Michaela Jackson is part human, part metal.
Hale Romanoff is a naive victim of an assault.
Nicholas Crawford is an incompetent bastard.
Jackson Crawford is an underage king.
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M I K A J A C K S O N
Beeping noises from my alarm are the noises that wake me up. It's 3 am, time for some job hunting. I have been planning for this day for a very long time. According to the NELU (New Era's Land Union) Children Rights, you have to be 18 years old in order to get a job, and today's the day I turn 18. People get new hovercars, trendy summer jackets or even vacations for their eighteenth birthday, and I am willing to get a job. How great. Nevertheless, I would do anything to make me and my mom happy.
The best jobs are night shift jobs. I can't sleep at night and Mom is either out with her boyfriend (apparently it's Mr.Evans) or sound asleep. She wouldn't even question me because she would never know. Not under those sleeping pills. Night shift jobs are the shortest and highest paying. The best are jobs at the club. Honestly, I'm scared of getting a job over there, but they say mainly students from Everest High go there.
Perfect. I'm socializing without having to socialize.
I get up, shoving my legs into my shoes and stacking three parkas on top of me. I shift to my flatscreen, probably scrambled against the floor. 32 comms and 9 vidlinks missed from Nicholas Crawford. I find that my left jaw is paralysed again. A message enters my retina display,
Ready to engage Electrical Paralysis recovery?
I think a three letter word.
YES_
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