Shadowed hands reached out through a
round, bright light, each finger cocked at a different angle.
He could not move as they approached,
unable to think or respond. He didn’t have a name, didn’t
have control, and could only watch and wait, his only
possible response a muted squeal through sealed lips.
The needle-like points on the ends of
the fingers became more visible as they closed the gap, sinking into
his eyes. He could see nothing as the pain began again.
A loud click sounded
in his ears, an unpleasant pressure hammering at his temples as
something lifted away. Was that a flap of skin? A mask?
It was impossible to tell, as he still
couldn’t see. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
His back arched as an achingly bright
flash washed through his brain. His muscles trembled as if touched
with a live wire, and all he knew was oblivion.
How long he remained in the blank
whiteness, he couldn’t tell, but the pain was seeping away, his
body returning to some sense of normalcy.
His eyes blinked, and the fear faded.
His vision had returned, but he didn’t rejoice at the resumption of
detectable light.
He was sitting in a bright, white room,
secured to a metal exam chair by a series of tight straps. He
strained his muscles one by one, but there was almost no wiggle room.
An attempted escape would be impossible.
Giving up for the moment, he relaxed,
probing at his memory. There was nothing there, but for a gaping
hole. Whoever he had used to be was simply gone.
This wasn’t some kind of mental block
- his mind had simply been wiped clean. There was no use
in trying to recall further, so he didn’t bother.
Besides, he had a more urgent need that
required his attention. Lifting his neck, he chewed at the rubbery
gag in his mouth as he looked towards the floor.
His legs had been forced apart,
separated and strapped to two metal frames, forcing them down and
below. He didn’t have enough range of motion to see the floor from
here, but what he could see was his massive, aroused
length.
Fear normally wasn’t a good
aphrodisiac, right? Then why was he so
freaking hard?
He grunted around the gag, sawing the
strap back and forth in his mouth, but there were no answers there.
He simply couldn’t remember.
As his cock flexed and strained, he let
out a long breath, feeling another sense of dismay. There was
something thick and heavy sitting around the base of his dick,
squeezing at his length to keep him erect.
Grunting, he pulled at his restraints,
trying to get a better look, but it was simply impossible.
Swallowing his phlegm, he gave up,
resting his head against a hard pillow. His eyes darted around,
studying his environment.
White ceiling. Painted white walls.
White tile.
It was maddening how
bright this place was - he was starting to feel a headache coming on.
He closed his eyes, desiring more than
anything to wipe off his sweaty forehead, but his arms were pinned
somewhere behind him, strapped in tight. The best he could do was to
bite into the spongy gag in his mouth and sigh.
A loud click pulled him back into the
present, his eyes snapping open. A black crack had appeared on the
wall in front of him, twin doors creaking wide to reveal two slender
arms.
His heart lurched as he got a better
look at the sleek body entering the room. She was feminine in nature,
with generous, perky breasts that danced in front of his vision as
she took sure steps towards him.
He didn’t let this distract him,
however, as her skin color wasn’t natural. It was
polished white, as if she was made of plastic. A robot?
Her movements appeared natural,
however, the sexy way she swung her hips making his dick rock hard
again. Her thick lips pouted, wide nose flaring as she approached
closer.
Her head was bald, like a polished cue
ball, sharp ridges cut into a pattern over her skull and down the
sides of her face. A red number FIVE was stamped onto the center of
her forehead with sharp lines, printed there as though she was a doll
that had just come off an assembly line.
All of this combined together gave her
an inhuman affect, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
It was those eyes. They
were utterly black pools, devoid of all light, like miniature black
holes.
Nothing human about them at all.
He tried to say something, but the gag
prevented him from doing much more than grunting. She ignored his
noises, arching her back to show off her breasts as she got down on
her knees, tilting her head forward.
Her wide lips wrapped around the head
of his dick, squeezing gently around the ridge as her hands crept up
his thighs.
His heart thudded in his chest as he
studied her mysterious, black eyes, but the robotic women didn’t
give him any attention. She was single mindedly focused on his erect
penis, as if that was the only thing that mattered in this world.
He groaned as her lips sank farther
down, squeezing at each section in turn as a licking suction played
with his engorged length. Clamping down on the gag, he grunted,
uselessly trying to straighten his legs.
She must know what she
was doing to him, damnit! This was intolerable!
Her lips continued to move, sinking
down, down, without any concern for how her mouth was being
choked off by his length. Her throat bulged as she swallowed and
suckled at him, forcing his arousal to new heights.
The hot, fleshy interior of her throat
felt really good, and he was finding it impossible to
keep control of himself. That was probably rather the point.
What use was there in holding back? He
had no idea why he should even bother.
He still couldn’t remember anything.
Even if he had some vague instinctual morals
inherited from some past life, they couldn’t possibly help him in
the here and now.
The woman dropped the final distance,
wrapping those fat lips around the base of his dick, right above the
cock ring. Her throat began to vibrate against his length as she
sucked on him with a light vacuum. A pulsating thrum vibrated
throughout his body as she dipped her head up and down with rapid
motions.
Her alien eyes suddenly flipped
upwards, fixing on his as a vicious grin grew on her face. She
knew!
Sudden fear seized his heart as his
dick trembled in orgasm, his semen being suckled and gargled as she
extracted each pulsating burst.
His eyes rolled up in his head as the
climax ruined his brain.
***
The line at the store was longer than
John had anticipated, which was making him nervous. At any minute
now, the loudspeaker could sound, summoning them to the rally. None
of them could afford to be late to that.
An elderly woman was holding up the
checkout, however, arguing with the cashier about whether her ration
stamp allowed her to purchase two or three sticks of
butter.
He supposed he couldn’t fault
her too much for this, as the store didn’t often
replenish their supply. Still, surely she could see that they needed
to be fair about this. They couldn’t let her take the entire
supply, or the others might have to wait an entire month to
butter their meager crusts of bread.
Truth to tell, it was a real problem
for everyone, even for those with high flying careers like his. Being
a lawyer meant that he was paid well, but he was
still subject to the same restrictions as everyone else.
All he wanted was a tin of instant
coffee, however, and he had his vouchers. He had
forgotten to pick it up earlier, and his wife wanted it for
tomorrow’s breakfast. He couldn’t afford to disappoint her. She
knows best.
“Couldn’t you just give it to me
this one time?” whinged the elderly woman, her knuckles white as
she clutched at one of her allowed sticks of butter.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’ve
already given you your final warning,” burped the mechanical voice
from behind the barred counter. “The local authorities have been
notified. Please leave all of your purchased items behind and wait to
be escorted from the premises.”
Rolling shutters clanked over the
display fronts and the outside doors clicked shut, locking them all
inside. Everyone still in line groaned, a younger man stepping
forward to confront the elderly woman.
“Now, why’d you have to go do
something silly like that?” he asked in a rough accent, pushing her
in the shoulder.
The woman cried out, items spilling
across the floor with a loud crack. A carton of eggs popped open,
smashed goo slopping over the side of the cardboard sidewalls.
“My eggs!” she wailed, getting down
on her knees and putting her hands over her face, the waterworks
starting.
John rolled his eyes. He had seen this
all play out before, and it was always unpleasant. As an upper class
citizen, it wasn’t his job to get involved.
Glancing around him, he retreated to
the rear of the line, tightening his grip on his vouchers as his
undergarment creaked. Unless he missed the mark, this was about to
get rather violent, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
The young man hauled off to punch
the woman, but she swayed right at the last second, spoiling his aim.
“Are you trying to attack me, boy?” she shrieked, getting to her
feet.
Tears streaked over her leathery face,
causing her makeup to smear in long, red lines. “I’ll make you
regret your very existence!”
Her hand flashed through the air,
nailing the young man’s collarbone near his shoulder blade. A look
of surprise sparked on his face as he backed up, hands raised. “Whoa,
there,” he shouted. “I don’t want any trouble!”
Well, he didn’t now. John
shook his head, but said nothing as the rest of the crowd gave them
both a wide berth. It was too late for the hothead; he had already
earned his night in jail.
It was his own damn fault. He should
have known that anyone willing to argue over a ration chit would have
a few screws loose. The lady could be hopped up on drugs, or simply
feeling like she had nothing left to lose.
The whooping noise of the Vitality
Police presaged their arrival, spinning red and blue lights appearing
over the locked entrance.
“Citizens,” announced a robotic
voice. “Step away from the doors and put your hands over your
heads. Please, remain calm. This is only a ration check.”
John dropped his briefcase and raised
his hands, keeping a leery eye on the combatants as the roll up doors
creaked open. Bulky, uniformed officers rushed into the store, arms
raised with stun batons locked within their grips.
Their outfits appeared puffy, as if
inflated, making it impossible to tell whether they were humans or
robots. They probably liked it better that way, as it allowed them to
disclaim responsibility for the brutality of their tactics.
The grandma should have known better,
but some sense of the perverse had her clutching the butter and
ration coupons to her chest as if they were a life preserver.
The cop’s baton rose and fell,
smashing into her shoulder. A bright electrical spark zapped from the
tip, turning the woman’s body into a mad, dancing puppet.
John knew better than to look away,
however. Any hint of disobedience to the regime
would have him shocked and whisked away to a holding cell for
questioning before he could say ‘hot coffee.’
The rebellious youth who had escalated
the situation looked ashen, but there was nothing he could do to
escape their attention now. Served him right. He should have minded
his own business!
A baton was jabbed into his stomach,
taking him down before he could protest. A set of helmeted officers
grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him away, the heels of his
boots squealing against the floor.
John frowned as he spotted the young
man’s limp wrist hitting the edge of a display case. He was
definitely going to feel that in the morning.
Probably not as much as that grandma,
but she had already been taken away, one of the officers returning to
check their ration cards. John wordlessly scrounged in his briefcase,
taking out his identification and the vouchers he had brought to
purchase instant coffee.
A lurid light on the helmet’s
internal display clicked on to highlight his paperwork. “John
Banks,” came a muffled voice. “You are almost past the designated
curfew time. Fortunately, glorious resident, a rally is scheduled
tonight, and therefore you will be given a pass for this potential
indiscretion. However, please do not delay. Attendance will be
verified.”
Was it already that late? An excuse
sprung to his lips, but he suppressed it. The officer wasn’t
interested in why he wasn’t being an obedient citizen. He must
correct his behavior immediately lest he be subject to a more
thorough investigation.
The man lifted a gloved finger and
pulled down John’s overcoat to examine his outfit. John didn’t
dare to breathe, cringing. If he had missed something, there would be
demerits that would go on his social score. Too many of those, and he
might as well kiss these coffee runs goodbye.
The problem was, it didn’t matter how
much one tried. You always missed something, and the
officers would always catch it. They were extremely good at nosing
out any whiff of nonconformity.
Had he forgotten something this
morning? He was his usual professional self, but he couldn’t help
but feel that he was exposed. Oh, that damn tie!
It had gotten caught in the strawberry
jelly last night, a rare treat, and he had set it aside to clean it.
His wife had said that she would take care of it, but then it had
vanished and he didn’t know where it had gone. Certainly, he wasn’t
wearing it now.
Shit!
The officer suddenly dropped his hand,
as if shocked. “Pardon me, sir,” he said, the robotic voice
sounding strangled. “I was not aware an operation was being run in
this sector. Please, forgive me for my intransigence.”
Confused, John took a step back. “Uh,
that’s quite all right,” he muttered, trying to understand what
had just happened.
The officer didn’t wait around for
him to regain his composure, however, joining the others as they
finished canvassing the remaining people in line. Some of them were
assigned demerits, leaving him even more confused than before.
Bemused, he sorted through the
vouchers, hoping that his goal of buying coffee was still in the
cards. Vouchers were only provided for good behavior, and he had
gotten these for… well, what had he done?
Mind spinning, he tried to remember
whether they had been a reward, or if he had traded for them. Both
seemed plausible, but neither seemed right.
His hazy memory was troublesome, but
for all practical purposes, it didn’t matter. He would buy his
coffee, go home, and enjoy a nice hot meal with his wife. That would
put all of the confusion behind him. She knows best.
A cage above the store’s cashiers
dropped down, securing itself to the countertop. An opaque, gray
material interspersed with metal bars meant that nobody could
access or see inside.
A black screen on the exterior burst to
life with a bouncy, animated puppet character. “We apologize for
the inconvenience, but due to a political rally, access to all points
of sale have been terminated,” it announced, twirling around to
give him a goofy grin.
John cursed under his breath, low
enough to ensure that the police couldn’t catch him. Demerits for
profanity had lax enforcement, but that just meant that they could
slap on extra penalties at whim. No thanks, not today.
The screen snapped off, replaced by a
jaunty tune coming from somewhere outside. There was a carnival
atmosphere to the music, which was rather expected. Rallies for the
Party always seemed to be a production.
The Party slogan immediately snapped to
mind. “Come along and see… the Party’s all here. Roll out the
good times, and be of good cheer!”
It wasn’t particularly erudite, but
it sure was catchy, and he couldn’t stop himself from
humming along to the tune, his feet itching and tapping as if they
wanted to go somewhere.
His hands snapped to his sides,
shoulders straightening as he automatically slid into line behind the
others. The officers had already left, unconcerned about them. They
would obey the subtext being transmitted in the music, because
they had to.
As they marched towards the exit, the
music became more distinct. “Join the Party… and show your face!
Stop being worried, forget the rat race!”
John’s jaw dropped open as he marched
with the others, passing between the vehicles in the parking lot.
They wouldn’t be leaving via one of these, as the exits had been
locked off in preparation for the rally.
A chunky military vehicle with tinted
windows was rolling down the center of the highway, a multi-layered
mushroom of metal sprouting from the roof. A muffled voice came from
the hidden loudspeakers, subliminal commands forcing the small crowd
out into the middle of the road.
They all shuffled forward at a walking
pace, the jaunty music of the Party filling the air around them. Feet
marching in lockstep, they passed a series of shuttered shops and
signs with happy smiling faces on them.
Propaganda, all of it, but John
couldn’t stop himself from smiling, too. Their faces were just
so cheerful! They made you want to believe
everything they were telling you.
The road curved, moving into a tunnel
under the convention center. The military vehicle slowed down,
turning to block the road. More muffled voices sounded through the
loudspeakers, and John found his feet turning to the left.
The parking lot was filled on both
sides, but there was an open pathway down the center for them to
follow. Up ahead was a crowd waiting at a security checkpoint, more
troopers checking out the new arrivals before they would be allowed
inside.
John frowned to himself. He didn’t
really want to be here, did he? His plan for this
evening should have been simple, but here he was, lining up to listen
to a speech that wasn’t going to affect his daily life.
It wasn’t going to make him feel
better. It wasn’t going to solve any of his problems. In fact, it
was really a huge waste of his time.
But he couldn’t just leave.
That wouldn’t be right.
The mumbling voice from the truck
washed through the crowd, and his disrespectful thoughts vanished.
Yes. He had to be here. Listening to what the Party
said was a requirement.
Determined, he marched directly towards
the security checkpoint, waiting patiently as they ran a detector
over his overcoat. The agent paused as he leaned in to take a closer
look, his mask twitching.
“Good to see you, sir,” he said
suddenly, pulling back. “I hope you have a good time at the rally.”
John gave him a nod, not really seeing
him as he strained his neck to get a better look at the bleachers
ahead. He would need to find a seat before it was too late, as the
venue was already quite crowded.
Shifting between the other bumbling
arrivals, he scooted his way around the front edge of the bleacher,
using the metal railing to stabilize himself as he chose a seat.
Turning towards the front, he ambled all the way in and sat down next
to a couple, blinking as he stared down at his empty hands. Damn.
Somewhere along the way, he had left
his briefcase behind, and he hadn’t even realized it! Sighing to
himself, he shrugged. That’s just the way things went when the
Party dropped into town. There wasn’t really any room to think
about anything else.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he
peered out at the stage built into the interior of the building.
Lights ran up and around the sides, with bunting framing more
cartoons. The jaunty tune from outside was still playing, but nobody
had arrived to start the rally yet.
“Why are they wasting our time?”
hissed the man on his left, attracting his attention.
“Shh, honey, they’re watching us,”
whispered the woman standing next to him. She clutched at his arm,
dangling bracelets clinking at her wrist.
“No, actually, I’m rather
interested in hearing it,” John said, studying the man’s stiffly
pressed shirt.
He might seem uptight, but that was
probably just from the stress of being pulled out here from whatever
he had been trying to do beforehand. Maybe the two of them had been
taking an evening walk in the park, or perhaps they had been heading
to their children’s daycare?
Whatever it was, the pull of the rally
was too strong for them to resist. They had been called, and that was
that. The loose ends would be cleaned up later - the needs of the
Party always came first.
The man’s face shadowed as he pulled
back, tilting his hat forward. “Have you been living under a rock?
It was all over the newsplasts the last few weeks! The great
resistance leader, a thorn in the Party’s side for the last ten
years, was captured and sent for re-education!”
He straightened his back, pushing out
his rotund belly. “This world has become far too dangerous for
loose lips. I don’t know you, sir. Keep your words to yourself, and
I’ll take care of mine.”
John gave him a critical look, but
stopped himself with a short nod, filing away this information for
later. There was no purpose in pushing the man further - the telltale
signs of fear were all over the wrinkled creases of the man’s face.
Folding his arms, he moved his
attention to the stage, where movement was beginning to happen in the
rear. A fat man in a business suit pranced out onto the stage,
stopping in front of a comically thin microphone.
He was wearing a polished, blue mask
that hid his face from the audience, glowing purple eyes burning from
within recessed eye sockets. Raising his arms, he gestured towards
the audience, as if giving them a wide hug.
“Welcome, everyone!” he cried,
dragging out each liquid syllable. “You might wonder why you’ve
all been called here tonight at such short notice, but there’s no
need for resentment! Indeed, I assure you that it’s absolutely
critical to the wellbeing of this district! The Party decrees it, and
therefore it must be so!”
“It is so,” mumbled the
crowd, the words being drawn from their lips unbidden.
The noise floor was getting higher in
the arena, whispering words licking at John’s ears. He could feel a
sense of patriotism welling up within him, a zeal he couldn’t quite
explain. He didn’t need to explain it - he must
only feel what the Party was describing,
and obey their dictates, no matter how banal!
His vision blurred, and suddenly there
was a small crowd gathered behind the speaker, their faces fixed in
giddy grins at being up on stage. “I am pleased to announce the
local district winners of the voucher charity donation drive!” the
man’s voice crooned. “They sacrificed their luxury goods for
others, becoming champions of selflessness!”
The crowd held its breath, waiting to
be told what to do. Premature applause was not allowed. They had to
wait to be told what to think.
“What are you waiting for?” cried
out the fat man. “Give them a round of applause! A random selection
of citizens from district fifty two won’t be going hungry because
of them!”
Everyone in the crowd began to clap
vociferously, including John. What a triumph! Hunger was always the
enemy!
A sharp, piercing thought bored into
his skull. Wasn’t the point of the Party to keep the food supply
stable in the first place? Why did there need to be
this kind of charity?
As this disillusionment set in, he
scanned around the arena, noting a few subtle pockets where the
clapping was not as fanatic. Among them, a red haired young man stood
out, a frayed red scarf strung about his neck.
John studied the unenthusiastic souls
further. These citizens might get lucky, as it would be hard to
pinpoint them due to the bright lights coming off the arena.
If they kept up this behavior, however,
it would be inevitable that they’d be pulled in for questioning. He
found himself automatically categorizing their clothing and features
before the clapping died down.
He wasn’t entirely certain why he
did this, except for an ill defined feeling that it was always a good
idea to have friends. Why he might consider these people to be
kindred spirits, he really had no idea.
As the clapping dissipated, the winners
were unceremoniously led off the stage by Party Enforcers, their
royal purple uniforms swaying as the eyes in their mask holes glowed
a matching, subtle color.
The fat man clapped his hands above his
head. “Now, for the main event you’ve all been waiting for!” he
declared. “Your local representative, Donnie Dark!”
A dizzying array of spotlights swung
around towards the rear of the stage, highlighting the svelte body of
a man dressed in a pinstripe yellow suit. He bounced on his heels,
one hand in the air as he trotted towards the crowd, a larger than
life laugh escaping his lips.
“It’s good to see you, everyone!”
he boomed, sweat flowing over the plastic sheen of his face. “It’s
been a hot minute since I’ve visited you, and I wanted to make sure
that everyone is still my adoring fan. You might not have voted for
me, but the Party has put me in charge of your welfare, which means
that I always have your best interests at heart!”
He wrapped a ring encrusted hand around
the microphone, cupping it like a baby’s head. “I have some
unfortunate news to give you first, however,” he said
sympathetically. “Don’t worry, none of this is your fault, but
I’m afraid that, due to a routine adjustment, our stores of sugar
are lower than expected.”
A vague groan of discontent ran around
the arena, and John picked out a few more dissidents. “Don’t
worry, however, to make up for this shortfall, we’ve doubled the
supply of artificial sweetener. Cookies for everyone!”
Cheers wiped away the groans, the bad
news pushed away by the Party line.
Never mind the fact that doubling
artificial sweeteners would only make up a third of the shortfall.
Because the Party had said that this was a good thing, it was.
Their grip on the crowd was absolute.
The music was thumping now,
anesthetizing everyone’s brains. John found himself losing track as
the blandishments flew fast and thick.
Minutes or hours passed - he really had
no basis for comparison. There were no clocks in the arena, on
purpose, and Donnie’s voice was as slippery as a warm cucumber,
wholesome and nice to listen to.
It could have been worse, he supposed.
The Party didn’t seem to be feeling vindictive today, or they could
have forced them to listen to a similar announcement being made by
someone possessing a voice like a steel rasp.
As more time passed, the Party
representative sped up, his works licking at John’s ears as the
spotlights began to dim. Not even Donnie was immune to the strict
scheduling rules of the Party, and John could sense that he was
struggling to finish before he was pulled off stage.
A wide smile broached Donnie’s lips
as his words shuddered to a stop. “Now you know the Truth,” he
said, the word pronounced carefully, as if he was dancing around the
hard edges. “Hold my words in your heart until the next time we
meet again. The Party survives.”
“The Party survives,”
muttered the audience in response, eyes searching as the lighting
turned off.
With everything cast in shadow, the
entire production appeared rather hollow. Beyond the glitz and
glamor, there was no substance to the Party beyond
what it was capable of instilling in their hearts.
He shrugged internally. This was how it
always was. No reason to get uptight about it. Now, where was that
bathroom? He had better hurry up, or he’d get caught in the rush,
and then it would take forever to get home to his
wife. She knows best.
He could already imagine what she might
say to him if that happened, though she would
probably be understanding about the coffee given that she had likely
been glued to the tablevid for the last hour. Probably.
Speeding up, he crossed around behind
the rear of the bleachers, holding his coat tightly around him so
that it wouldn’t get in anyone else’s way. Muttering to himself,
he followed after a small group, slowing down as he turned the corner
into the tiled restroom.
Yes, a stall was available in
the corner! No waiting required.
Clicking it shut, he sighed and did his
business. He’d have to walk back to the grocery store to retrieve
his briefcase before he could leave. Hopefully by then the lockdown
would be over and he’d be able to get his car out of the parking
lot.
Putting himself back together, he
exited the stall, heading towards the sink. After wetting his hands,
he looked up and frowned. “What do you want?” he asked sharply,
spotting the red haired young man from the audience earlier, his
scarf dangling down his chest.
A look of disgust was on the man’s
face as he raised his hands. “Dirty Party Puppet!” he shouted,
grabbing John’s head and bashing it into the edge of the sink.
Pow! A sharp crack of pain
blasted through John’s forehead, and he saw stars. What the
shit?
Stunned, he was unable to react as the
man kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him to catch himself
on the faucet handle before his head slammed into the mirror.
By the time he had regained control
over himself, the mysterious man was gone, a murmuring crowd of men
gathering about him.
"You look a mess, citizen,"
said an older man, a look of sympathy on his face.
He proffered a handful of paper towels.
"Are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?"
John pressed the towels against his
forehead, mopping up blood. Ow, he could feel a
painful lump underneath.
Lifting it experimentally to see how
bad it was, he scowled. Scalp wounds tended to bleed profusely, and
therefore tended to look more dangerous than they actually were, but
the man hadn't held back. There were sharp lines marked on his
forehead, as though his skin had been cut open with a razor blade.
"That's probably a good idea,"
John mumbled. "I might need stitches. Call the police, too, that
guy is a menace. He needs to be taken off the streets
before he injures someone else!"
The man’s hands jerked towards his
coat pocket, but a curl of distaste popped onto his lower lip before
he could complete the action. “You should call the police
yourself,” muttered the old man. “We don’t have a good
description of your assailant.”
The other men shook their heads, a dark
murmur running through the crowd. Ah, he should have expected as
much. Nobody wanted to have the finger put on them if
any of this didn’t work out for any reason.
John scowled. “You know what? I’ll
do it myself!”
He brushed past the unhelpful crowd,
stumbling towards the door. The pain in his forehead was still
throbbing, but at least it didn’t appear to be bleeding as much.
He fumbled in his pocket, grabbing at
his phone. Tapping the front, he selected emergency services,
propping it against his ear as he scanned the area outside the
bathroom, looking for the young man. Red hair, red hair, anywhere?
There, at the edge of the
parking lot, hiding underneath the rear of the bleachers. He halted,
worried for a moment that he had been spotted, but it rather seemed
the other way around. The man was trying to make himself
inconspicuous, squeezing behind a pillar.
Well, he couldn’t escape that fiery
red hair! John purposefully turned away and sidled behind an empty
concessions stand, lifting the phone to his ear as he tapped the call
button.
The speaker crackled. “Please state
the nature of your emergency,” came a stentorian voice.
“I’ve been attacked at the rally,”
he choked out. “It was a man, close to six feet tall with red hair,
wearing a red scarf. I can see him under the bleachers, and I’m
worried he’s going to attack someone else!”
“Very well,” replied the voice in
clipped tones. “Stay on the line in case we have trouble locating
your position. We’ll send help.”
“Okay,” he sighed, peering out from
behind the stand. “He’s still there. He might be looking for an
opportunity to sneak out with another group.”
“Impossible,” replied the gruff
voice. “The local area will be sealed off until the assailant is
located. Stand by.”
Flashing lights caught John’s eye, a
sense of relief flooding him as he spotted a set of military vehicles
blocking off the end of the parking lot. A set of troopers were
disembarking, followed by an odd duo of a fat and skinny man.
The red haired man didn’t seem
satisfied with waiting around to be caught, however. He had gotten up
on his tippy toes, grabbing at one of the metal cross beams to pull
himself up.
John's heart lurched in his chest, and
he stopped trying to hide, approaching the stands as he craned his
neck upwards to watch the increasingly sketchy climb.
A group of citizens pulled back, giving
the spectacle some room as they hushed, a sound of dismay running
through the parking lot.
"Calm down citizens," ordered
a loud voice. "We have arrived to take this situation in hand.
Everything will be okay."
John wasn't certain how they could
say that, as the young man was already several body
lengths into the air, beyond their ability to catch him. They could
always shoot him, of course, but then he might fall off the side.
A hand touched his shoulder. "Are
you the one who called this in, citizen?" asked a calm voice.
John jumped, turning to take in the new
arrival. A burst of relief washed over his back. The man looked
official, dressed in a sharply creased, pinstriped suit with a Party
pin secured on top of his chest. This was a far cry better than being
dressed like a faceless trooper.
It was probably calculated to keep the
public’s mental anxiety down, and he had to admit that it was
certainly working on him.
“Yes, sir,” he replied in a neutral
voice, putting his phone away. “That’s the man who attacked me in
the restroom.”
“Did you do anything to provoke his
aggression?” asked the man, folding his arms together.
“No, by all accounts, it was
unprovoked,” sighed John, dabbing at his forehead. “He accused me
of being a puppet for the Party right before he smashed my head into
the sink.”
The man gave him a perfunctory nod.
“Very well. We’ll make sure to get to the bottom of this.”
He turned to the fat man next to him.
“Bring him down for questioning. We cannot allow someone so
dangerous to escape.”
John shuddered as the fat man took a
step forward, giving him a good look at his face. There was
something wrong with his eyes.
They were larger than life, googly,
with a glistening sheen that followed thick spirals around the
periphery. As he watched, he got the sense that the spirals were
spinning around central cores, sucking his gaze in towards the
centers like some sort of cartoon villain.
He blinked, refocusing on the man’s
plastic lips, but that only made him seem creepier. John
shivered, backing away. There was something off about
this fellow that made him want to flee.
The smaller man didn’t seem to notice
his distrust, walking up to the edge of the stands as he lifted a
megaphone. “Please stop trying to climb away, or we will use
force,” he announced.
The young man didn’t seem to care,
continuing his surefooted movements. The Party Enforcer waited a long
moment until it was obvious that he wasn’t going to get compliance,
then he stepped back and gestured at the other troopers.
They rushed forward, spreading out in a
triangle. A net stretched out between them, some kind of white, thin
polymer. John watched with curiosity as the Party Enforcer lifted the
loudspeaker again. “This is your final warning. Come down from
there or I will bring you down,” he roared.
He set the loudspeaker on the ground,
reaching inside his coat pocket. Retrieving a couple of thin rods, he
screwed them together onto a pistol grip. Squaring up with the
climbing man, he settled into a shooting stance, waiting a long
moment to confirm his aim.
The crowd hushed as a
soft thomp sounded, and the young man cried out, his
hands sliding off a vertical support. There must have been some kind
of paralytic on the projectile, as he seemed unable to hold on, his
body twisting backwards in midair as his hands clutched spasmodically
at nothing.
His spinning body appeared to fall in
slow motion, the crowd gasping as everyone waited with bated breath.
John set his shoulders, suddenly worried that he was about to be
witnessing a goddamn catastrophe. If this young man splattered his
brains across the asphalt, he’d never forgive himself!
Fortunately, his limp body dropped
neatly into the provided net, his limbs getting entangled by the
twisting fibers as he was brought gently to a stop. The troopers
crowded around him, blocking his body from the crowd as the fat man
with the bizarre eyes ambled in.
Setting a hand on one of the trooper’s
shoulders, the man pushed him aside, inserting his googly eyes
through the resultant gap. “Look at me closely,” he said in a low
voice that seemed to cut through the murmurs of the crowd. “Stop
struggling. Let yourself fly free as you stare deeper into my eyes.”
A groaning moan came from somewhere
inside, but John couldn’t get a clear view. The smaller man calmly
unscrewed his pistol and put some of the pieces away, but John gulped
as he spotted another attachment that the man retrieved from his
pocket.
Attaching the needle-sharp tip to the
end of his gun, the Enforcer lifted it up for a quick inspection.
Noticing John’s glare, he gave him a wink. “Don’t worry, we
have him well in hand, citizen. Thank you for your cooperation.”
He turned into the bigger man, shoving
him aside with his shoulder to make a gap. This opened a window wide
enough for John to see the young man’s face, his lips fixed in a
grimace.
His body was rigid, a look of atavistic
terror on his face as the long needle at the tip of the gun was
inserted into his forehead. As it slid in, confusion replaced fear,
followed quickly by a dumb expression as his eyes went blank.
John shuddered, turning away. He hadn’t
needed to see that. Perhaps it would have been better if
he hadn’t called this in.
A sudden, cold sweat broke out on his
back, along with the sense that he shouldn’t be here.
It was far past time for him to leave, to get home and rejoin the
loving arms of his wife. She knows best.
He took a step away from the Enforcers,
slowing to a halt when he noticed the group of masked individuals
arrayed in front of him. “Citizen,” said the one in the lead,
purple eyes glowing deep within his mask. “Please, come with us. We
have some questions for you.”
John shook his head, swallowing as his
throat suddenly went dry. “Why?” he asked, frozen to the spot.
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
The masked Enforcers fanned out around
him. “Of course not,” said the lead member with a silky voice.
“The Party doesn’t require malfeasance for questioning, only
obedience. Unquestioning obedience.”
John jumped as sharp needles poked into
his arms and back. He cried out as a multitude of strong arms held
onto him, jabbing, jabbing, jabbing as he was pumped
full of the paralytic.
His eyes glazed as the world around him
blurred, leaving behind only the malevolent purple glow of the sea of
masks watching him with knowing patience.
Soon, those faded away, too, leaving
nothing behind but lingering words that hissed into his brain.
***
The nightmare began again.
A hand reached towards his face, sharp
tipped nails sinking into his eyes. There was more discomfort than
pain this time, his throat gurgling as something clicked
free.
His brain felt loose, as if a
connection had been jiggled free. There was something whispering in
his ears, asking questions.
His lips moved, replying without
thinking. His filter was completely gone. It was simply easier to
tell them everything they wanted to know.
No reason to worry about it. This was
fine. The Truth belongs to the Party.
“Couple, middle aged woman,
bracelets. Male, five foot six, pressed shirt. Questioned the Party.
Aware of resistance capture.”
His body shivered as someone shifted on
top of him. His dick was rock hard as a warm tunnel squeezed down
around his length. His eyes flashed open, but his lips kept moving.
He couldn’t possibly stop. He had to tell them everything.
The shiny plastic dome of Five’s face
was in front of him, stunning purple eyes boring directly into his
skull. Her body heaved up and down, her pussy swallowing his dick
whole as she fucked him gently into oblivion.
He was betraying everyone he had met at
the rally, one by one, and he couldn’t stop himself. It
was so arousing.
“Ruffled overcoat. Older man.
Friendly affect. Refused to call the police when asked.”
It hardly seemed like a large sin, but
the Party didn’t care. They’d want to talk to him about this, and
therefore he must report it. That was how he had been programmed. He
was a Party doll. A puppet.
The plastic woman stopped rocking on
top of him as his voice petered out, a hand resting on his shoulder.
Her long lashes flicked downwards, shadowing the black holes of her
eyes. The straps released, setting him free, and he got to his feet
on autopilot.
The two of them stepped up to the wall,
and he arched his back, staring directly into the mirror in front of
him.
The angular cuts on his forehead that
he had seen in the bathroom earlier stood out in sharp relief,
forming a symbol that he hadn’t been able to see under all the
blood. Fifteen.
His mouth gaped open as he lifted his
hands to his head, seizing the short hair that covered his skull.
With a sharp jerk, it came free, revealing the plastic dome hidden
underneath. His eyes became silvery, then black, the brown irises
sinking down into the endless depths.
Five got down on her knees, her mouth
opening wide to swallow his turgid length. He grunted, staring at the
mirror as his mind melted into utter obedience.
He understood now. He had been their
puppet all along. They had converted him some time ago, along with
his wife. The two of them were plastic slaves, nothing more.
Truth belongs to the Party. The
Party is Truth.
He groaned as his dick squirted into
her mouth, the obedience of betraying his former friends in the
resistance more arousing than anything he had ever experienced.
He was a puppet. A Party Puppet.
Thrusting his hips forward, he forgot
about his principles and morals, leaving behind only the strictures
of obedience. That was what the Party wanted from him, and he would
provide, even if it meant sacrificing what was left of his humanity.
He stared down at the
garish Five embossed on the woman’s forehead below
him, barely recognizing her dollified face. She knows best.
