I walk over slowly, my muscles begin to tense up. I can feel a sweat drop begin to form across my brow. I'm nervous. But, I've certainly been around dead bodies before, I mean, you kind of have to get used to something like that in today's day and age. So why am I so nervous then? I see the woman rise as she breathes in and out. It's because she's alive, that's why I am nervous. The dead are so much easier to handle.

I didn't get to bury my parents. Addison mentioned that she had to bury her parents, I just now remembered. I mean, technically, I don't even know if they are dead. My father left one day to find my mother after an accident happened. He was driving across the country and felt I was safer in the apartment. I can only assume since they never returned they died. And even if they didn't, that means they skipped out on me, in which case they're as good as dead to me anyway. None of the emotional baggage remains, it's sort of liberating to finally know how people think of you, you know? The last thing people tell you before they die is usually how much they hated you or loved you or whatever. It's the truth, because why lie when you can no longer benefit from it?

The girl shifts as she breathes up and down. In a spry moment she looks up and is now standing on the bed, she looks to be around my age.

Her tits are awesome.

She stares back at me, I look down and feel a rush of humility crash over me. I feel myself needing to explain. She jumps down off of the bed, her breasts bounce as she hits the floor. I find my eyes following them up and down. She's got long blonde hair that stops at her shoulders.

“Excuse me, I think we might be in the same predicament,” Grace said.

Oh shut up. The only predicament you're in is risk of diabetes.

She doesn't answer, she walks past Grace and stands right in front of me. She is inches from my face and I find it harder to breathe. I can feel an erection building in my pants. She looks me up and down similar to how Addison had prior. Instead of pointing a gun at me however she simply brings her hand up to my forehead and presses her finger against it, her cold blue eyes staring holes into me. Her hand is cold, almost unnaturally so. My head begins to pound, I hear Tom saying something to me, but everything blurs. It is hard to keep focus as she stares right back at me, and the pounding increases. All at once my vision fades. Through it all I hear the mechanical voice I'd heard before when I was grabbed.

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“Hero.”

President Hal Valhart. He was a rather charming man. He was who England gave to us after the full annexation of the United States to the British Empire. This was back sometime in the seventies. I remember seeing the recording of his first time on podium in front of a live nation.

“I'm certain you've all heard the rumors, that I'm being sent here under the direct authority of blah-blah blah. Listen. I volunteered for this position because I know you all are going through a rough time. It isn't easy going through change on this scale. I know you see me as the bad guy, but I want you all to know that I want what is best for you so that we all can get along. They could have sent over someone way worse who could have ruled here with an iron fist, but I want us all to be open. So I will be taking questions now to help ascertain anything I need to do to help make this whole thing work.”

A single hand in the crowd goes up, it is a reporter who seems to nearly be jumping out of her seat.

“Yes, the lovely lady in front.”

A microphone is passed out to the crowd and it reaches the woman, “Yes, I am sure that you're a nice man and all, but that means jack diddly to who you are as a leader. What if we don't like you or what you do?

Valhart seems to smile, but it isn't menacing. It seems warm. He radiated this sort of security at almost all times.

“You see, I know I'm not going to be able to please everyone, so for those of you who dislike how things are here, I will give you one bit of advice. The queen isn't as forgiving as I am, not by a long shot. If word gets round to her that things aren't going well here, she will not hesitate to pull the plug on this country, do you understand?”

The reporter is speechless.

“I don't want that to happen. I was an aficionado of pre-war American culture, and would absolutely hate to see such beautiful memories be erased forever. I'm on your side. But, and this is a big but, if you do find your new living conditions unbearable...find a way out.

Find a way out.