. His blonde hair was a matted and disheveled mess, his clothing tattered and smelling of cigarette ash that smudged his shirt.
“Fine, you can go out once. But you have to come back here if things go south,” Wilbur caved, lighting another cigarette.
Before the “Event”, Tommy and Wilbur were close, well, close in the sense that they were undeniably father and son, but equally distant. Wilbur had some mystique about him, like the type of person who smokes cigarettes in the shadows of city alleyways as rain pours onto beige sidewalks. Tommy, on the other hand, was boisterous and loud. Everyone knew who he was and what he stood for. He was the sunlight that brought the world light and joy, while Wilbur was the moon, providing the world with mystery.
Tommy left the bunker and emerged in a toxic wasteland. The final L’Manburg flag was nothing but decayed fabric, almost seeming to have been burnt though there was no fire. The air tasted acrid in Tommy’s mouth as the bitterness seemed to scratch at his throat.
The city around him, the place he grew up in was nothing like it used to be. It was deserted with lime fog desecrating the mountains and treelines that used to make the horizon home . The sun was nothing more than a dimmed beacon, unable to shine a light on this dire city, this place that used to thrive and be bustling with life and trade.
The “Event” changed everything.
But what even was this “Event”? Why was it so… unspeakable.
The “Event” was the catalyst that led L’Manburg and the entire world to fall into disarray and disorder. There was a plan, a plot to destroy the entire world with one single nuclear bomb that was being created by none other than Tommy’s best friend, Tubbo. He kept the project under wraps, as the flaws were slowly being figured out, until… someone pressed the button too early.
No one knows who the individual was, but Tubbo, as his last dying wish to Tommy, he apologized for everything.
For it was actually Tubbo who pressed the button.
Tubbo caused “The Event”.
Not on purpose, but as a meaningless mistake. He accidentally flipped a switch or two which then led from one thing to the next.
And Tommy has to live with the fact that his best friend, the one person he would fucking die for, killed the world as he knew it.
Tommy meandered about further and further into L’Manburg, taking his time to admire the terrible accident that occurred here. Buildings that housed artifacts and people were nothing more than a tombstone of memories that still plagued Tommy’s mind. The crater that once stood in L’Manburg’s core was nothing more than a crumbled and destroyed monument, as stone eroded away into nothing.
Tommy coughed and heaved at the scent that burned his lungs. Shit , Dad was right .
Two hours left
A dulcet chime echoed throughout the desolate city, an alarm that made Tommy’s heart sink to his feet. The air was getting harder and harder to breathe in, as black spots began to slowly invade his vision.
A sudden gale swept through the lonesome sidestreets, as Tommy walked down an old alleyway, the acrid stench of the air clinging to his tongue and the back of his throat. It tasted like what he imagined gargling gunpowder to be like. It ached his lungs to even inhale the terrible air quality around him.
Particles danced through the air aimlessly as the radioactive waste seemed to gnaw away at the bricks that rested within the alleyway, exposing them to the cavernous and hollow shell of what the buildings used to be. Memories were built and destroyed, friends turned to enemies, the foundations of a once-prosperous nation now lay within the thick and endless layers of apocalyptic rubble.
Tommy felt his breathing hitch slightly, his lungs slowly weakening with every breath. His insides closed up as more of the toxic fumes entered his body, his vision clouding further.
He had to get back to his dad. He had to get back to Wilbur.
Wilbur, meanwhile, was writing some doomsday poetry, attempting to put chords to words, but he was struggling. He took a few swift glances towards his own doomsday clock, and his eyes started to slowly widen with worry. Sure, there were less than two hours left, but Tommy hadn’t returned yet.
Wilbur cursed under his breath, voice raspy from the volume of cigarettes he’s smoked since they were in the bunker, as he inhaled another puff of tobacco, continuing to jot down rough notes in his journal.
To Wilbur, ever since Tommy was born, he was his sunlight to brighten the darkest of days. He was always his right hand man, the one who would listen attentively when Wilbur pulled out his guitar, the sunshine boy whom everyone talked kindly about. Tommy was, to Wilbur, the one true meaning of life. It wasn’t fame or fortune, it was bringing and showing this angel how wonderful the world can be, how someone who vowed to never love themselves could shower so much unconditional love onto another.
As the clock slowly tick-tick-ticked down, Wilbur lowered his head, knowing he was running out of time.
Tommy sat in what used to be the L’Manburg Square, a more social and bustling area where he spent so much time with his friends watching the sky transition from bright baby blues to soft magenta and marigold.
That was until the "Event" changed everything.
Tommy wandered amongst the toxic asphalt and rubble, the bench that he used to sit at now burned as though the memories shared whilst sitting on the wooden planks meant nothing to the world.
Tommy sat down, tears streaming down his face. He so desperately wanted to forgive Tubbo for what he did, knowing he would never be able to hear that forgiveness… he hoped that somewhere beyond Tubbo could hear him.
It was a mistake, a detrimental mistake mind you but a mistake all the same. He never wanted to be the harbinger of worldly doom and destruction, but alas, Tubbo's legacy would be forever tainted by an accident, a mistake .
"Tubs, I know you won't hear me, but if you can, it's not your fault for what happened. It never was. I don't blame you, don't blame yourself. I know you're dead but… but it's not your fault!" Tommy sobbed into the rubble-laden world around him, his words choked at the back of his throat.
The pain from breathing began to set in.
The bitterness of the acrid air wore off and turned into spikes and thorns, slowly digging into Tommy's esophagus and branching into a burning sensation that boiled and bubbled. His breath was coated with the sour taste of despair and loss, and his vision was worsening, becoming an endless storm of swirling black splotches.
I have to get back.
Unfortunately for Tommy, the bunker was on the other end of L’Manburg, just on the outskirts of its borders, past the crumbled wall where the city's righteous barrier once stood. What once represented independence now represented a great tragedy that rippled throughout the entire city.
The bunker was situated within a tiny opening of a cavern, which led down to an old ladder Wilbur haphazardly built along the uneven rocks. The damage that was done surrounded the entrance until it nearly was inescapable. Tommy remembered Wilbur going up and moving some of the stone so there could be a way out.
Maybe everything would be okay if he didn't do that.
One hour left
The haunting chime of the doomsday clock rattled the world, taking what was left if the silence and dragging it down below the surface. Tommy had one hour to get back, and he was certain and confident he'd make it. He ran with pride across sharp pebbles and bricks, dodging shingles and glass before he stopped, lungs convulsing inside his ribcage.
The blonde gripped his abdomen and fell to his knees, groaning as sharp pains stabbed his lungs as his surroundings became a cloudy blur. The boy heaved, calling out to Wilbur, knowing that he'd never hear him, the thread of hope that his echoes would travel to the bunker fading away just as quick as the thought emerged in his mind.
Wilbur paused and glanced at the clock, worry crackling through his veins, boiling his blood as it travelled through him. Wilbur could hear the drumming of blood coursing through his ears as the ticking of the clock taunted him.
You’re running out of time, the clock face seemed to sneer as every subtle movement of the hands twisted the knife of fate that has attached itself to Wilbur’s abdomen. Wilbur knew he had to save Tommy. He needed his son alive, as he prayed.
Wilbur was not a religious man by any means, but he knelt to his knees and whispered incoherent thoughts, hoping his message would be heard by someone, something.
The bunker was met with silence as a sudden draft hastily made its way through. Maybe Tommy had got his way back, Wilbur thought, even if it was, in sorrowful admittance, nothing short of a pipe dream.
Part of Wilbur wanted to see his son with raggedy blonde hair and baby blue eyes climb down the ladder and open the door, hugging him and being thankful he was alive, but most of Wilbur knew Tommy would barely survive the elements that the cataclysm of the nuclear bomb created.
Rather, the draft felt ghostly and hollow as stray pieces of paper Wil scattered about seemed to dance before gently floating to the floor. The air was cold and felt like a kiss of death, an embrace from somewhere beyond this plane of existence.
Could this have been Tommy’s way of saying goodbye?
With every minute that passed, Tommy felt his bones grow tired and weaker. Every step slowly morphed into a shuffle, before his knees buckled from the burdening weight of standing. His home was killing him slowly. Excruciating pain from breathing in poisoned air made his lung feel like they were weighed down by an anvil tied to his ankles.
Every heave made Tommy’s stomach churn as he felt his throat close in its desperate attempts at admitting defeat. The borders of the city were in arm’s reach, but even still, such a short distance was in equivalency to a million miles.
“Dad,” Tommy choked, trying his hardest to project his voice so his dad could hear him. “H-Help me. I think I’m dying.”
15 minutes left
Pacing through the bunker, Wilbur felt his heart leaping out of his chest, trying its hardest to drag his body up the ladder to look for his son. If anything, he’d be right there with Tommy, making sure he ends up alive. Wilbur flicked the cigarette butt behind him as it silently fell to the ground. He opened the hatch to the bunker and raced up the ladder.
His son, his world was dying and he needed to know and figure out where he was. Wilbur knew that his son doesn’t deserve to die alone like all of his friends did, like his own family did. His grandfather and uncle all died, their souls buried within the rubble of the city.
The air hit Wilbur’s lungs like a million weights crushing through bone and flesh. It tasted sour and not in a pleasant lemony way. It was sour like milk left to curdle in the heat of summer then being dredged in gunpowder. The brunet heaved as he rested his palm on the ruins of his father’s home.
“Toms! Tommy! Where are you?” Wilbur called out, voice hoarse as his throat slowly began to prickle with discomfort. The disquieting silence sent a shiver down the father’s spine, as he began to feel his heart turn to lead, weighing his body down with every stride.
A plume of dust covered the catastrophe, burning Wilbur’s eyes as much as it scorched his throat and lungs. He felt his nose and tongue curl in tandem as every moment passed. “Sunshine! Answer me please if you can hear me! Tell me where you-” Wilbur paused. Shit .
One minute left
The angel child of Wilbur Soot was slumped over, his porcelain face painted with dust and debris. He had a smile on his face, a smile that could cure all pain in the world. He had a smile that made Wilbur cry the first day he ever showed it to him. His smile transcended life and death from the moment he opened his eyes to the moment his own closed for the last time.
“No, no no,” Wilbur muttered as he darted over to the blonde with raggedy blonde hair and baby blue eyes, his world, his sunshine, his little universe.
He picked up Tommy and sobbed, embracing him in his chest feeling no heartbeat that would ever be synchronous with his own again, hearing no breath that now was a precious, sacred memory. His body was cold, no longer producing the warmth that Tommy’s hugs would provide.
Wilbur had been there for Tommy but today? Today he failed. He failed as a father, as… as someone who should have been there for their son.
10 seconds left
Wilbur held onto Tommy, refusing to let go as the lead that coated his heart broke, shattering into millions of pieces. He wept as his own lungs constricted and convulsed with his uneven breathing, Wilbur’s soul slowly being coated with the terrible taste of grief and despair.
He never dared to let go of Tommy. If he did, it’d be reminiscent of letting his son down again.
5 seconds left
The clock ticked down as the world slowly resumed at a snail’s pace. Wilbur’s cries would have broken the world around him if anyone else was alive.
Wilbur was the last man in this world.
4 seconds left
Wilbur planted a kiss onto Tommy’s forehead, wishing he could be alive and be breathing, whispering his name one last time.
“Come back to me, Tommy. I can’t live without you,” Wilbur wept, as his hands brushed through the blonde’s dusty curls.
3 seconds left
Wilbur remembered his final interaction with Tommy. He was leaving the bunker and Wilbur didn’t even hug his son. He lit another cigarette and basically allowed his son to leave. He knew Tommy would pester him until he allowed him to leave and explore, or he’d just leave anyway. Wilbur had, in solemn and regretful contemplation, thought that Tommy would come back. He always came back. He didn’t think Tommy would be out for as long as he was or that he’d go as far as he went.
Wilbur took Tommy’s tiny fist and curled it in the palm of his hand, squeezing it tightly, warm tears splashing onto scrapes across Tommy’s knuckles. Wilbur apologized profusely to his dead son that he should have come out sooner to bring him home, even if it meant he died.
To Wilbur, it should’ve been him that died, not Tommy.
Wilbur deserved it. Tommy didn’t.
2 seconds left
Wilbur tried his best to remember. Remember, remember, remember . He tried to recall these memories that would be the only way Wilbur managed to survive the loss of his son. He felt himself holding onto Tommy for the first time as a baby, a blue-eyed infant who rarely cried and adored being held. The same baby who fell asleep to the sounds of guitars whose melodies would serve as a constant anchor in Tommy’s short life.
Tommy’s first word was probably the funniest day of Wilbur’s fatherhood. Tommy had accidentally dropped a plastic square-shaped building block which destroyed the castle he was making with his Dad. Wilbur tried (keyword is tried ) to not swear in front of his son, but sometimes he would let the occasional fuck or shit slip if he stubbed his toe or in moments of great anger and frustration. Tommy found it funny, so his first word was, naturally fuck .
Because of course it was.
Wilbur remembered giggling and also being taken aback because his sunshine child, his angel, had his first coherent word be a curse word of all things.
Such a silly memory.
One second left
The world was slowly coming to an end, the clock in the core of L’Manburg slowly ticked to the last second, seeming to hold its resonant chimes in before the inevitable. Wilbur braced himself for what would soon follow, holding close to Tommy one last time.
The cloud within the sky seemed to part, revealing a striking glow of ethereal sunlight as it beamed down from the heavens, coating Wilbur and Tommy in this magical gold. From above, a single feather fell - a crow’s feather - its black sheen laced with amber and emerald. It was a message, Wilbur thought as his tears fell from his eyes one last time.
Everyone was welcoming him home.
“I love you, my world, my sunshine, my everything. You did me proud, son,” Wilbur whispered softly before lowering his head into Tommy’s gentle curls.
0 seconds left. Doomsday. The world has ended.
Wilbur made it to the end of the world. The final dulcet chime of the forsaken clock echoed across L’Manburg. The sky lost its color as everything went white. There was no cobblestone, there was no toxic air, there was only white.
For the world was as desolate as a desert, but even a desert had more life than the city that was left with a mere skeleton of what it used to be.
The skeleton of L’Manburg turned to dust as Wilbur Soot lost two worlds that day.
The world he lived in.
And the world he vowed to protect.