The year was 657 SR. It's been over 650 years since the Naysayers lay down arms. Even they couldn't ignore the lack of any traditional weather patterns, so they waved the white flag and admitted the scientists were right. It was all too little too late of course. So the scientists just announced it a New "You made your bed, now we have to live in it!" World and started the calendar again. Now it was the year 657 SR (Scientists Right) and from the depths of the now too warm oceans and seas had risen all matter of life forms, and they were hungry.
Her name was Lola and she volunteered for the United Squishy Killing Corps. Seriously. The world's scientists really didn't care anymore. They called the sea monsters Squishies, and two days a week Lola killed them.
Las Vegas, now being a coastal city, got more than its fair share of Squishies. They sometimes even wandered into the club which meant Lola always kept her L-24-Stardust Vapor Gun handy. She loved her Stardust. Not only was it extremely intimidating to see a cute little red headed showgirl holding four and half pounds of weaponry, but also its namesake was due to the pretty vapor the gun turned a Squishy into. Lola loved to yell "ZIGGY!" right before the point of impact. It made her laugh manically every time.
She tried to keep a sense of humour about things, she even had yellow feathers painted on the side of her combat helmet, but after having people sing the same song at you since you were twenty, well, things got old.
"Music and passion were always in fashion at the cop-OW!"
"Oh sorry, Felix. Did the butt of my gun hitting the back of your head interrupt you singing the one and only song that I loath with a fiery passion? My bad. BTW, your turn." Felix grumbled but stood to take over the watch. Lola sat down, back leaning against the wall of The Strip overpass. The once pedestrian walkways between the casinos long since taken over by the Squishy Corps as lookouts. From this point Lola could look up and just see cloudless blue sky, the top of New York New York, pretend the ground wasn't littered with ancient sea monsters and remember that Barry Manilow has been dead for hundreds of years.
It was a nice thought.