Jake Cobovic, Period 6, 4/19/2023

 [Before the war, Staten Island was a suburban alcove of New York City, home to nearly 500,000 people. Now, things look much different. The once quiet borough now serves as the bustling agricultural hub of the Hero City. Hard at work overseeing a new infrastructure project on the island is Jake Cobovic, a long time resident.]

I never would have imagined that Staten Island, of all places, would become an agricultural hub. I mean, to me, it was always a quiet place where families raised their kids and commuters escaped the chaos of the city. You know how suburbs are. There’s never any assumption that something could go wrong. You have your perfect lawn and perfect house with your perfect nuclear family and perfect life.

I started hearing rumors about the outbreak pretty early on. Posts online here and there about what was going on in China. I took it with a grain of salt though, People online always tended to blow stuff out of proportion. But I remained cautious about it, which is more than I could say for most of the people around me. Almost right before things really went down, we went down, my family went to stay with our relatives in the sticks of Connecticut. We were called paranoid for it quite a lot. To most people, staying right where they were was all they thought they needed to be safe. It’s amazing how even in the face of almost certain death, some people are still too afraid to leave their bubble… It was only when the outbreak was right at everyone’s doors that people reacted. People were scrambling for supplies, trying to protect their families, but it was too late. The infection spread rapidly, and before we knew it, the whole city was overrun, let alone Staten Island. But amidst all the chaos and destruction, there was a glimmer of hope. After the initial wave of the outbreak and the subsequent war, when the dust started to settle, we realized that Staten Island had a unique advantage—it was an island. The infected couldn't easily cross the water, and that gave us a fighting chance.

When the idea of reclaiming Staten Island came up, I was skeptical, to say the least. How could we turn this devastated place into something productive again? But the leadership in Hero City saw the potential, and they assembled a team of engineers, urban planners, and agricultural experts to spearhead the project. And somehow, I found myself leading that team. I won't lie, it was a daunting task. The island was in shambles. Buildings were destroyed, infrastructure was in ruins, and the land itself was contaminated. But we had a vision, and we were determined to make it a reality.

The first step was clearing the debris and assessing the damage. We had to make sure the area was safe for our team to work in. It was like walking through a ghost town. I remember seeing remnants of people's lives strewn across the streets – abandoned cars, shattered windows, and overgrown gardens. It was a sobering reminder of what had been lost. Going around the places I used to frequent before the war and seeing the remains of bustling businesses and my friends’ homes was heartbreaking. But we couldn't dwell on the past. We had a job to do. That’s one thing the war taught me. That no matter how difficult the circumstances, you have to keep moving forward. There were times when it felt overwhelming, when the weight of the task at hand threatened to crush me. But I couldn't afford to succumb to despair. I had a responsibility to the people who had put their trust in me, to the survivors who needed a fresh start.

There were days when I questioned everything. What was the point of rebuilding? Why bother trying to turn this place into something resembling what it used to be? But then I would look around me and see the resilience of the people working alongside me. They had lost so much, yet they continued to show up every day, ready to put in the hard work. It was inspiring, and it reminded me that we were doing more than just rebuilding infrastructure. We were rebuilding hope.

But despite the progress we were making, there were moments when the memories of the war would come flooding back. Sometimes it was a sound that triggered it—a distant scream that echoed through the empty streets, or the rumble of a building being demolished. Other times, it was a smell—the stench of decay or the smoke from burning wreckage. These reminders would transport me back to those dark days, when death and destruction were all around us. I struggled with the weight of those memories, with the guilt of surviving while so many others perished. There were times when I questioned whether I deserved to be here, whether I had done enough to earn my place among the living. But then I would remember the faces of the people we were helping—the families who would have a chance at a new life because of our efforts. And that's what kept me going.