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Without Truman, there can be no happiness. Without Truman, we are nothing.” - Supreme Chancellor of Earth, 2102.‘Twas the beginning of the twenty second century.Society has become technology advanced over the years, with the invention of holograms, flying cars, and mainstream hover bikes like from the movie Back To The Future.All countries in the world have combined together to obey a New World Order, where a single leader dictates and rules above all others.The gap between the divided classes of rich and poor grows more wider as each day passes, with the elite and powerful becoming more secure than ever before as not even the hardest working middle-class person could ever hope to escape the mountain of debt chained to them.But none of that matters even mattered. There’s only one thing in this life that everyone could agree on, both man and woman, both rich and poor.The Truman Show is a really good fucking show, and John Truman is fucking adorable.John Truman was about to turn. She has returned to her tent and was asleep but who knows howlong that will last." Agreed. We should prepare her a meal that she may be able to eat in themorning. I will speak with her after she awakes to try to dissuade herfrom this dangerous path." I fear that is impossible, Dierdra."She may be correct about that. * * * *** * * * *** * * *There was a ringing of the bell outside my tent flap. I've been asleepfor over eight cycles but it feels like only four. I hadn't bothered toget undressed, just flopped into bed after I got back from the Healer'stent. I still hurt all over but the pain is down to a dull throb. Someof the bandages came loose during the night and the cuts that I can seehave healed quite a bit, certainly more than I expected. I slowly slideout of the bed, slip my shoes on and shuffle to the entrance of my tent.I must look like death warmed over."Who is it?" I mumble."The General Staff, my Queen. We beg an audience with you."I assumed I'd have to meet Dyson's.
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“‘Lo,” she replied after a moment’s hesitation and with a very serious expression.“My name’s Roger,” I went on, “what’s your name?”“Elle,” she smiled shyly.“Hello Elle.”There was a pause.“Chu doin’?”“Painting.”She digested this.“Chu makin’?”“It’s a Shepherd’s hut.”She looked at it.“‘Sgot wheels.”“Yes, they always have wheels.”She was silent for a moment, and then we heard a voice calling ‘Elle’, and a moment later something much more to my taste appeared. She was a size eighteen, perhaps a twenty at a guess, a cuddly female if I ever saw one and with the kind of pretty face that only well built girls can have, apple cheeked and curvy, almost a Lucy Attwell drawing, but grown up of course. Dark wavy hair past her shoulders and a long summer frock similar to Elle’s.“There you are sweetheart,” she exclaimed.She looked at me expectantly, “She’s not bothering you I hope?”At this point Elle demonstrated manners beyond her years.“‘S Auntykate,” she said. “Woger.” She affected.

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