Sailor Helga Prequel - Arnold and Helga's Past in the Future [COMPLETED]

Chapter 2

Phoebe sipped her beverage alone in the corner of the bar. It was late, and she wanted nothing more than to rest her mind in solitude after a taxing day.

She had been ushered to and fro throughout the kingdom of Last Haste, her tour culminating with a brief visit to the nation's secret laboratory facilities. There, she had gotten her first glimpse at why she was there: to consult on a top-secret weapon that was fashioned in the same manner as that of her home country.

Or, at least, they thought it was a secret. Although they were on the other side of the planet, her rulers were virtually omniscient on all things concerning Earth. Last Haste was fortunate her country's response was benevolent in nature. Perhaps because the fledgling nation had no chance in matching strengths, they could at least keep appearances as though they did...

At the conclusion of the tour, Phoebe stopped her guide. "Excuse me, will I get to meet the King and Queen of Last Haste?"

He sucked in air sharply, then bit his fist. "Oh dear...you haven't been briefed, have you?"

Phoebe frowned. "About what?"

The guide sighed melodramatically. "How awkward....Dr. Heyerdahl, several months ago, a group of dissenters had attacked the royal family while they were traveling to perform their duties."

Phoebe's hand went to her mouth in surprise. "Oh dear..."

"Yes, it was devastating blow, one that would have very well left us defenseless and at the mercy of the rebels. Fortunately, the youngest daughter survived the onslaught and is still with us, and we are able to subdue the dissenters, though we are convinced there are still pockets of them still existing within Last Haste. Which is why your arrival is so instrumental in securing our stronghold from any further attacks. Surely the Eastern Kindgom is aware that is the intention with our little project."

"Of course," replied Phoebe.

She was escorted back to her hotel. She was cognizant of the stares she received. Eyes of distrust plagued her since she set foot in Last Haste.

Even in the bar where she enjoyed her drink she could feel the accusatory eyes of her fellow patrons.

No matter, she thought finishing her drink. They have every right to be suspicious. When have we ever done anything for them in the past? We were The Other, after all....

As if reading her mind, one of the gawkers – a surly man who may have had one too many rounds – approached Phoebe's table and stood glowering at her.

Phoebe looked up. "Yes? Can I help you?"

The man spat on the ground and leaned in menacingly. "When have your kind ever lifted a finger to help us lowly Earth-dwellers? Just because your Queenie comes from outer space, you think you're better than me, is that it? You Moonies make me sick."

Moonies. It was a slur she had not heard in a long time.

Calmly, Phoebe laid out cash to pay for her drink, then stood up and smiled tightly. "Excuse me," she said, brushing past the man and hastily exiting the bar.

She chastised herself for leaving the confines of her hotel. Drunk on the adrenaline of her encounter, she became disoriented and took the wrong route; a group of men from the bar trailed her, and as she tried to get away, she was led right into a dead end.

Her surly assailant from the bar was head of the pack, and he grinned maliciously, tapping a lead pipe in his hand.

"Please," Phoebe said, desperation creeping through her stoic demeanor. "If you let me go, I'll...I'll give you everything in my purse."

The men took a step closer; Phoebe threw the purse at them and backed up against the wall.

"Hey, boys," said the surly leader. "I hear these Moon folk all have magical powers from living so close to their Queen."

"I hear they don't even age," said another. "I wonder if any of that so-called magic is transferable."

"Well, only one way to find out..." said the surly one, and the group closed the distance between themselves and their victim. Phoebe screamed.

Suddenly, a loud whistle rang through the area. All eyes turned to the source; a figure in silhouette caused by the streetlights.

"Now boys, this is hardly a fair fight," came the voice of a woman. "What do you say we even the playing field?"

"Better back off," threatened one of the men. "Or you'll wind up in worse shape than what we'll do to her!"

He approached her and put a gruff hand on the woman's shoulder.

She sighed in disgust. "So I guess we're doing this the hard way, huh?"

A much larger hand came seemingly from out of nowhere and grabbed the man that grabbed her, lifted him off the ground and tossed him into the rest of the men. The rest of the body attached to the hand came closer and proceeded to beat up the group with lethal efficiency.

The woman lightly brushed her shoulder with her hand. "Had enough, boys?"

Moaning and groaning, the group of men stumbled over one another in effort to flee the woman and her mysterious shadow.

Phoebe slid from her spot on the wall to the ground, too paralyzed with fear to react to what had transpired.

When they approached, Phoebe could see that the woman was slender and wearing a red powersuit and skirt, and had long black hair down to her waist. Her partner was also female, but taller and of muscular build, and wearing army fatigues and a blue beret on her head. Her brown hair was in a messy braid that was shoulder-length.

"I hope we didn't startle you," said the woman in red. "Don't worry: we're the good guys."

She extended her hand; Phoebe graciously accepted it.