| Mallory's POV | Flashback: arrival at the outpost. |
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I served Coco mineral water on a silver platter. In all my time spent as her groveling assistant, I had never felt so low until I was her actual servant—a Gray.
Sure, I was grateful to be alive. Coco's dependence on me and an extremely expensive plane ticket guaranteed my survival while billions of other people suffered and died throughout the world. But why me? I am nothing special. I am not one of the talented, famous, intellectual, or genetically superior elites here. Instead, I am just Mallory, a short girl in a dull, gray outfit with hair tied tightly into a vertical bun as I perpetually worked.
What was the point? My family was dead, the world was gone, I had no future, and my only "friends" were elite Purples who treated me worse than the dirt beneath their feet. I saw no point in living.
However, not long after our arrival at the outpost, a glimmer of purpose arrived—a reason to live.
"Calling Occupants Of Interplanetary Craft" by Carpenters played on repeat in the music room, as it always did. The Purples lounged on plush sofas or paced throughout the room, glasses of mineral water in hand. Most Grays were scattered throughout the outpost, preparing dinner or scrubbing floors, but of course I had a special place here in my personal hell, which was at Coco's side. Many refugees were voicing their distaste for our lack of musical variety.
"It's like Satan's Spotify playlist," Stu groaned, causing his lover Andre to laugh.
Suddenly, our attention was stolen by two strangers entering into the music room.
"Oh," Evie blurted with interest, "well, well, well. New blood."
"Come in. Don't be shy," Dinah smiled. "What are your names?"
The boy, in a Purple suit, introduced himself, his voice sounding weary. "Timothy." He feigned a friendly expression.
Timothy had short, dark hair and brown eyes. His skin was light but not fair. He seemed athletic and young—the kind of boy who might be a jock in high school, but with a kind heart.
"Emily," said the girl to his left.
She was a pretty girl with a confident aura, her skin a warm, lighter toned brown and her hair curly, voluminous, and dark to match her brown eyes. She was also a Purple. Both Timothy and Emily were certainly attractive enough to be models in a fashion magazine.
Mr. Gallant eagerly approached them. "What's happening out there?"
"It's all gone," Timothy informed, gazing down.
"Everything," Emily added, her expression sober and dark.
A girl then appeared from behind them, walking in and standing off to the side with her arms folded in contempt. She looked a bit roughed up. Nonetheless, while the other two newcomers were pleasing to the eye indeed, this girl was far more beautiful than anyone I had ever seen. She was tall and slim, her skin pale with a slight hint of freckles on her cheekbones. Her face was short and feminine but with a sharp jawline, and her small nose was angled upwards. Her eyes were beautifully glassy—gray and large like a doll's, but angry. Her lips were full, pink, and pouting. Her hair was a rich, dark auburn color and fell right above her shoulders in a cascade of large, full curls. Even further accentuating her beauty, her face was decorated by opal studs in both nostrils and a gold ring in her septum, accompanied by ears dripping with rings and studs.
She was in a Gray uniform, but her gray blouse collar was unbuttoned and splayed open, her sleeves were rolled up, and her apron was missing. Her exposed neck and arms revealed a canvas of black ink, with tattoos adorning her body like paintings. Unlike the other female Grays, her reddish brown hair was not tied into an upright bun and instead elegantly framed her face. Something told me that Ms. Venable was lucky to have coerced her into this costume at all, let alone follow the rest of the dress code.
The room was taken aback by her arrival. She looked so different from the rest of us, and she was clearly not fulfilling the role of a typical Gray.
"And, who are you, exactly?" Mr. Gallant flicked his wrist towards her with a condescending tone.
She rolled her eyes and walked right past him, plopping down onto an empty spot on one sofa across from where I stood, rubbing her temples. She took the glass of mineral water from off my platter and downed it.
Gallant scoffed, returning his attention to Timothy and Emily. "Okay, then. What are you in for?"
"What do you mean?" Emily asked, squinting.
"You know," Gallant prodded, "what got you the golden ticket? You rich?"
Timothy shrugged. "I believe the words they used were 'exceptional genetic makeup.'"
Gallant turned back towards the new Gray. "And the human embodiment of MySpace in 2008?" His eyebrows raised at her.
"Her name's Kat," Emily said, "she's my friend."
Coco chimed in loudly, "Oh, so screw the hundred million dollar ticket, am I right? Sounds like all you really need to get in here is friendship!" She squinted her eyes at the new Gray.
The girl, Kat, eyed Coco up and down. "No, actually, I'm sure a few blowjobs on some wrinkly dicks are what landed you here." Her stony expression twitched into a mocking half-smirk, then she sniffed it away. "No," she corrected herself, "let me try again." She placed a finger on something invisible in the air. "Daddy's money. Bingo, right?" Kat's voice was low and husky.
Coco cocked her head. "Listen, bitch," she warned, "you're messing with the wrong one."
Kat didn't seem fazed by her threat in the least. Her attention turned to Mr. Gallant as he walked towards her.
"And if you haven't noticed, princess, Grays have a different place here. As in, not lounging on a couch in the music room. Shouldn't you be scrubbing toilets or something?" He crossed his arms expectantly.
I was mesmerized by her defiance. I think we all were. I had taken so much shit in my life, every single day, but she wasn't having any of it.
Ms. Venable strolled into the room from behind Timothy and Emily.
"All Grays are needed in the kitchen," she stated with a voice of authority. "Dinner will be served soon."
I picked up the silver platter I had been using and started to walk towards her, noticing Kat not moving an inch.
"Fist," Ms. Venable barked without hesitation, her eyes locked on Kat.
I continued through the doorway, passing The Fist as she entered the room. I looked back to see the giant warden grab Kat by the arm and forcibly guide her off the sofa and out of the room. I walked quickly to the kitchen, hearing Kat protest loudly the whole way.
"Ow!" Kat exclaimed. "Let go, you brute! What the fuck!"
I took my place in the kitchen, followed by The Fist carelessly shoving Kat into the room, causing her to stumble slightly.
Kat panted from her own struggling, eyes squinted at The Fist with resentment. Ms. Venable then entered and slowly approached Kat until their faces were nearly touching. Every working Gray looked on with curiosity.
"Listen to my instructions very carefully," Ms. Venable enunciated. "I am going to give you one day. If you cannot follow the rules of this outpost by the end of today, you will have to answer to a life of cancer-ridden cannibals and radioactive fallout. Fix your uniform, fix your hair, and get to work."
Kat gritted her teeth. I hesitantly approached and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder, causing her to shrug it away and look at me from the sides of her eyes.
"Listen to her," I said softly. "There's no point in resisting." I didn't want to see her get punished.
After another few seconds of glaring Ms. Venable in the eyes, Kat begrudgingly turned away and joined the other Grays at the meal preparation counter.
Ms. Venable, satisfied, turned towards the door to leave. As she did, Kat angrily grabbed a case of meal cubes and went to turn them upside down.
"No, don't—!" But before I could stop her, Kat had poured the entire box of food onto the floor and threw the packaging to the side with a sharp thud.
Ms. Venable paused. She turned to face the scene, analyzing the spilled goods and Kat's defiant scowl.
"You're a goddamn imbecile," Ms. Venable remarked, seething. She nodded to The Fist.
"Wait, she's new," I pleaded, to no avail.
Within a split second, The Fist had thrown Kat to the floor and held a nightstick menacingly over her body. For the first time, Kat seemed to express a level of fear as she stared at this weapon-wielding giant.
Ms. Venable glared down upon the helpless girl. "I stand by my original statement. Continue to fail at your job and you will be executed before nightfall. This is your last warning. You will not be eating tonight." She turned away once again to leave. "And I expect you to work to the best of your ability, no matter how much pain you're in."
With that, The Fist's nightstick came crashing down on Kat with a loud, dull thud and a sickening cracking noise. I could feel my stomach drop to the floor as Kat choked out a pained cry.
The Fist promptly left, and Kat lay on the floor, shakily clutching her side in pain. The other Grays gawked at the scene, then continued busying themselves with dinner preparations. I crouched down to Kat.
"My God," I muttered, extending a helping hand. "Can you stand up?"
Her eyes flashed up to meet my gaze, and I could tell she was fighting back tears of pain. She managed to keep her eyes dry and her face stony, completely ignoring my extended hand.
"I'm fucking fine," she growled. She used one hand to grab the edge of the counter and the other to clutch her damaged side. She slowly stood up, small whimpers escaping her mouth as she did. Her breathing was ragged.
"Look," I said softly, "it's either cooperate in here or die out there." My tone was sympathetic and pleading. I wanted this girl to understand the severity of the situation. "Just stand here and they'll assume you're working." She stood silent with her eyes avoiding me, her hands pressing against her injury. "Here," I said, offering a glass of water. "I'll pick up the cubes. Just drink this. And please, listen to me. I can show you how to style your hair the way she wants it—just come see me in my room later. I can help."
Her gray eyes, glossed over from pain, flickered to meet my gaze. "And why the fuck should I trust you?" she asked in a gravely hushed tone. "You have a hair dick on your head, for fuck's sake."
My eyes darted down to the floor, then back to hers. "You were right, by the way. Daddy's money. That's how Coco got us here." I bent down and began picking up the scattered cubes.
She snorted, then winced in pain. "Jesus Christ," she whispered.
"Oh no, honey," another Gray commented in passing, "Jesus Christ abandoned us a long time ago."
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