Young Writers Society

The year is 2085. Global warming has ravaged the planet, destroying the majority of the natural resources here on earth. Everything from natural metals to available farmland to oil has dwindled to enough to support only about 5% of the population.

The decline was gradual at first, but when it became clear that humanity as a whole was using resources faster than they could be regenerated, people panicked and began to hoard resources. The world descended into chaos; civil wars tore apart countries, families split, and the world was rocked with bloodshed. When the government stepped in to manage these resources, people were excited. There would be no more waste. Everything would be fair. Life would be better.

And it was, until the Treatise of Rapacity happened. A group of around 50 politicians agreed in secret to ally with each other and slant everything in their favor. That way, their families and close friends would be protected. They managed to change the government structure to uphold that and hoarded the resources for themselves, under the protection of the Treatise.

Now, the resources are split evenly between the top 1% and the other 99%. Life is worse than before the government took control of resource distribution. The streets run red with blood, and there is not a corner of the world that has been untouched by this scarcity. Minorities are disproportionately affected, and disadvantaged and underprivileged people are dying at rates never seen before. Meanwhile, the richest 1% enjoy lives of relative luxury with their hoarded resources.

To counter this, Rana and Kris established a sort of pipeline to provide resources to those who need them most. Known only as Accretion, their organization is little more than a whisper of hope amongst the people, and a curse in the mouths of politicians. . .

Rana smeared bright red lipstick on, then stepped back and observed herself in the mirror. Her blonde hair was curled, a single strand swooping across her forehead. She'd contoured her face to be angular and attractive, lips crimson and intense.

Her dress was as dark as midnight, but contrasted sharply against her pale skin. It had one shoulder covered, but her other was bare, and the skirt barely came past her crotch. She bent and slipped into heels, then straightened just as Kris came walking into the room.

"There's a banquet tonight," Rana said, turning towards her. "Think I'm distracting enough to loosen Senator Rendal's tongue?"

Kris chuckled. "If you want to spend the evening flirting with 60-year-old senators who have a wife and three mistresses, be my guest. I'm gonna be searching for a way to access their resource dumps."

Kris stepped into her own dress, a fashionable but functional sleeveless red dress. Unlike Rana's, Kris' dress extended all the way to the top of her knee, but not for the sake of modesty. Kris fastened a sheath to her thigh and slid her dagger into the sheath. It was impossible to predict when she would need it, and Kris preferred to be prepared for any circumstance.

"You're not scared?" Kris asked, turning towards Rana. "You can walk into a room full of our enemies without a fear in the world, without even a weapon to protect yourself?"

"Oh, I'm armed and dangerous," Rana answered with a wink, pulling her dress down ever so slightly to reveal a little more of her bust. "And we'll see who finds the resources faster. I'm fairly certain my boobs will lead us to them before your brains do."

"So what? You're gonna flirt your way into their bed and just be like 'You know what really turns me on? Seeing illegitimately acquired hoards of resources.'" Kris smirked. "Good luck with that. While you've distracted them with your cleavage, I'll be slipping my hands into some pockets and stealing the keys to their treasure troves. Then we can finally start to work some justice."

"Yeah, well, divide and conquer." Rana shrugged, not so interested in arguing between methods. Kris seemed to be the type to fight first and ask questions later. Rana figured punching could always come later, if questions didn't get her what she wanted. "What's out code if we need to bail quick?"

"Tell me that you're having 'lady issues'." Kris chuckled. "That'll get every male in the room to give us a wide berth."

Kris stepped into her 3-inch heels and evaluated herself in front of the full-length mirror. She had used concealer to cover the tattoos that ran up and down her arms; there was no need to draw unnecessary attention to herself. Her green curls would pull plenty of attention to her, but she didn't want to re-dye it. She needed to keep some element of herself to keep from getting lost in the mass of people she was trying so desperately not to become.

"You ready to go?" she asked.

"Hah," Rana answered, smirking. "Yeah, let's go. Never too soon to start chatting the assholes up."

~~~

A black limousine pulled up to the front of the hotel, and the driver got out of the car and hurried to open the door for Rana and Kris. "Miss Simms, Miss Elstan, I am here to escort you to the Banquet for the Recognition of Political Efforts," the driver recited. "My name is Edward, and I will be your driver tonight. In the limousine you will find refreshments for your enjoyment. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to make your ride more pleasant." He bowed to Kris and Rana and then hurried back to the driver's side.

After a moment of assessment, Kris slid into the limousine on the plush leather seat and motioned to Rana. "You ready?"

"Always." Rana flashed a charming smile, prepping herself for what was going to be a long, hellish evening no doubt. She sat down and shut the door, then craned her neck, looking for what the driver had referenced. "I like to be refreshed."

Kris grabbed a water bottle and took a long sip. She glanced at the snacks available but decided it was best to save her hunger for the event. Political events like these always featured the most delicious food from all different cultural backgrounds. Last year, she had gorged herself on miniature shrimp tacos, lamb birynai, and steamed dumplings. This year, even though she had to maintain her focus, she was planning on enjoying the cuisine and eating on the 1%'s dime.

Rana cracked open a bag of chips shoved some in her mouth, grateful for the free food. She'd be sure to swipe some actual food at the event, but she needed to make sure she was seen, and who knew how much time there'd be for eating. "So, divide and conquer, yeah?"

Kris glanced warily at the driver; she couldn't know his allegiances. "Yes, I think we should split up. But please be careful. I have some reservations about the intentions of these men."

"I have reservations about the intentions of all men." Rana smirked and settled back into the seat. "Are we there yet?"

Kris rolled her eyes. "We've been traveling for like, five seconds." She looked out the tinted window. "We're entering the private sector now." The contrast between the private sector and the poor neighborhoods was shocking, no matter how many times Kris saw it. Dilapidated, slanted roofs turned into towering skyscrapers built of iron, steel, and thick glass sheets. The bumpy dirt highway turned into a paved, smooth road, with fresh line markings and defined parking spaces. Perhaps most notably, everyone in the private sector was dressed in new clothes, with full and happy faces, while almost everyone in the poor neighborhoods looked weary, run-down, and perpetually hungry.

The injustice of it all made Kris grit her teeth, and she turned her head to stare out the window to distract herself. "So. You excited for the party?" she asked Rana, only half-sarcastically.