Not With Us
Chapter 1: During a Cold, Stormy, Winter Night
December 22, 2613
Somewhere, in the ghettos of Jump City, in a poorly lit alleyway, during a blizzard, a poor (in both senses of the word), pitiful young woman, with bright yellow eyes-anyone staring into them could easily believe they were two tiny suns-and naturally purple hair, was outside of a strip club, and on break. She wasn't doing anything illegal, unlike most of the others. Instead, she was reading a musky, July,2582 issue of National Geographic; she had yellow eyes, that, in dark enough places, shined like the sun. Her name tag read "Chelsea Hawn". The door behind her read "Spectre", the title of the establishment in which she worked. The boss, who went by the name of Seraph, - and whose real name was Alan Schmidt- was kinder than most of Hawn's previous employers. He was nice in general. Seraph gave his employees good food, water, a reasonable salary, and substantial shelter- a middle-class suite at the Zanzibar high-rise hotel, which was about a six-minute drive from the Specter. In short, it was a very nice place, for a club. Recently, the business had to cut back spending and lay a few people off (mostly the fault of President DuFresne and the United States' government recently shutting down). Some of the best girls got laid off; Cindy, the "instant hit", Olive, who had worked there since 2597, Gale, who had been working there part-time for nearly thirteen years, Jodie, one of the many waitresses, and Beatrix, the girl who had worked there since it opened up back in April of Gerry, the one employee who still had thought there was in inch of hope in the "modern America", eventually moved to Canada soon after the government shut down.
Enthralled in what she was reading, Hawn was startled by a loud, metallic creaking sound that turned out to be the door. She gasped, stiffened up, and looked to toward it; it was one of the ushers coming to tell her that she had two minutes until she had to resume her work shift. "Ya gotta come back in in a few, ma'am. The boss says 'Your gonna get frostbite.'" Unflinching, still focused on her magazine, she replied with an accent that sounded like a Southern Bell mixed with a heavy British accent, "Yes, sir, I'll be in 'bout a minute," Then, turning her head towards the usher and grew a cheeky little smile and continued, "and tell the boss 'Acknowledging your consideration, I can take care of myself.'"