3 years in the past

Declan tapped away at his keyboard, the rhythmic clatter of the keys a familiar soundtrack to his life. A half-empty mug of lukewarm coffee sat beside him, a testament to the late hours he was keeping. The office was quiet, the usual hum of activity replaced by an almost eerie stillness. His colleagues had gone home hours ago, but he found himself drawn back to his desk, the weight of the story he was working on pressing down on him like a physical burden. He had been tasked with writing a piece about the surprising surge in people getting tested for preternatural abilities since the passage of Senate Bill 7893XX. It wasn't a story he had expected to be writing, but the numbers were undeniable. The lines at the testing centers stretched around the block, filled with a diverse mix of people: young and old, from all walks of life, all united by a single question: "What am I?"

The reasons behind this sudden influx of people seeking to know their preternatural status were varied. Some were driven by curiosity, the allure of the unknown, the tantalizing possibility of discovering hidden abilities. Others sought confirmation, a validation of the whispers they had always felt at the edges of their awareness. And then, there were those who were driven by fear, the unsettling realization that the world they thought they knew had shifted on its axis.

He had spent the day interviewing people outside one of the busiest testing centers in Oklahoma City, trying to capture the multitude of perspectives on this landmark legislation. Some were enthusiastic, embracing the new era of transparency and inclusion. Others were wary, their voices laced with apprehension, their words echoing the fear and prejudice that had simmered beneath the surface for far too long. He had a folder filled with notes, scribbled quotes, and observations, a chaotic jumble of human emotions trying to make sense of a world in transition.

Declan took a sip of his coffee, the bitter taste jolting him awake, and began to organize his thoughts, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

“A New Era: Oklahomans Flock to Preternatural Testing Centers” he typed, the title appearing on the screen in bold, black letters. He hesitated for a moment, considering the weight of those words, then continued typing, the story taking shape beneath his fingertips.

He started with the numbers, the sheer volume of people seeking testing.

"Over 10,000 Oklahomans have undergone preternatural ability testing in the past week alone, since the passage of Senate Bill 7893XX, commonly known as the "Inclusive Citizens Act," according to data released by the Oklahoma Department of Health. This unprecedented surge in testing reflects a profound shift in public awareness and a growing desire among citizens to understand their place in a world where the line between human and preternatural is becoming increasingly blurred."

He then transitioned to the interviews, weaving together the diverse voices he had encountered.

"I've always felt… different," a young woman with nervous energy and bright, curious eyes confided. "Like there was something more to me, something I couldn't quite explain. When the Act passed, I knew I had to find out. I had to know the truth."

“It’s about time," an older man with a gruff demeanor and a weathered face said, a hint of defiance in his voice. "We’ve been kept in the shadows for far too long. Now we have a chance to live openly, to be ourselves. But I tell ya, some folks ain’t too happy about it."

“I’m doing it for my kids," a worried mother with a young child clinging to her leg said. "I need to know what they are, what they’re capable of. How can I protect them if I don’t even understand them?"

He included the voices of dissent, the whispers of fear and prejudice that lingered in the air.

"This whole thing is a disaster waiting to happen," an elderly woman with a pinched face and narrowed eyes muttered, clutching a well-worn Bible. "These...creatures...are not meant to be among us. They're an abomination, a sign of the End Times."

"They're going to take over," a middle-aged man with a haunted look in his eyes whispered, his voice laced with paranoia. "They're going to steal our jobs, our homes, our way of life."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Mark my words, this will lead to chaos," a local politician, his face etched with disapproval, declared during a televised interview. "We're opening Pandora's Box, and we'll all pay the price."

He wrote about the challenges ahead, the need for understanding, for tolerance, for a society willing to confront its own prejudices.

"The passage of Senate Bill 7893XX has undoubtedly ushered in a new era, a time of unprecedented transparency and the potential for greater inclusion. However, the challenges ahead are significant. Deep-seated prejudices must be addressed, fears must be allayed, and a dialogue of understanding must be fostered. The journey toward true acceptance, a society where all citizens, regardless of their preternatural abilities, can live and thrive, is just beginning. And it is a journey that we must undertake together."

He reread the article, the words on the screen reflecting a complex tapestry of human emotions, hopes, fears, and uncertainties. It wasn't just a story about preternatural abilities; it was a story about humanity itself, about our capacity for both love and hate, about our ability to adapt, to evolve, to embrace the unknown.

He saved the file, the computer chiming softly, a sound that echoed the fragile hope he felt. He knew that the story was far from over, that the challenges ahead were immense, but for a moment, he allowed himself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, this new era could lead to a better world, a world where difference was not feared but celebrated.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaustion pulling at him, but a sense of satisfaction lingered. He had done his job, had given a voice to the multitude of perspectives swirling around this historic moment. He hoped that his words, his story, would contribute to the dialogue, to the understanding, to the building of a more inclusive society. He hoped.

Declan startled slightly as the office door creaked open. He hadn't heard Connor arrive and he blinked for a moment trying to clear the fog of exhaustion from his mind.

" Still burning the midnight oil Declan? Whatcha got there?" Connor asked as he walked to his desk and began to sort through the mail that had piled up while he was away at a conference. Connor was a kind and understanding man in his mid 50's, salt and pepper hair, a neatly trimmed beard and wore glasses that constantly slid down his nose. He had founded the newspaper with the inheritance that he received from his grandparents shortly after graduating from college and had taken pride in making certain that his employees were treated fairly and paid well despite being in a small rural town.

" Just finished the article about Senate Bill 7893XX, decided to take a different angle on it." Declan said as he stretched and stood. He had spent so long hunched over his keyboard that his back was stiff. " How was the conference?" he asked as he made his way to the coffee pot. He glanced at the clock, 2:30 am. At this rate he would be lucky to get four hours of sleep and still be able to make it to the meeting with Danielle in a few hours.

" It was alright, a bunch of small town newspaper owners and editors complaining about how the big corporations are buying them up or driving them out of business." Connor said with a sigh. " But the biggest complaint was about the costs associated with senate bill 7893XX. Every business owner now has to cover the costs of testing their employees and that is cutting into their bottom line." He paused, pushing his glasses up his nose, and turned to face Declan. " You know that you aren't required to get tested right? I mean, unless you want to, and if you do we'll cover the cost. Apparently we'll get a tax credit for the cost of the test so it's a win-win for us."

Declan stared into his coffee cup as he contemplated his response. Legally his employer couldn't force him to take the test, at least not yet. Even so the thought of potentially losing his job or being ostracized if he refused did not settle well. Though the classification system could lead to discrimination as those classified as a potential threat level of five, like lycanthropes and vampires, would likely face more scrutiny and excessive force from law enforcement. Plus the revenue generated from the tests likely swayed some politicians to vote for the bill. He sighed and took a long drink from his cup.

" Thanks Connor, I appreciate that. Honestly, I've lived this long without knowing and it hasn't seemed to negatively affect my life so far." Declan said, running a hand through his already messy hair. "Besides, if I did decide to get tested, it would have to be on my own terms and my own time, not because some law says that I have to." He paused for a moment before adding "If I'm being honest, I think that whole classification system is just a way to control and marginalize those who are different. It's like they're trying to create a hierarchy, with preternatural citizens at the bottom."

Connor nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. "I understand. It's a lot to process, and it's not an easy decision. Just know that I support you, whatever you decide." He stood and headed back to his desk. "Now get some rest. We've got a lot of work to do tomorrow."

Declan nodded and headed out the door into the cool night air. He had a lot to think about. The world was changing, and he wasn’t sure what his place in it was anymore. But one thing was for sure: he wouldn’t let anyone force him into a box. He would make his own choices, even if they were difficult, even if they were dangerous. He would live his life on his own terms.