Chapter I

A high school class discusses the history lesson they're not so far removed from.

I was just thirteen when the first bomb fell. Hard to believe that I'm still here, honestly. There was the initial nuke in 2018, then four more that same year. 2019 was the year of endless air strikes and drone flyovers. By 2020 we were approaching complete occupation by a foreign enemy we never even saw coming.

And now it doesn't even matter who they were.

Those of us lucky enough to survive all of this chaos built something from the ashes of America. I say us but I was still just a kid. The adults that made it assembled The United Oversight, a new government for a new nation. And the bombs stopped. I haven't heard talks of a mushroom cloud or nuclear fallout ever since.

So that's the end of it, right? I guess for the most part, that's correct.
No more threats of radiation, no more waking up to a manmade tremor. Your table shakes because someone else's house just got leveled. That's done.

As for the drones? The drones dominate the skies. Passenger air travel has all but ceased, deemed too dangerous by the people we've "elected" to keep us safe. There was an election held and the news aired it as a fair deal but if you listened to the whispers, they'd tell you it was all just a formality.

I don't know what to believe. My family tells me one thing, my friends tell me something totally different.

The only opinion of my own that I have is that guns are bad and gay people should be left alone. My friends would agree, my family not so much.

Family is a strange word to me. A sort of otherworldly concept, if I'm going to be completely open. But-

A ringing bell stalls my thoughts as a tall female enters the room. The black pumps on her feet greatly accentuate her already well defined calves while the tight black pencil skirt does little to cover up the toned thighs.

She doesn't have to cover up. I knew that before all hell broke loose. Now there were simply laws saying she couldn't be fired for it. Or scorned. Or punished. Or protested. Or looked at in a judgmental way. Laws of the land and the revitalized constitution, not just socially tolerant views.
"Good morning, everyone," she muses happily before grabbing her tablet from her desk and pressing a manicured nail to the power button on the projector.

What appears up on the whiteboard makes the entire class, myself included, groan audibly.
"Come on, now. This doesn't have to be boring. We can make this as exciting as we will it to be!" Props to her for trying to encourage a room full of uninvested teenagers to learn but it's nine-thirty in the morning. Miss Powers is playing with a fire she might not be able to put out once it's ignited.

The fit woman crosses in front of the projector lens, her body eclipsing the light in her very form as she places her hands firmly on her hips and allows her deep blue eyes to scan the room over the thick black frames of her glasses. One full eyebrow arches upward and we all know it's only a matter of time until she calls out a name. "Tyler." Her voice is stern but still overly cheerful.

There's two Tyler's in the class. I raise my head from the keyboard of my tablet slowly and smile once I realize her eyes are locked on the other Tyler.

Tyler Dennison is wearing light washed boot-cut jeans with a hole exposing his entire left kneecap. His facial expression appears completely dejected. Poor kid. "Tyler, what can you tell me about the date that's up on the screen?" The way she's balancing on her heels, it's hard not to imagine a long wooden pointer in her hand, slapping her palm with each syllable she speaks.

Tyler mumbles something incoherent causing Miss Powers to lean her head in a little bit closer to his desk. "Pardon?" She asks.

"I don't know," he says again, his agitation not at all disguised by false excitement the way the rest of us tend to do.

Of course he knows. We all know. It's like he doesn't want to answer. Why not? The bombs stopped falling. Every day is a good day. Things stopped blowing up. Just answer her question.

Her elbows are now on his desk, her glasses up on top of her head just inches away from a large, tightly tied bun. Tyler Dennison looks like he could cry.

What overcomes me I don't know, but before I can second guess myself I have my hand raised high into the air.

She casts a sideways glance at me before looking back to Dennison. "Looks like he just saved you. Make sure you thank him later," she winks at him and it makes everyone a little uncomfortable. No time for that, though, before she's standing tall in front of me, casting a shadow over my desk space.

"So, Tyler, what is the importance of the date on the screen?"
I swallow hard before nodding to the screen behind her. "That's the- that's the day the Bill of Forfeiture was signed and passed. That's the day we became The United Oversight."