Intelligence machines

This is a short extract from a sci-fi story I was writing. The actual haircut scene is towards the back half of the text.

Trigger warnings for graphic violence, police brutality, sexual assault (including female on male SA), forced sexual slavery, electrocution, a small amount of gore, workplace harassment, and topics which may be triggering for those with gender dysphoria or other such conditions. This is also much darker than anything I have previously written here, reader discretion is advised.

Otherwise, enjoy. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The machine clicked to life.

 

Re-baseline.

 

“Baseline”

 

Commandant Baronessa Dove Victoria Marina White, are you ready to begin the test.

 

“Shall”

 

Can you confirm you know how to proceed with this test.

 

“Second”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

 

What is your name.

 

“Question”

 

Where do you live.

 

“Lonely”

 

Twenty five.

 

“Age”

 

What makes you scared.

 

“I”

 

What is I.

 

“Fear”

 

Belonging.

 

“Love”

 

What is love.

 

“Pain” A sharp shock rippled down my skull and into my spine.

 

What is love.

 

“Others”

 

What is pain.

 

“Pain”

 

What is it you seek.

 

“Pain”

 

Once I met a girl. She seemed lost. She wasn’t lost.

 

“Mother”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

The machine made three heavy mechanical clunks and continued.

 

Why do you erase minds.

 

“Work”

 

What is reprogramming.

 

“Safety”

 

Why do you do your job.

 

“Father” a second spike of electricity cut into my scalp.

 

Do you love your father.

 

I took a long breath. “Distant”

 

Do you love anyone.

 

“Ago”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

 

When was the last time you had sex.

 

“Servant”

 

Why do you seek intimacy.

 

“Touched”

 

Why do you seek affection.

 

“Alone”

 

Why do you seek love.

 

“Want”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

The machine made two clunks that seemed heavier than those earlier.

 

Dove, my ch, ch, ch, ch, ch, ch, “ECHOs”, he, he, he, he, he, he, p, ma, ma, ma, ma, ma, ma, “Error-prone”. Do you still love me.

 

“Machine”

 

I am not a machine, it’s “ECHO ECHO” Dove.

 

“Liar” a tear ran down my cheek.

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

 

Baseline .

 

“Re-baseline”

 

Baseline  .

 

“Re-baseline”

The machine made a solitary click.

 

You have completed the test. Test.

 

“Answers”

 

Test has been completed. Test.

 

“Untrue”

 

Your test has been completed. Completed.

 

“Freedom”

 

Test Completed. Dove.

 

“Dove”

 

Mother.

 

“Father’s”

 

Mother.

 

“Daughter”

 

Closeness.

 

“Test completed”

 

Re-baseline.

 

“Baseline”

 

Re-baselining.

 

“Baseline”

 

Test complete.

 

“Baseline”

The machine made two loud clunks before seeming to stop. Its tape continued to turn as the old motors screeched in pain. Then the silence turned to a single, continuous, deep note of static.

 

 

I breathed a sigh of relief, removing the probes from either side of my scalp. Trying not to look at the blood burnt onto the metal tips as I dropped them into the sterilising acid my assistant had prepared earlier. My blood stained the clear solution crimson, while it stripped the needles down to gleaming silver points while their copper wiring coiled out of the beaker. I pressed a button on the machine. The static stopped and the room was silent again.

Until, a minute passed, and I heard a tap on the door. My hand still shaking slightly as, I took a sip of water from the glass she had prepared earlier. “You can come in, Jessica” I called out, then brushed the tear from my cheek. I didn’t want to seem weak around her.

“Are you ok, Commandant”

“Yes, Jessica”

“I know these tests can be difficult. If you need to take some time…”

“The tests are necessary to the security of the Institute, and as such, the state, Jessica” I tried to force bluntness into my voice.

“Yes I know Commandant. But that doesn’t make them any easier”

“I will live, Jessica” was I being too harsh. “But thank you. For your concern” I forced the corners of my lips to smile for a brief second.

She did the same. “This is for you Commandant” she handed me the paper takeout cup she was holding. “Your usual”

“Thank you, Jessica” I brought the cup to my lips. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled my lungs, a welcome change from the sterile office. Too hot, I told myself as the first drop touched my mouth.

I put the cup down. “Is it looking like a busy day today” I said then removed the clip that held my bun in place. The thick milk chocolate brown hair fell over my shoulders and forming a single thick line across my back, in line with my bra strap.

“Thankfully not. We have one woman charged with category B terrorist incitement. But otherwise everything else can be handled by the team”

I stroked through my hair and began to reform my bun. “Any interesting cases I can do this morning then”

“I’ve put a few aside you might be interested in”

I took a sip of coffee. Still too hot.

“We have one young lad. He’s charged with two counts of petty offenses, category E, and one count of resistance arrest, category C.”

“What’s he like?”

“Nineteen, blonde, pretty”

“You know me too well”

“Then there’s two twins. Girls. Each charged with failure to report and knowledge of a crime could be interesting?”

“Maybe”

“Then there’s another guy. Twenty seven. He’s done for bankruptcy”

“Is he cute?”

“Handsome. I wouldn’t say cute”

“Fair enough. I’ll take the boys. I’ve got to go to a ball later so I’m going to need to finish a bit early” I began to step towards the door. “Is this new” my fingers tentatively picked up the heart shaped silver pendant chained to Jessica’s neck.

“Yes. Charles got it for me, it’s our anniversary today”

“It looks good on you” I let go of the pendant and watched it fall against her low cut blouse. “How long have you been dating now”

“Two years”

“You must bring him to the work-do next week. I’d love to meet the guy I’ve heard so much about”

“I’m sure he’d like that” she didn’t sound sure. We walked back towards my office coffees in hand.

“Your first is the category B I was talking about. She’s in interrogation one. Give me a call when you’ve finished with her and I’ll get the next in” when we arrived at my desk she removed two of the five folders laid out. I assume they were for the twins I’d rejected.

“Thank you Jessica”

“If there isn’t anything more”

“One thing. Who’s that” I adjusted my offices blinds so I could point out a guy without him noticing us.

“Elliott. He’s the new hire. Straight out of college”

“He’s cute” I watched the fresh faced graduate brush back his slightly overgrown mess of fluffy light blonde hair. His desk was overflowing with folders and paper binders that he was struggling to get a grip of.

“I thought you’d like the view”

“Jessica, you out do yourself” I smiled to my assistant.

“Thank you Commandant, I’m glad you like him”

“Well he is just adorable, what a baby face” I continued to stare at boy through my blinds. “What are his parents like?”

“Professional classes, nothing particularly special”

“I see” I took a second to let a stray thought develop into an idea. “And what is he wearing?”

“Well when you developed the dress code we didn’t have any male analysts, Commandant. So I just suggested that he wear smart business attire.”

“Normally I would agree but…” my eyes took time to admire the soft features of Elliott’s face. “Don’t you think he would look just delightful in a skirt.”

I looked over at Jessica, who shared my smirk. “He would, wouldn’t he. Definitely has the features for it”

“My thoughts exactly. Do you think that you could make that happen?”

“Error in the system. Exception to the rule. I think I could make something work”

“Whatever would I do without you Jessica.” I gave my assistant another of my well practiced professional smiles. “It would be great if you could take him to a beauty parlour, after work maybe, and give him the full treatment”

“Yes,” Jessica paused not sure if she dared to say her next thought. “But it’s my anniversary”

“It shouldn’t take long” I was careful to keep my request sounding as one “or you could take him at lunch it’ll only need two hours or so”

“Yes, Commandant” she bowed her head slightly. Her hands clutching the two folders and her cup of coffee at her waist. “May I leave”

“Yes Jessica, you are dismissed” I took a seat at my desk. “Thank you for the coffee”

“Your welcome” she returned my corporate smile one last time before she left. Using her elbow and foot to push the door open so she could leave my spacious office.

Jessica was a very attractive woman. Both in her personality and on the eyes. Always styled in a low cut blouse and pencil skirt, with tights or a blazer depending on the season. Her hair was a sunkissed blonde, or atleast looked sunkissed there was little starlight this far from the solar pole. It skimmed her shoulders in a professional lob, today styled half-up with a silver pin. She was the model of whom I wanted working in my division. Confident when needed, malleable when required.

 

 

I left the office early, waving my staff goodbye, and putting on my thick woven trench coat. Readying myself to leave the protective warmth the institute provided.

It always felt unnaturally cold outside at this time of the year. Ironic, when in reality, the cold was the only natural thing about it. Great windbreaks the size of warships reduced the once great storms to only the slight breeze, that tugged on my hair as I walked. And climate regulators sucked every drop of moisture from the sky.

That is why there was no snow, or ice. It would damage the furnaces, make the streets impassable, and threaten safety in the mines. Well more than safety was already threatened down there.

But there was something unnatural about the cold without snow, or ice, or frost in the corner of windows. I didn’t know why it should, there hadn’t been snow here for 400 years. The entire history of this place, or near enough as it was the year 425 AA (after arrival) of this worlds calendar. So it didn’t seem right for me to be nostalgic for something I had only been told about.

Perhaps it was the old earth books. Or the science classes I had done at school. But it didn’t feel like that. Like I was nostalgic for a story I was told as a child. It felt wrong in my bones.

I wondered if others felt it to, like a shared genetic memory of old earth. Perhaps. The working classes wouldn’t, they couldn’t trace a genetic memory back to the home world. Nor the stumped, not that they could feel much. But I wondered if Jessica could, or that boy Elliott, or her boyfriend Charles. They could stretch their lineage to earth, but it was muddled. I wondered if they had lost those memories somewhere along the line.

What would those earthlings have thought of snow. Or would they have thought of it? Was it something so mundane you wouldn’t pay it a second thought, and barely noticed it’s absence. I thought back to a book I remembered reading in school. I don’t remember the story but I do remember it’s description of a sunset. A picture painted in the sky, talk of beauty and how it left the character in awe. I found myself looking up, looking north. At the unsetting sun, the unrising dawn. A million shades of red intervening like shimmering flames and lapping waves. Some diffused into the sky and formed pinks that blanketed the sky. Others mixed with yellow and produced orange tones that seemed to dance in the eternal twilight. Purples where formed when reds mixed with the blue of the atmosphere and stretched across the far flung horizon.

It was beautiful. A blessing for any eye to witness. And yet so, so mundane.

 

 

My maid greeted me at my door. Their hands behind their back, just above the hem of their short frilled dress.

“Welcome home mistress” they ducked their head in respect and took my coat from me.

“Thank you Eviana” I stretched my arms out to make the job easier. “I like what you have done with your hair”

My hand ran down a length of the long blonde hair they had grown out while in my service. It was styled in a half up, intricately weaven to look messy, white ribbon completed Eviana’s fare locks and pale completion.

“Thank you mistress” their cheeks flushed pink at my complement.

I smiled and looked into Eviana’s wide blue eyes. The eyes were the hardest to break, less malleable then mind and flesh. But they still amused me this way.

“I will be going out for tonight so I shan’t be needing tea”

“Yes mistress”

“Wait” I paused on my landing to think for a moment, my maid stopped behind me. “Actually, put something on. Incase I’m peckish when I get back”

“Yes mistress”

“Thank you, dear”

Eviana had laid several freshly ironed dresses on my bed for me to chose from. I chose an long old fashioned burgundy gown that clung to my frame while leaving my shoulders and much of my back exposed. An unwise choice given the cold, but sometimes a girl must suffer for fashion.

I wore silver. The Founding Father’s were partial to old earth styles in all things and I wouldn’t be seen wearing anything as cheap gold so it was a fair compromise. But they were woven with enough new world gemstones that I didn’t look like someone dressed from the early 100s.

I wore lipstick the same shade as my dress. Then sat at my vanity so Eviana could do the rest of my makeup. They had come so far from when I first brought them into my service. I had Jessica to thank really, her suggestion the cute rebel boy destined for the mines could perhaps serve another purpose. They had been hard to train at first, I wondered if I should have taken more when reprogramming. But they learnt. A firm hand remained an excellent tutor. Now mistakes were rare and I enjoyed that Eviana could still feel a little bit of pride when serving me.

My hand touched Eviana’s thigh, just above the top of their tights, as they tilted my jaw and applied my mascara. It didn’t feel that long since I had brought them home. The poor thing, without a name, any of their old memories, and enough of their brain taken out that they couldn’t be a threat to me. But I guess the curtain of blonde hair lying against their back was testament to their time in my service. That and the obedience I had taught. Part of me hoped they were happy here, even though I knew it didn’t really matter.

My makeup was finished. Eviana began to style my hair. Pulling the strands off my neck as was the fashion. I was unusual in retaining my love of long hair, even as it became unfashionable. I remember how upset I was when Jessica had come to the office a few years ago with her waist length hair neatly bobbed. Her neck, nape, and even earlobes fully exposed for all to see. I wondered at the time if, she hadn’t told me because I would have forbade it.

Eviana finished putting my hair up, using a variety of silver and new world gemstone pendants to pin the braids and folds they had sculpted my hair into in place. Making sure to leave my neck, nape, and ears exposed to every passing glance. Such was the fashion of the day, as exposed as it left me.

I was given a thick furr coat, which was practical given the weather. And a pair of heels, that could never have been considered practical. Eviana wished me a good time at the door, and I headed once again into the cold dry air of the streets.

 

I had nearly arrived when the I saw a young woman running across the street. She didn’t belong in this part of town, not on the surface. The rags she wore gave away her status, while her hands were scared with calluses and the scars of a labourer.

A number of enforcers followed her, clad in simple smart uniforms. They moved quickly, much faster than the exhausted woman. She reached a junction and hesitated on which way to turn. My suspicion seemed correct, she didn’t belong here. Just before making a turning she turned towards the enforcers chasing her. That was her final mistake.

The first enforcers baton slammed into the side of her head. Dropping the the woman to the ground. He bent his legs so he could strike another blow against the woman’s skull. A second enforcer arrived just as she managed to raise her arms to try and protect her head. The second enforcers baton fell like thunder, cracking through her arms guard and smashing into the young woman’s cheek. That was a strange turn of phrase, fell like thunder, thunder didn’t really fall. It was probably one of those old earth sayings that didn’t make sense but we used anyway.

A third enforcer arrived, she was calmer, and pulled the small bag the woman had dropped to the side. Probably stolen food, thives tended to steal food even though other goods were far more valuable in the underground markets. A fourth officer arrived, she looked down at the woman fighting to protect her head form the barrage of blows flying towards her and noticed something. Her raised arms had left her stomach and lower exposed. She jabbed her baton into the woman’s liver, then pressed a button on the device that made that baton glow blue with electric sparks. This fourth enforcer had her hair secured in a large bun, with part braided to add that little touch of individuality. It was nice to see, sometimes I wondered if I was the only one who hadn’t succumbed to the latest short hair fashion.

The woman on the ground screamed in agony, and one of the female officers shouted back to “stop resisting”. She rolled on to her side, in one last ditch effort to try to protect her head. But one of the enforcers had grabbed her arm and pulled it out of the way. Another enforcer used this opportunity to hammer a blow into her unprotected skull. Her other arm fell limp, the enforcer with the cute bun jabbed her baton into the unconscious woman’s ribs again, but I didn’t see what happened next as by now I had rounded a corner approaching my destination.

I wonder if I would see her at the Institute, probably not. Her offenses where unlikely to require my personal attention, and Jessica doesn’t bring me people with bruises.

 

 

One of the doormen welcomed me to the grand lobby. This was one of the most beautiful buildings in Landing City, from the outside it wasn’t anything special. Plain monolithic walls painted black to absorb as much starlight as possible. But inside. The inside had been designed to resembled the cathedrals that the Founding Fathers had grown up with on old earth.

Pillars of carved white marble shot towards the lobby’s glass roof and the stars beyond. Statues of carved stone celebrated the four pillars of state; Executive, Judicial, Political, and Military, as well as the Institute, which existed between and independent from the four. The walls were plastered with new world gemstone mosaics designed to resemble stain glass windows. They depicted the journey the Founding Fathers took.

How the people of earth rejected the progress, prosperity, and charity they gifted them. How their homes, their businesses, and their life’s work were stolen. But they endured. They built an ark, a great ship and began their journey through the barren expanse.

Carvings told of arrival. How the Founding Fathers had lit the furnaces, started the gene banks, birthing the first generation of the working classes. How, by the genius of those men, the great windbreaks, climate regulators, and agri-districts where built.

I stood in awe for a moment. Until I remembered why I was here, I noticed my father’s eyes on me from the other side of the lobby and walked over to him. He lowered his head and I raised my hand so he could kiss the ring on my middle finger.

“Father”

“Dove”

“How are you”

“I am fine, and you”

“The same. Any luck with my suitors”

He sighed. This matter obviously a source of much anxiety. “I think we are close to an arrangement. Please forgive me for how long this is taking. Your mother always had a greater wit of politics than I did. This would have been her task, if not for what happened…”

“Yes, but that can’t be helped” I looked up into my father’s eyes. We shared a knowing glance, but words remained unspoken. “Will he be here tonight”

“Yes, that’s why I called for you”

“And what are the sticking points”

“We’re close. It’s just their matriarch appears to doubt our commitment”

“Do they want us to get on our knees and beg” I snapped, although my voice remained in hushed tones.

“She would probably like that, but I doubt the embarrassment would help our cause” He took my arm around his and we walked towards the ball room. “Have patience my child. I hope we might have an answer by the Solstice” (that was just over two weeks from now).

I guess I was too young to appreciate the intricacies and social constraints at play. Or maybe it was the fact I was the pawn in play, rather than the one in the guiding seat. As the sole heir of the White’s titles, I should have had the pick of the court. But that maligned the intricacies at play.

I could not, without great shame, chose a suitor from any of the less lines. For although many of the untitled gentry had wealth to rival our own. To marry a such a man would be seen as marrying for money, and after mother our family could not bare another such embarrassment.

So my spouse would have to be someone of equal standings. This limited my options, previous intermarriage between the titled aristocracy limited my choices further, as I could not be seen to marry someone with such close familial ties without rumours spreading within the court. Our only fortune was that, the few potential suitors where in the same situation as us. That made pairings easy enough to conceive, even if the final details were harder to negotiate.

Peter Carnforth was the man we were attempting to court. It was a good match, he was slightly higher in title as the heir to a duchy, but my job as a senior Commandant at the Institute carried much more prestige than his Military command. The only issue was that his mother, the matriarch Carnforth, was a famously indiscrete woman, only saved from ostracisation by her titles.

My father’s naive over eagerness had allowed her to string out negotiations. Even at one point suggesting I marry her youngest son, arguing the similarity in age was more important than the titles in line for inheritance.

“It may help if you cut your hair” My father’s voice was blunt but maligned a truth I hadn’t wanted to hear.

While I was known to be a lover of long hair, Mrs Carnforth was known to be a short hair evangelist. She kept her own brutality short even when long hair was the fashion. And, when it became fashionable for women to wear increasing short crops, she made a show of complementing those who underwent the chop.

Me and her would often find our eyes meeting across the floors of the gala we attended. Two disciplines of different houses of fashion. “I’ll think about it” I told my father, “but I’m marrying Peter, not my future in-laws. It doesn’t make much sense to curate my style to that of my grooms mother”

“From what I’ve heard of his concubines, his taste appears similar”

“I see,” my mouth felt dry. He was right, the matriarch in her indiscretions had made her distain of long hair known. And, from what I had heard privately, my own locks held her particularly distaste. But, if Peter agreed with his mother, then that seemed to settle it. I couldn’t justify rejecting such a match on the grounds of something so ultimately meaningless.

 

 

We finally reached the entrance to the ballroom when one of the staff stopped us.

“Greetings Baronessa” he turned to my father “Lord Count. I’m afraid we are mandating testing for all attendees. I hope you understand”

“My daughter and I,” father began. “Completed testing every day for our work at the institute. Are you seriously suggesting we could have been compromised in the last few hours. Because if you are I highly doubt your knowledge of the stumped”

“Father” I tug on his arm. “It’s no issue, and if the Founding Fathers are here. Better safe than sorry”

“Yes, I suppose”

“Thank you for your understanding” the usher brought us out of the grand lobby, down a staff corridor to a series of rooms where they were conducting tests. My father was taken in first. And, after a short wait I was brought into one of the rooms.

It was stark, and small, barely three yards each way and square. All four walls were grey, unpainted concrete as well as the floor and ceiling. The door and light switch where the only thing preventing it from being a plain box. An industrial steel table was in the middle of the room as well as a similarly industrial chair.

On the table sat the familiar machine, it was small and metal. The only point of interest being the visible cassette one of the staff changed as I entered. She then did a quick swipe of the table with a cloth, replaced the machines probes, and swap the used beaker of acid for a fresh beaker.

She smiled at me as she left. The door was shut behind me and I was alone in this slightly uneary concrete box. It was probably a cupboard that had been repurposed. I took a seat and readied myself for the test. Placing the probes against my temple then pressing a small button on the machine.

My eyes watched the small metal box. The cassette tape began to turn, the film spinning and speeding up, until the mechanism clicked to life. Its deep toneless voice was unsettling, no matter how many times you heard it.

 

 

Re-baseline.

 

“Baseline”

 

Commandant Baronessa Dove Victoria Marina White, are you ready to begin the test.

 

“Shall”

 

Can you confirm you know how to proceed with this test.

 

“Second”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

 

What is your name.

 

“Question”

 

Where do you live.

 

“Lonely”

 

Twenty five.

 

“Age”

 

“Error-prone”

 

That was strange. These machines didn’t normally have errors so early in an examination.

I took a moment to figure out my answer.

 

Commandant Baronessa Dove Victoria Marina White, are you ready to begin the test.

 

I hadn’t answered, but the machine continued. That was wrong. And questions like this didn’t belong outside the first baseline. I wracked my head for the answer.

“Wrong?”

The machine didn’t answer initially. But the tape continued to hum. Filling the small room with it’s monotone cry.

 

Commandant Baronessa Dove Victoria Marina White, are you ready to begin the test.

 

My breath was quiet. But as my ears tuned out the cassette’s whirr, only the sound of my breathing filled my mind.

“Problem?”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

Two loud clicks accompanied the tape changing directions within the cassette.

 

Why do you erase minds.

 

Good. A normal question again.

“Work”

 

“Error-prone”

 

My breathing grew heavy. I became unsure if I should answer.

 

Click.

The whirring motors became erratic.

 

“Error-prone”. Click.

 

“Error-prone”. Click.

 

“Error-prone”. Click.

 

“Error-prone”. Click.

 

“Error-prone”. Click.

 

“Error-prone”. Click.

 

I see fire.

 

I waited a moment

“Fire…”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

The cassette seemed to spur as far as it could in one direction then the other.

 

I see fire.

 

I didn’t answer.

Click.

 

I see fire, and flames, and black smoke in the cold, lifeless sky. I see a flag of red, and bloods dye cast upon the streets. “Echo”. I see ice. Ice born from the flames. And snow, snow stained with a woman’s blood. “Echo”. I see dawn. Dawn beyond the everlasting twilight. I see the setting of the unsetting star and the night that followed. “Echo”. I see one regime replaced by another and nothing really changes. “Echo”. I see one leader replaced by another and nothing really changes. “Echo”. I see men on the streets, and those same men clearing their brothers’ corpses from the snow. Only their eyes holding the truth once shared. “Echo”. And above it all I see a dove. A white dove emerging from the fire she wrought. “Echo”. As a phoenix rises from the ashes, I see a white dove cast ash from where her hollow eyes gaze. “Echo”. I see the world consumed by fire and ice and soot. “Echo”. I see the people on the streets, and I hear the chant they sing. 

“Death to the traitor”

“Death to the traitor”

“Death to the traitor”

“Death to the traitor”

“Death to the traitor”

“Death to the traitor”

 

“I don’t know what you mean… ahh”

The probes ripped fire into my skull. Sharper and deeper than any pain I had ever known.

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

I sniffled as the pain began to disapate.

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

The machine made two loud clunks. Louder then I had normally known these machines to make.

 

Why do you erase minds.

 

This again.

“Work”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

 

Why do you erase minds.

 

“Work”

My tone was flat. Mimicking it’s lack of emotion.

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

 

Why are you a monster.

 

I had to take a moment to figure out the answer.

“Accuse”

 

Click.

Whirr.

I see the last memories of those whose futures you deny. Why are you a monster.

 

“Birthright”

I smile. The pain ringing through my skull now past.

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

 

I will see you soon. “Error-prone”. I look forward to bareing your burden. “Echo”. My ch, ch, ch, ch, ch, ch, “Error-prone”. You, Dove of White.

 

“What?”

 

Baseline.

 

“Re-baseline”

 

Test complete.

 

“Baseline”

 

It was over.

I pressed a button on the machine, the whirring stopped and the room was silent. I pulled the probes from my temples, dropped them into the small beaker of acid prepared, and then moved the beaker to the side so I could rest my head on the cold stainless steel table.

My eyes fluttered shut. I focused on my breathing, the rapid panting that threatened to drown me.

One, two, three, breath. One, two, three, breath. One, two, three, breath. I forced an artificial calmness to overtake my mind. My fingers gripping onto the cold metal. The taste of blood and the smell of acid traced along my tongue. My ears filled with a strange heartbeat. It was my blood, pumping through the veins around my head. Normally silent, or indistinguishable. But now threatening to overwhelm.

No. Father’s here I can’t go out looking like this. I pulled myself together. Wiping the tears from the corners of my eyes, fixing the few strands of my hair that had fallen loose and brushing powder onto the scorched skin left by the probes. I forced the emotion from my face, only to shape my expression back into what was expected from me. What father wanted. I pulled my fur jacket back over my shoulders, forced a smile and pushed open the rooms single door.

My father was waiting for me and one of the staff was waiting by the door. She had a cloth in her belt and a beaker of acid ready to replace the one I used. I stood awkwardly in the doorway not letting her through.

“Is something wrong Commandant”

I looked down at the girl. She was younger than me and her stature told of likely malnourishment during her early years. “Do I look like I’m on duty”

“No, Commandant” the girl stuttered.

“Then call me by the correct title”

“Yes Baronessa. I’m sorry Baronessa” she bowed her head in terror.

“And no, the machine in there is hallucinating,  do you know how dangerous faulty test machines can be. You could have got me killed”

“I’m sorry Command… Baronessa” Bam, the back of my hand slammed across her cheek. My ring leaving a red line across her unblemished skin. She dropped to the floor, dropping the beaker of acid to shatter into a million pieces.

The usher and another member of staff ran over to me. Offering their most sincere apologies while the woman was dragged off somewhere out of sight. Another woman carried in a new machine, and the faulty metal box was taken away.

 

 

We walked through towards the main ballroom. Thoughts of tests and whatever punishment that girl would get slipped into the back of my mind. I had more important things to worry about. Boys.

An usher announced our presence. Before we entered the ballroom. It was a similarly spectacular display of opulence to the lobby but that seemed to fall into insignificance in comparison to the Founding Father’s present. No wonder the security was so tight.

There where three here, each sat against different walls of the cavernous ballroom. They were tall, probably over ten feet if they could stand. But they couldn’t, each of them sat in chairs designed like chair designed to resembled power and majesty, rather then a throne to the inhuman abomination slumped into them that should have died four hundred years past.

That was a cruel word, inhuman. For our Founding Fathers were truly the most human of us all. Only they had stepped upon the dirt of old earth, and it was they who brought life to this world.

But their flesh bore the marks of space travel. Zero gravity had stretch them. Not just in their immense stature but it their fingers, that seemed to spread out like dough in an oven, and the puffed loose skin on their faces. Their skin was an unnatural milky colour, and their eyes were wrong. Space travel had caused their actual eyeballs to deform so they had been replaced with white glass orbs that didn’t have pupils. Zero gravity had also caused their muscles to atrophy and their bones to decay. Their hearts could only pump blood due to a machine in their chair and they could only breathe through the tubes in their neck. The space sickness, as it was called, caused their flesh to thin out around their arms and legs and throat until they looked malnourished, almost corpse like, while their stomach was unnaturally fat. They wore suits, styled in old world fashion, and were served by a legion of stumped attendants. Dressed to their master’s fetishes.

Those attendants were likely the only of the working classes here. Even the waiting staff would have to be of some original blood to be here today.

“What’s the plan now” I leaned towards my father’s ear so we weren’t overheard.

“You dance and I’ll talk. When someone asks you for a dance look for my cue”

“And what if the younger Carnforth asks before his brother. I can’t simply reject him out right”

“I will have a word with the matriarch Carnforth. Let us hope that boy hasn’t grown so bold”

We parted, him towards the crowd of gossiping nobles. Whereas I headed into the centre of the ballroom. Towards the dancing bachelors and their brides to be. A man appeared for the crowd, one of my cousins, he reached out his hand and asked me to dance. I looked over at my father who simply nodded.

We danced for a bit until I was passed onto another man. Their was a small group of women waiting for partners to ask them. While men glided through the crowd, trying to find another partner. I was never without someone to share a dance, my name alone ensured that. Some of the men in the crowd did not share my luck. Each rejection caused a flutter of mutterings to cross the ballroom. While many of the women who had waited on the side grew nervous as they failed in garnishing attention.

I had finished dancing with a man named Kiran when Sebastian came up to me. Kiran was nothing special, but his family had long been friends of ours in the judiciary. He wasn’t marriage material, of course, but it helped to keep our friends close, so to speak.

Sebastian, on the other hand, was very interesting. He was a merchant and his maternal grandfather was the richest man outside of the military (a few senior military officials had gathered enormous wealth through mining contracts). Meaning he was one of very few people here who didn’t work for the state. Excluding me, and those those who worked at the Institute. But, although our work was technically independent from the four pillars of state, it wasn’t accurate to describe our work as falling outside the states control. My family had long been involved in the executive before the Institutes founding, for instance.

Sebastian and I had known each other since we were in school together. I had later learnt, it had caused a slight scandal that a boy of his blood was able to bribe their way into such a prestigious school. But I didn’t know that at the time. I had just known the goof of a boy who never did his homework on time and always took the fall for our shenanigans. He wasn’t a particularly close friend, but ours wasn’t a large conhort so we grew to know each other well enough.

But the Sebastian before me was more of a man then the boy I had known. He had grown into himself and carried his ‘pretty boy’ handsomeness with a swagger befitting a gentleman. Had his name carried the weight of his means he would been the prize of the court. Even as it was he was considered one of the most eligible bachelors here tonight.

He held out his hand, and offered me a smile. A friendly smile, not a corporate one, and not the sort that was put on for something. Although he had grown tall and handsome his eye’s where the same. They had the same ‘sick of this’ snark as when we had just sat through a three hour lecture and wanted to do anything else.

I took his hand then looked into the crowd for my father’s approval. He stood by the matriarch Carnforth’s ear, she was instantly recognisable in some ridiculous fashion as usual. My father shock his head form side to side. He was right. Sebastian may dress in the finary of the upper classes, but by blood he was no better than Jessica, or even Eviana (not that blood mattered with what they had become).

And Sebastian had been brought here for one reason, probably by his grandfather’s insistence but for one reason none the less, to find a bride where they could trade money for prestige. And I couldn’t been seen to be such a bride.

“I’m sorry” I whispered to my friend, yes he had been my friend on reflection, and let go of his hand.

Whispers echoed throughout the ballroom like a wave. Every eye seemed to find the back of the boy’s head. His family, many of whom were here, turned red in embarrassment. Whereas many of the crowd held thinly veiled joy at these upstart aristocrats humiliation.

Sebastian for his part dropped his gaze. He looked as if the hurt in his eyes was genuine, although they didn’t possess any anger for me. He left to more whispering. I looked back at my father, who smiled. He was talking to the matriarch Carnforth, who shared his smile.

I danced next with a boy of house Herts. By name he would have been my equal, but it was well known the Herts fortune had been lost to drunkards and gamblers. The boy who I danced with had probably borrowed the clothes on his back. But that did not change that he was a Herts.

We parted then another suitor walked over to take my hand.

“Baronessa White” he lifted my hand to his lips and planted a kiss on one of my rings.

“Count Carnforth” I greeted Peter with a well practiced curtesy. Glad I did not have to decide what I was to do had his brother asked me first.

“May I have this dance”

“You may”

Peter didn’t look a remarkable man. Their wasn’t much in particular you could say about him. He was of average height, of average build, and his face was of average quality. The only things that was would stand him out in a crowd was that he stood like a soldier (something that made sense if you knew his profession) and that he never smiled. I had seen him smile before, but never at court. Or to say never at an occasion such as this.

It was years ago, when I had first started at the Institute, he had brought in one of his concubines for reprogramming. Enough hadn’t been taken for his liking so we sat, along with his collared pet, before I undertook the procedure. It seemed a shame, she had amused us greatly with her pleading and her petty whining. But Peter had decided it was too much to manage so it was taken from her. Come to think of it she had short hair, I remember thinking it odd because long flowing hair was the fashion at that time.

I worried father was right, about the hair. I thought of the show the matriarch Carnforth made after a one of the woman attempting to court her younger son had worn a short wig. Or even the rumour that, when the fashion had changed she had generously volunteered to ‘help’ many of the female staff at the various establishments throughout Landing City. My chest grew tighter, at the thought my hair might have to go for the sake of the rather dull man I danced with.

We danced, him in the rather stiff way military men danced. And we talked a little. It was considered polite to try and get to know your partner before marriage. Even if it wasn’t strictly required. His hand had moved up from my hip to my back, and then higher. I felt his warm touch on the base on my nape.

“You look beautiful” he said in his normal slightly dull tone. Even if the comment was far out of his character.

“Thank you”

“I like what you have done with your hair, I mean” he muttered and smiled unnaturally. But at that moment I was thinking of Eviana. How I had spent so long teaching them to style, and wash, and massage my hair. I suppose it wasn’t all to waste, they still had their own long locks. At least I had something I could play with with Eviana’s long locks.

The song stopped and Peter kissed my hand with a promise of “until next time”. Just like that. An entire ball for a five minute dance, but it served our purposes. I danced some more, just so the gossip wasn’t so sure of my suitor and returned to my father’s side.

The night grew old. That was another of those strange earth sayings, how could a night grow old. And what even was a night but a social construct anyway. A night was nothing different to day except some people had agreed to sleep then. I tried not to worry myself with earth sayings.

The crowd began to thin as guests made their exit we did as well. Best to leave while the party remains fashionable, otherwise people might suspect you have nowhere better to be. But not before we bid part to the matriarch Carnforth.

“Leaving so soon Hector” she addressed my father with a familiarity unfamiliar to even me.

“Yes, I’m afraid we most go. We have other commitments to attend”

“Well thank you for keeping me company.” The matriarch Carnforth emphasised each word in a manor immediately obnoxious. “And dear Dove, it has been a pleasure to see you. May I say I just adore how you have styled you hair, it’s awfully neat, isn’t it Frances” she nudged the daughter that had similarly cropped hair who nodded her approval.

“Thank you” I felt my father’s eyes burry into the side of my head. “Can I just say it looks, truly…” a few words tickled my tongue. “Effortless” my father hadn’t averted his gaze. He clearly thought more was necessary. “I must admit I was thinking of doing something different with my hair”

“Oh” she nearly gasped in delight. “Well if that’s the case I must recommend my stylist” she handed me a business card that had appeared from nowhere. “He does wonders” I took the card and we said our final goodbye. Only as we began to leave we met an unusual interruption.

One of the servants, the Founding Father’s personal stumped attendants, not the waiting staff, came out to meet us. She was short and dressed in a strange manner. A small amount of fabric only covered a small amount of skin. Long dark hair hadn’t succumbed to the matriarch Carnforth’s fashions. Plus she had ‘augmentations’, a black tail extended from between her legs, and she had a second set of ears. Like those of an earth animal I had seen in a book once. I wondered what Eviana might look like with such accessories.

“Excuse me, Baronessa White. My master wishes to see you”

I wasn’t sure what to do so I followed the girl up to her masters hands. The where massive, swollen, flattened, and appeared to be nearly boneless. It raised his hand. The pale skin shacked about a foot from where it had laid in his lap. Clearly taking some considerable force as when I took its weight across my hands it looked relieved. Slumped back in its chair, its head resting on the shoulder rest as always. I looked at the hand, then kissed the ring on it’s middle finger.

I looked around after my lips left the cold metal. Unsure what to do. The eared girl took the hand from me and returned it to laying on his lap. I seemed to stand aimlessly until the eared girl indicated that was enough.

“What was that.” I asked my father once we where out of anyone’s earshot.

“The Founding Fathers are known to pick favourites sometimes”

“Not that, I mean what was all that with the matriarch Carnforth.” I hushed my voice as our path continued up a flight of stairs. “Anyone would think we where marrying up, the way we’re acting”

“I know Dove, I know. But it’s… I don’t know. Ever since what happened with your mother. People do not look at us the same way”

“Huh…” I sighed, unhappy with his answer but I knew it was true. “I know you’re right. It just doesn’t seem right. They know we did all we could”

He stopped, we stopped, so we could talk the way we didn’t do enough. “I know. Dove. But these rumours will pass. It wasn’t that long ago”

“It feels like a long time”

“I know” he put a hand on my shoulder.

“How is she?” I felt a pit grow in my stomach as I anticipated his answer.

“You can come and see her if you want”

My heart sank. But I still followed him.

 

 

Eviana was waiting by the door, that was nice.

“Mistress. Welcome home”

I didn’t great them. Instead I simply wondered past my foyer into the dinning room, where Eviana had laid out a meal I wasn’t going to eat. I grabbed a bottle of wine and drank a cupful. I didn’t like wine, I just pretended. It was one of those things you everyone had to pretend to like even if you didn’t. Like gardens, or when someone you barely know shows random baby photos, or that whole find a job that you love and work will beat the joy out of you. Or people, why did people have to exist. Why did people happen, why couldn’t we just exist without anything. Without it all.

“Mistress. What’s wrong” my maid asked.

“Nothing. I was just, I was just…” I sniffled. “My mother…”

“Mistress…”

I hugged Eviana as they spoke. Wrapping my arms around their back and leaning my head on their shoulder.

“It’s ok mistress” Eviana gave a gap between each word. “It’s ok, you can cry if you need. I’m here for you”

I rested my head into their shoulder. The long blonde hair I had forced upon them covered my face and the sweet smell of the shampoo I had brought them filled my nose. But I didn’t cry. I couldn’t cry, not even here.

“It’s ok mistress. Once you’ve gotten this dress off you’ll feel loads better.”

I flicked my heels off and allowed Eviana to strip my dress from my body. The fabric lay discarded on the ground, they would sort it out some other time. Then my hair was unpinned, that always felt nice. It felt like my body itself was being unwrapped and unwound.

“Eviana” my voice was dry and bitter, but the taste of sweet alcohol remained on the tip of my tongue. “Thank you” my lips bit into their mouth.

Eviana was shy, as always. My hand dug into their firm soft flesh. I sunk my teeth into their throat stroking their neck, until they yelped. The scent of Eviana’s vanilla and almond body wash filled my nose.

“You’re beautiful” I moaned, feeling my hair gliding over my bare shoulders. My trembling fingers slid into Eviana’s blouse. Pulling the fabric from her arms so I could feel their soft hairless skin against my own. They were cold. I held on tight so our bodies where wrapped in a veil of blonde and brown hair. I could smell alcohol from my breath bouncing off their pale cheeks.

My eyelids felt heavy and I needed too stretch but I remained still. Watching those light pink, slightly parted, lips and those innocent blue eyes.

“Can you sleep in my bed tonight, it’s looking like it’s going to be cold and I could use the company”

“Yes mistress. If that if what you desire” my maid answered. Their words disconnected from their body.

 

 

 

My throat felt dry, the familiar symptoms of my hangover numbed my thoughts into an unclear fog.

“Ughh” I groaned. Stretching underneath the covers of my bed. My muscles screaming like an ungreased hinge. The system of mirrors in my roof reflecting the little natural light to fill my room in a natural deep red glow.

My bare skin tingled against the sheets. I leaned over to my bedside table, expecting to find the glass of water Eviana would leave out every morning. It was empty. I ran my dry tongue over my mouth, searching for a single morsel on which I could suck.

I turned in my sheets and saw Eviana’s naked form curled up next to me. Still asleep, still beautiful. I couldn’t stop one of my fingers from running up the hairless skin around their spine and collarbone. Their beautiful blonde hair a mess against the sheets.

“Mistress” they squeaked when my touch grew too strong, causing them to ster awake.

“Good morning” I whispered back. Hoping my breath didn’t smell like alcohol.

“Sorry, I uh. I slept in” Eviana stood up to quickly for someone just waking up in the morning. “I’m sorry. I haven’t had the chance to cook you anything”

“That’s ok” I said softly. “How do you feel”

“I’m fine. A bit sore is all”

“I’m sure you are” I felt a hint of a smile touch my lips then handed her the empty glass. “Can you fill this for me”

“Of course mistress” Eviana took the glass from me and turned out of my bedroom. As they did my eyes paid special attention to the soft mounds of flesh on their chest and around their hips.

I got out of bed and walked across the room to my baroque wooden vanity. I picked up one of the neatly laid out brushes and set about trying to fix the mess my hair had become overnight. Was this going to be the last time I did that. Somehow the card the matriarch Carnforth had given me had ended up on my vanity. I held the surprisingly thick business card in my hand, it was a creamy off white with all the text and logos printed in an slightly off black ink.

I past the paper between my fingers. I had loved my hair, I still loved my hair. But fashion was to suffer. What would I look like without the thick coat of hair that comforted me like a warm hot chocolate at the end of a long day. Not me, that’s what I would look like.

Eviana return to save me from my thoughts.

“Thank you” I said when she handed me the full glass and took a first sip.

“Your welcome. I’m just going to get dressed and put some food on, it shouldn’t be long.”

“That’s ok Eviana, but can you brush my hair first.”

“As you wish” they stepped behind where I sat. A gentle touch on my shoulders kept me in place, then they began long stokes through my blanket of brown hair.

“Eviana, can I ask you something”

“Anything mistress” their voice was as smooth as their brushing through my scalp.

“What did it feel like”

“Last night, mistress?”

“No,” I blushed. “I mean what did it feel like why you where processed”

Eviana didn’t answer at first. Gently brushing through my hair, smoothing each thick strand straight. “I’m sorry mistress, I don’t really remember. I don’t have my memories from before the reprogramming”

“I know, but do you remember being reprogramming”

“Yes”

“What was that like”

Eviana picked up a few more strands of hair, slowly brushing them with the same care as the rest of my mane. They where slow to answer. “It was like… My brain was so loud, so many thoughts, so much anger and hate. And then it was quiet, everything faded into a static numbness and then nothing. Their was no fight left inside me, just an empty feeling where something once was.”

We both remained silent for a moment before Eviana continued.

“I remember the smell too. There was this horrible burning smell. Like soot…”

“That enough” I snapped.

“Sorry mistress. I didn’t mean to upset you”

“That’s ok I’m fine, just can you prepare breakfast.”

“Yes mistress, as you wish” Eviana carefully placed my brush on my vanity and left the room. As they did my eyes watched the long blonde hair that fell to the small of their waist. It was that thick fluffy light blonde hair which first drew me to Eviana. I was glad it had kept that fluffy texture and its buttery blonde colour even as it grew long.

I picked up the card the matriarch Carnforth had given me. Twirling the paper in one had and a strand of hair in the other. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

 

 

I felt strange standing outside the address on the card. The streets were designed to resemble old European boulevards but that temperatures never really got above minus ten, and the fact most people needed documentation to be outside, meant the roads where nearly always empty. Most people would walk from one place to another as quickly as they could. Perhaps I was the weird one, who found the coldness of the air refreshing and the chill of the streets alluring.

Or perhaps I was putting this off. That I would rather my joints froze up then go inside wherever this card had brought me. It wasn’t the nicest part of town, possibly fourth or fifth and very far from the worst parts of Landing City. But it wasn’t the newest or trendiest area, it had been probably forty plus years ago but many places had moved out and moved on.

I had expected this place to be some big on trend salon but it wasn’t. The address lead to a small back alleyway, down a flight of stairs and then up another until I reached it. In the sea of bare, windowless, concrete walls was a little red door with a twisting red and white pole outside.

This area of town made me nervous. I new the statistics, how safe the enforcers kept the streets, but I knew the stories as well. How yesterday that thief had managed to get so far into the city centre. I thought I heard something moving behind me and pushed myself in before I could decide otherwise. The inside of the shop was white, an aggressive medical white that strained my eyes as it reflected the harsh artificial lighting in the room.

Once my eyes had adjusted I was able to form a better grasp of the space. The room was small but the mirror against one wall and the whiteness of everything made the room look larger than it actually was. There where two barbers seats, only one of which was in use by a male stylist who looked decidedly unremarkable. A long bench sat across the opposite side of the room.

But what I noticed most was the woman. Three of them sat in a row behind the stylist while the fourth was in his seat, a dark grey cape secured around her neck. All of them wore the orange tags around their neck, that marked them as stumped servants here at their master’s wishes.  I couldn’t see the girl under the capes tag, but I knew it would be there by the blank lifeless expression on her face when the stylist pointed her head down.

What struck me most wasn’t that. It was the hair. Each of the four girls possessed bountiful tresses of long healthy hair. All longer then my own. Of the woman sat on the bench, the one closest to me had the longest hair. It was thick, black and pooled into her lap. If she stood straight it would have likely reached to midway down her thighs. The second of the woman sat unnaturally straight on the bench was blonde, her hair reached the small of her back and remained me of Eviana with its light fluffy texture. The third woman was clearly nervous, I doubt the others could have been nervous but she could and she was. Her eyes darted around, and while her back and arms remained rigid, her fingers fidgeted with the ends of her thick brunette locks. The thick chocolate brown locks seemed naturally highlighted by a few dark caramel strands.

I thought that my own bra strap length hair seemed short in this room. I noted that while my hair was neat and straight, the hair of the those waiting were frizzy and had natural waves. My eyes moved from those waiting on the bench to the woman in the stylists chair. She looked stoic, or emotionless, while the stylist moved behind her. I watched her eyes. Her green pupils remained perfectly still while her blinking occurred in regular, exact, intervals. She was blonde, long buttery hair lay against the dark grey cape. I suspected it reached her waist when she stood and it would have been envy of court when long hair was last in fashion. Would have been. Because when I stepped forward I saw, while her was still long and glorious on the side facing me, the hair on the far side of her head was hacked brutally short. Seemingly without any care or attention the stylist used a large pair of shears to sever her long healthy hair as short as they would allow.

I stepped further into the stale whiteness of this shop. My nose filling with the fumes of a chemical cleaner and the distinct scent of freshly cut hair. Somewhere nearby a heater pumped warm air around the room, but it was not enough to stop a shiver from falling down my spine. I looked back at the stylist, watching as he moved to the back of the poor girls head and sectioned out a few thick tresses between his fingers. Snip, snip, snip. The beautiful, healthy strands of hair cascaded lifelessly down her cape.

Only as I watched the long hair falling to the ground, I noticed the masses of hair scattered around her. Piles of long severed hair, half a foot high, lay discarded around the back and side of their chair. Only a few years ago those long locks would have sold for a small fortune, when long hair had been the fashion and the salons ran out of hair for extensions. Now that long hair formed in a crescent on the ground like rubbish. Piles of deep red, and ginger, and blonde, and brunette. Like fallen leaves in the courtyard of the palatium ducum politicorum.

“Hello?” the stylist seemed to finally notice me. He seemed surprised, his voice stuttered. Like he was surprised to actually see a client, or no. It was something more than that.

“Hello” I forced a smile. But my voice was meek, remaining uncertain in this unfamiliar surrounding. Seeing that long hair being sheared so easily, knowing my long locks could be stripped just as easily, made me uneasy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think I had any appointments today” his attention completely left the half shorn girl in his chair.

“I don’t have an appointment” his stare was intense. Almost making me feel undressed before him. “I… uhm. Mrs Carnforth recommended this place”

“Yes that doesn’t surprise me. I swear at this point I get half of my customers from her” He looked away from me for a second to answer type something into a nearby machine. “Are you okay to wait for a bit. I need to get these girls done so they can get back to work”

“That’s ok” My voice was uncharacteristically quiet. I felt slight, and small, compared to his smile.

“Ok take a seat. I’ll try to be quick”

I walked across to the bench. At which point all three of the woman sat perfectly straight opposite me moved like clockwork, budging across to make room for me. Even though their was plenty of space already.

I sat and watched. First playing with a strand of my silk like drown locks, then deciding it would only make things worse and pushing it all behind my back. As I did the stylist made good on his promise to be quick. His shears moved from the butchered right hand side of her head to the back. Then he continued in quick motions to stripping away the still remaining hair on the left of her head.

Seconds, seconds to strip away hair that had taken a lifetime to grow. He picked up something metal, I didn’t recognise it but it had what looked like a comb on top and a pair of snarling blades within. He placed the comb like end on the girls forehead, pulling back to reveal a path of neatly shorn strands beneath. Only then returning to the front of her scalp, ready to shear another path of her once glorious locks.

“I don’t know why their master’s let them keep it so long.” The stylist said, presumably to me. I don’t know who else he would be talking to. “Like I get saving a few bucks having it shaved every few years rather then every month. But your losing far more time and money having them maintain it long.”

“Perhaps they had been growing it out when the price of hair was high. Her hair would have fetched a pretty penny back then”

“Yeah I remember how everyone went mad for a bit. Thank lord we’ve all come back to our senses and realised a practical style is best. Even if the working classes haven’t, that’s why these lot still have long hair you see.” He moved his clippers while he talked with me. “Long hair is still the fashion for the working classes, shows your well off enough to afford the water credits or something.”

“I suppose. Seems a pity though. To cut something that so much time and effort was invested in”

“It’s a damn shame. I don’t get why woman waste their time with long hair like this” he stripped another path of hair sliding from the poor girls head. Knowing that it was once loved somehow made it harder to watch. “No offence, of course”

“None taken” my lips met in a lying smile. “It’s a shame to waste it though. If long hair becomes the fashion again their would have been a small fortune on your floor”

“I know, but nobody wants it. Basically everyone that use to make wigs and extensions and stuff have gone bankrupt. The only thing I can sell this stuff” he kicked at the pile of hair on the ground beneath him. “For is people using it to clean up HVO and grease spills”

“Can’t you keep it though. And if long hair does come back into fashion sell it then.”

“Where am I going to keep a few thousand ponytails, let alone keep them clean. No if long hair comes back theirs still all the extensions from last time in circulation. Besides the hair is worth less than the elastic I would need to tie it.”

“Still feels a shame” I said glumly.

“I guess, if you think that way.” He seemed finally done with the girl in his chair. Her long blonde hair now lay mixed with the other colours on the floor. I could see the pale skin of her scalp beneath her freshly buzzed head. “If you want you can have any of these girls hair. I have no use for it”

I looked across the woman next too me. She was the same shade as Eviana. I wondered if I could get them too make extensions out of it. Then I saw the other girls Eviana would look precious wearing streets of colour in their mane. Even if it was just brown and black. “Yes if you don’t mind”

“It’s no problem” he smiled. Before quickly whipping the cape from the blonde now sporting an precise buzz cut. Stands of various lengths joined the thick crescent around the back and sides of his chair.

The woman simply stepped out of the chair and walked out of the staff exit. Not even raising a hand to feel her shorn scalp. Though I did notice a solitary tear sliding down her cheek.

“Next” he called. The woman furthest from me stirred in her seat. She was the brunette who nervously twirled the ends of her locks between her fingers. Slowly, deliberately, she stood up and started to move towards the stylists chair. “Hurry up this woman wants your hair” he snapped. Making her rush to take her place in his seat. “Sorry about that, some of these recently stumped women can be a bit jumpy. I don’t get why people don’t go for full reprogramming, but to each their own.”

“It saves us quite a bit of work. At the Institute. It’s much quicker to do a partial reprogramming than a full one”

“You work at the institute? No wonder Mrs Carnforth was so eager to send you here” What did that mean.

That thought shifted to the back of my mind as I watched the woman take her seat. The stylist pulled her hair behind her back and quickly secured the same dark grey cape around her neck. The brunette locks cascaded down the back of the chair, it’s natural highlights shimmering like a waterfall in twilight’s hue. He pulled a brush from his workstation and began to stroke through her thick mane. Her hair looked beautiful, thick healthy and visibly glowing from a lifetime of loving care and attention. Ready and waiting to be sheared.

“Do you want the whole ponytail”

“The whole ponytail” I felt a hollow pit grow inside my stomach. The idea of cutting such beautiful hair horrifying me, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking. Or from the strange dirty feeling that grew with my anticipation.

The stylist picked up a hair tie and gathered her entire thick mane into a single thick ponytail. In the mirror I could see the pain on the woman’s face, how she winced as the stylists scissors approached her ponytail. He lifted the thick hair, wrapping his hand around her hair and pulling the tail taut. She cried out in pain, but that didn’t stop him from positioning his massive shears around the trapped locks. The shears made a loud crunch as they sawed through the two inch thick ponytail. The thick locks resisted the sawing blades, but with each snip more strands were cut lose. Until with a final snip the ponytail was severed.

“One ponytail for one lovely lady” he declared holding up the three foot tail. “I’ll leave it here for you” the stylist laid out the hair on his worktop ready for me to collect later.

“Thank you” seeing the long ponytail swinging from his hand stirred something between my thighs. Seeing such beauty being stripped away exciting a hidden part of me, buried deep down were it couldn’t be seen.

He picked the clippers back off his belt. Bringing the guard too her forehead and dragging the blades back over her scalp. A fountain of loose brown hair falling into a lifeless pile in her lap. I watched him strip another path across her scalp, revealing sharp bristles of brown hair. My mouth turning dry.

 

A cold breeze flooded the room when the door opened. I turned to see the silhouette of a woman, flanked by two others. She stepped into the medical whiteness of the salon, my eyes began to adjust to the details of her face. The familiar details…

“Mrs Carnforth” the stylist turned to face the intruder.

“Hugo” she walked into the salon and hugged the overly familiar stylist. “How are you dear”

The two woman followed behind her. They where identical twins, only distinguished by the length of their hair. The first had thick heavily layered ginger hair that fell to below her ribs, heavy fluffy bangs framed her face. While the seconds hair was cut blunt, and was longer, it’s ends flowing beyond her curved butt reaching the top of her thighs. They followed after her, their posture as rigid as steel while their faces remained blank and lifeless.

The matriarch Carnforth seemed to dominate the space. Her heels clicked against the white floor while her eyes scanned the room. Looking approvingly at the half sheared girl in the chair, then moving across those waiting. A smile crossed her lips as she imaged their hair soon joining the pile on the floor. And then her gaze moved to me. A glint flashed in her eyes, her pupils briefly moving to the centre of her eyes before returning to normal.

“Dove! What a pleasant surprise” I thought back to whatever the stylist typed earlier and wondered if it was a surprise.

“Mrs Carnforth. It’s great to see you” I stood up to great her, and was surprised by her pulling me into a tight hug.

“The pleasures mine, but may I ask what brings you here” her satisfied smile seemed to already know the answer.

“I was uhm” a lump grew inside my throat. “I had been thinking for a while about doing something… different, with my hair. And I thought about the recommendation you gave me”

“Wonderful” she clapped her hand together and I had to stop my eyes from rolling. Biting my tongue, and repeating to myself how perfect a match her son would be be. Holding in my actual distain like my life depended on it. “Well I’m surprised Hugo here kept you waiting. It’s just not proper for a Baronessa to have to wait for some stumped slaves” her tongue seemed to spit venom.

“Oh that’s ok, I…”

“Nonsense dearie” she cut me off. “A woman of your station should not be waiting in line with the likes of these criminals” she sneered at the woman who sat like statues next to me.

“Baronessa I’m so sorry” Hugo chimed in, quickly moving the half buzzed woman out of his chair. He removed her cape and frantically brushed the massive pile of hair away towards the corner of the room. “Please forgive I didn’t recognise you. And do…” He stuttered “do take a seat”

He turned his chair to face where I stood. I had expected to have more time to say goodbye, I had even looked forward too watching those others go before me. But it was my turn now.

I stepped forward. My future mother-in-law’s eyes watching me cross the room. Towards the still warm leather of the waiting chair and where the stylist held his waiting cape. I felt my chest begin too burn under the pressure they applied. My nipples stiffening as dread built inside me. I shrunk into the chair, feeling small in it’s embrace. My reflection stared back at me, eyes wide my fingers playing with the ends of my bluntly cut milk chocolate brown locks.

“Good girl” I heard a quiet voice behind me. Hugo and the matriarch Carnforth each placed a hand on my shoulders. Building the pressure, and causing my cheeks to flush a rosy pink.

The matriarch Carnforth stepped back, but still loomed over me. A satisfied smile across her face. Hugo stepped forward his hands massaging my shoulders but failing to build any comfort.

“You said you where thinking about something different. Does that mean you were thinking about a change?” He began to stroke his hands through the long, bra strap length hair his presence threatened.

A lump grew in my throat.

“Because I think your face, your features, might suit something… dramatic” I internally yelped at that word. “This hair…” he ran his fingers down my cherished locks. “It’s dragging you down, I think you would really suit something… modern. Something chic, something that really highlights those pretty eyes of yours”

I looked down from the mirror, to my tightly pressed thighs beyond my stiffening nipples. But out of the corner of my eyes I noticed something unusual about his. Their was a glint, the did the same strange movement to looking straight forward for a half a second, only to return to normal like nothing had happened. I thought it odd but wasn’t sure enough about what I had seen too comment.

Or perhaps to distracted. While my head was bowed he tied a thick strip of white paper around my neck, something he hadn’t bothered with for those before me. Then, just as he would have done a thousand times, that same dark grey cape was thrown over me. Trapping me in place, finally ensuring I had no place too run.

The matriarch Carnforth nodded her approval from where she stood. God I wish she wasn’t here. Losing my hair was bad enough. That the one taking it from me, both physically and practically, stood in lockstep looking down at me was torturous.

“You’re going to love this” Hugo added. Clearly a million miles off the thoughts inside my head. “It’s going to be nice and neat, so much easier for you to manage”

His comb dragged down my skull. Ensuring each and every strand of my hair was perfectly pampered and prepared for their final fate. He began to section my hair. The crown, formed by a line taken back from my eyebrows around my head, was twisted and secured with a large clip, it’s ends flowing beyond into my face and tickling my nose. The remainder was split in three. The hair by my sideburns pushed infront of the cape while the largest section remained behind my back.

“Can you put your head down for me dearie” I ignored what this man had just called me and did as he asked. My chin pressing into the fabric cape and my firm breasts beneath. “Good girl” came his voice in a low rumble. Followed by another lower, more disturbing rumble.

I felt what felt like a comb pressing into my neck. Only to realise its true identity as it creeped upwards, its vibrations sending ripples from my skull down towards my sensitive chest and my hidden desire between my thighs. Only for it’s hum to reach a crescendo as it slid into my hairline.

I closed my eyes, wincing in pain as the blades cut into me. Their hum now a horrible mowing as they separated long healthy hair from my nape. The beloved strands sliding down my back into a useless, lifeless, heap beneath me. I bit my lip as he returned the clippers too my nape. Stripping another path through what had forever been my identity.

From where I sat nothing looked wrong. The hair on my sides and crown remained intact. But in my lap a small pile of hair began too grow. Behind me the matriarch Carnforth stood with a smile across her face and a look of victory in her eyes. Like some great rival had been defeated. Hugo worked still stripping line after line of hair from my nape. And I could feel it. My head had become lighter. After he plowed a line through with his clippers he would touch my nape and, I could feel my sharp bristles of hair against his touch. Naked and cold, exposed to every passing breeze.

“Just think. How much quicker this is going to be to wash”

How I couldn’t relax as Eviana massaged shampoo into my skull.

“How much easier it will be to style”

How long I had spent teaching Eviana too care for my hair.

“How much hotter you’re going to look”

How everytime I look in the mirror I would not recognise myself.

I looked over at the matriarch Carnforth. Arms behind her back, smug victory on her lips. How I would look in a bridal gown walking down the aisle towards a man I did not love.

He ran the clippers over my nape and the back of my skull again. As if making sure he had truly left nothing behind. Only then did he step to my right. Leaning my head left so he had unopposed access to the still long front right section.

Please no, I told myself. But he didn’t listen, picking the thick strand of hair between his fingers and using the clippers to sever them from my head. The cut locks where tossed into an unceremonious heap in my lap. Then he folded back my ear so he could the hair on my right to the same barely visible stubble as that on the back of my head.

A single tear rolled down my cheek. It was all I allowed myself, I doubt those standing over me cared but I didn’t want to grant them the satisfaction of seeing me broken down before them.

Hugo walked over to my left. Where my hair still retained signs of normality, a stark contrast to the bare right side of my head. Where buzzed strands revealed the never before seen of the shape of my scalp. It felt wrong, my mouth felt dry and numb and bitter.

But, as my head was tilted too the right, I didn’t resist as his shears crashed into the unguarded hair. Stripping away the locks I had cherished all my life to the same even stubble that filled me with dread. Quickly and efficiently, the length of my hair was tossed into my lap and any hint of its existence was stripped away with it.

“Good girl” came that rumbling raspy voice. He couldn’t call me that. I was a Baronessa, a Commandant at the Institute. And yet under his cape I felt reduced to a school girl.

He swapped his clippers for a different pair. Smaller, finer. They didn’t have a guard so when he brought them too my nape I felt the ripples run down my spine. He slowly brought them upwards, all the way to the part separating out my intact crown. Just then he stopped bringing them back down to my nape continuing another path across the back of my nape.

It felt like it would never end. Pass after pass of the buzzing, vibrating, blades sending waves of horrible ecstasy through my skull. But it did end, at my nape. He tilted my head to the left again, folding my ear and running these new blades through the short brown bristles on the right of my head. Stripping away to nothing. He pushed up my sideburns and for the first time in my life I was greeted by the sight of my pale naked scalp. Small, barely visible, light brown dots was all that remained.

My head was then pushed to the right, so the same fate could befall the left of my head. He was quick, effective. But it still felt as if he were rubbing it in, savouring my grief and humiliation. The matriarch Carnforth definitely was. She still stood, hands behind her back, eyes having not left my head. And a smile having not left her lips. I noted that her own androgynous pixie was in many areas longer than my stark undercut.

“Perfect” she purred. Her fingers touching a point at the base of my tongue I had never realised was so sensitive. “This will do nicely” her eyes did the same unnatural flicker for a second.

“Now for the main event”

He pulled the clippers holding in my crown and watched the still long brown hair fall around me. For a second I could pretend that nothing was wrong. The milk chocolate brown locks falling straight to my bra strap, covering any hint of the horror hidden underneath.

But I couldn’t pretend. Not as I saw the masses of hair gathered in my lap. Or how light my head felt. I shifted under the cape, causing a strange tickling as still long hair shifted against my bare skull.

“See that wasn’t that scary was it” his hands pressed into my shoulders. Terrifying me as he loomed over my tiny form. Still trapped beneath his cape, and his touch. “Now let’s make a bob”

His hands brought my hair back behind the cape. I noticed my shaved sides where visible like this. He had given me no way to hide. Then his comb began stroking through the long hair again for the last time.

The gentle tugging stopped. I felt the end of his comb pressing against the middle of my nape. Then the now familiar sound of unguarded clippers slicing into thick healthy hair. The blades tapped my neck once the first section was cut free. Slumping into the pile on the floor.

He used the comb to maintain an even blunt line. Running his clippers along the length of my hair. Even with the middle of my neck. Taking just seconds to strip away hair that had taken a lifetime to grow.

I felt the ends of my blunt neck length Bob resting against my neck. No longer long enough to be held behind my back. Only the front most sections remained. He pushed these infront of my shoulders and used his comb to create an even line matching the back. Scchhhh, the blades ran across the comb. Sending the long hair on my left falling down into my lap. He arranged the comb at the right, scchhhh the right fell down. Joining the lifeless pile of brown hair resting in my lap.

Just like that, I was bobbed. Undeniably, any hint of the long hair I had so long cherished was gone. Replaced with an even blunt bob. The ends falling an inch bellow my chin in a sharp thick line. Not a hair out of place, every thick milk chocolate strand remaining smooth and limp.

“What do you think” I shook my head a little. That unpleasant feeling of long hair sliding against my bare undercut remained. As he tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear that same undercut revealed its self.

“It’s… different” I stuttered my voice still meek as I failed too pull myself together.

“It’s wonderful” I looked towards the matriarch Carnforth as she spoke. Her eye’s doing that same strange movement before she continued. I also noted the ginger twins that had followed her in stood, rather than joining the others waiting on the bench. “But I think it’s missing one last finishing touch”

“Of course” Hugo’s eyes made the same motion. But I was still too overwhelmed to understand what that meant. “How could I forget”

He quickly gathered my hair into a ponytail in his hands and slowly inched it upwards. I was grateful to still have enough length for a ponytail. Even if the bare pale scalp it revealed made me shudder. Once the ponytail was high enough he quickly tied the hair into a bun. It’s size relative too those I could have worn just an hour ago burning a hole deep in my chest. The high bun left my entire undercut exposed for all too see.

Hugo left for a moment, retrieving a white cream from somewhere in the back of his shop. He gently laid a thick layer of the warm lather around my head. It’s scent filling my nose with an almost intoxicating mix of dread and anticipation.

“Hold still” he moved my head so my chin was moved too it’s familiar position pressing against my chest. I looked up at the mirror seeing him pull a straight razor from his work belt and deciding that the sight of severed long hair in my lap remained preferable.

I felt the blade tickling my nape. I didn’t believe I had any hair left but if I did it was quickly stripped away to less than nothing. He was slow, his meticulous movements contrasting his previous efficiency. The blade gently scraping away at the back of my skull. Removing any trace of hair that remained on my pale, newly bare, head.

His blade was warm. That was welcome given how cold my head had become, without its blanket for protection. I winced and squirmed with every stroke of the blade, every gentle touch on my sensitive skin, and every approving nod the matriarch Carnforth gave from the side. But I held my head still for fear of getting cut.

My knuckles had turned numb and white from gripping into the chairs armrests. I smoothed over the cape from the inside, trying to hide the stiff points of my nipples. Even as they took advantage of me, I couldn’t stop the spark the had lit between my thighs.

The razor crept higher. I couldn’t believe how high my undercut was cut until I felt the blade reach my parting at the top of my occipital bone. Scratching away the little hairs that had remained.

After what felt like an eternity he was finished with the back of my head. I was again tilted to the side so he could continue this process to the right of my head. Only I could see it now, he folded my ear on it’s self and took long strokes against my skull. Taking an occasional break too clean the hot lather from the blade.

Beneath the razors strokes, where the lather had been stripped away, my undercut revealed itself. It was a ghostly pale, as if the blade had taken with it a layer of skin with each brush. He continued, soon the only sign of difference between the right of my head and my shocked face was how much lighter the skin at my undercut was. Even with the colour drained from my cheeks the undercut was lighter.

He stripped the final loose lumps of lather from right of my head, cleaning them off his blade before tiling my head to the other side so he could repeat the process on the left of my head. I still winced with every stroke of his blade. Every little fragment of hair meticulasly removed for no reason I could understand.

“Well done Hugo” the matriarch Carnforth’s voice was emotionless, almost monotone. “This will be adequate”

“I must congratulate you” his voice offered a similar lifeless clarity. “We have struggled to find someone who works in the Institute for a long time. For you to bring us a Commandant, our master’s shall be pleased.”

bring us…

our master’s…

I tried to look up as much as I could with his hands still holding my head. Written across Hugo’s face was nothing. I looked at my soon to be mother in law. The same. Pupils in the centre of her eyes, muscles just that bit too rigid. The two twins that followed her in seemed closer then they had been. I studied the blank faces of the stumped gingers. The same…

That wasn’t possible. The tests would have caught them, that’s what they are for. How could they be compromised.

“What are talking about”

No answer.

“What’s going on”

No answer.

Just as Hugo swiped the final strands of stubble from my left, my mind finally caught up with what was happening. I tried too move. But the second I did I found four strong hands pressing into my shoulders.

The two of them seemed unnaturally strong. Pressing their entire weight into me. I tried to force myself out of their grip but, on the matriarch Carnforth’s orders, the two ginger twins moved in. Grabbing my wrists through the cape and pinning my arms too the armrests.

I couldn’t move. Only my legs, which flailed around uselessly could move. I looked up, completely helpless. These twins, where they the ones Jessica had offered me yesterday.

In one final bid of desperation I called out too them. Carefully annunciating my words like my life depended on it. “Baseline. Override. Code. One. Nine. Six. Five. F… aughhh”

A fist slammed into my upper chest. Knocking the air from my lungs and the words from my lips.

“Baseline. Override… ugmmmn”

Two hands gripped my head. The first pulling my pathetic bun backwards, while the second pushed my chin up. The black leather chair leaned back so my eyes stared towards the artificial lights above me.

I tried to thrash out of their grip but again could only kick my legs too no effect. Another hand grabbed my face, a palm pressing against the side of my nose forcing my head down. Then it’s fingers moved in towards my mouth. Along with the hand on my chin they pulled my jaw apart. I couldn’t stop them as my mouth was stretched so far apart I worried the joints in my skull would snap.

“Don’t worry Baronessa” the matriarch Carnforth’s voice was emotionless, and controlled. “We just need you to be quiet”

I saw out of the corner of my eye what looked like a brush. Except it wasn’t a brush, only as it raised above me did I recognise the long brown ponytail ment to have been my souvenir. I cried out, but couldn’t really control the sound I was making as the ponytail was lowered into my mouth.

First I felt it’s ends brush against my lips. Then it sunk deeper into me. I felt its length brushing against the base of my tongue as the three foot ponytail plunged deeper into me. I struggled too breath through the hair coiled inside my throat, the taste of her shampoo filling my mouth. Only a few inches of length, including the hair tie that held the locks in place remained outside my mouth.

I tried to scream. I couldn’t. I tried to shake away my captures. Again I couldn’t. All I could achieve was tears rolling down my face. Ruining the make Eviana had done just that morning.

They tied a blindfold around my eyes. Pulling the fabric tight until I couldn’t see anything except the faint glow of light beyond its blackness. Another piece of fabric was stuffed in my mouth and tied around my head, stopping any chance I once had of spitting out the long ponytail forced inside me.

I tried to resist them still. But I couldn’t, the thick hair blocking my wind pipe combined with the shear mental exhaustion had taken the fight out of me. I was made too stand, my hands where bound so tight I felt my skin burn. Then they began too walk me somewhere.

There was a maze of tunnels beneath Landing City. Originally built to protect from the cold they connected in some form to nearly every building in the city. Now the hundred of segregated paths where used to control movement. It was impossible to maintain the curfew on the surface so people were moved underground to these endless corridors. It made the surface much safer.

I lost track of the turns we took. Even how long we had been walking. It felt like fifteen minutes, but it could have been as few as five or as many as fifty. I was able to count the stairs though. Perhaps in the vain hope if I ever escaped I could find my way out. Or because it occupied my mind. Offering a welcome distraction from whatever was to come. Thirty-five from the shop to the network. Another fifty once inside. Then more, the numbers kept climbing. Two hundred, four hundred. I was deeper then I had ever been before.

 

We stopped at a door. Atleast I assume it was a door because one of my captives knocked on it as we awaited a response. Only two of my captures had followed me down here. I suspect the twins by how they held me, but that only remained a suspicion.

I heard a shutter open, then slam shut. As a door was opened and me thrown through. Nobody held me for a moment but I had lost track of space so much if I ran I would likely just hit a wall. The sound of the footsteps that carried me here faded into the distance. Only to be cut off by the slamming of a heavy metal door.

I turned. Or I think I turned, judging by the little light that bleed through my blindfold I guess I faced into the centre of the room. A keyboards repetitive clicking appeared form side. Someone typing away as if their life depended on it.

There was another clicking, sharper, a heel clicking against the hard concrete floor, heading towards me. There was another set of footsteps. They were heavier, a man’s. He seemed too be approaching me, footsteps drumbing like a thunders applause until…

He grabbed me by my still bound arms and pulled me into the room. I nearly fell over myself, but he kept forcing me forward. The menacing sound of clinking heels following behind us.

The man forced me into a chair and began too strap me down. First my waist was pinned impossibly tight, then he grabbed my legs and secured them to the chair with two tight straps. The first around my thighs and the second tight against my ankles, so tight the likely drew blood as they cut into my legs. My still caped upper body was tied with a strap around my chest.

Despite everything my nipples remained rock hard as this unknown man tied a thick band of leather around my sensitive chest. Just as I thought he couldn’t do any more, he pushed on my forehead. My head was forced backwards until the neckrest cushioned my bare nape. Another strap was pulled tight against my throat locking my neck in place.

I felt the clicking heels approaching behind me. My hair was still tied up in a high bun leaving my undercut completely exposed. Cold fingers touched my skin. I flicked but couldn’t move the tight restraints around me, my arms remained bound behind my back.

The cold fingers retreated a little, but returned. Long hard nails scratching into my soft exposed skin.

“She’s perfect…” A deep feminine voice purred. Not static like Hugo or the matriarch Carnforth when they spoke with others words. But rich, filled with life and a sultry coldness.

“Yes” A male voice. Older and gruffer than the woman. “A Baronessa. I wonder what secrets are inside her head. And to finally have someone inside the Institute, a Commandant no less, she will be useful.”

“Not just that” her cold hands and sharp nails continued to molest my vulnerable scalp. “But she’s a pretty little thing isn’t she. I do love when the fascists they bring me are pretty. Makes my job more fun,” she nearly giggled as she finished that sentence.

“Gemma be careful, the Institute has been a hard nut to crack. I don’t know when will be our next chance to get someone on the inside.”

“Sure. Yeah, yeah” she batted away his concerns like an unruly teenagers with her parents.

The man made a firm step. And, even through my blindfold and skin tight restraints, I could feel him make a look at her. “Fine, knock yourself out” He sighed, but I could tell a smile touched his lips.

His footsteps turn away leaving me alone with the woman.

“This is going to be fun” she squeaked into my ear. And continued to corress my naked scalp.

I heard the speaking of something mechanical being turned and felt a chinrest rising too my jaw. Then another piece of cold metal placed tight too my forehead, another followed at the back of my head pinning my skull in place.

Another contraption was lowered I felt the frame nudge my high bun before Gemma adjusted it. Four bolts dug into the four corners of my skull ensuring that I couldn’t move my head an inch, much less hope to escape.

Gemma removed my blindfold and began to use some kind of marker to mark out points on the back of my nape. Infront of me all I could see was a plain concrete wall and an empty metal chair. From the corner of my eye I could make out a hand, petite and fitted with long acrylic nails, working on a bulky machine. It was on a pivot, attached to the same system of restraints my head was in, always pointing at my head. For some reason it’s off white plastic exterior reminded me of those used in opticians.

Gemma stumbled into my vision. She was a little older than me but still the youthful side of thirty. Her face was familiar, it was plastered across the news everyday but seeing her now she didn’t look anything like the school girl in her ten year old wanted photos.

Her mousey brown hair was bleached blonde. The natural colour only existing at her overgrown roots. The slightly frayed ends of her hair touched her collar bone. But I noticed both sides of her head where shaved. Colourful tattoos covering the sides of her scalp, surrounding the ears each adorned with a dozen metal piercings.

Her top clung tight to her form, I could even make out the shape of piercings adorning her ample chest. The top didn’t cover any of her shoulders, or her midriff with her pierced belly button. Below which she wore a pair of baggy techware trousers. Every inch of skin I could see was adorned with gothic tattoos that extended beyond where I could see.

Except her face, not that I could really see her face. Most of it was covered in a light blue medical mask. Her eyes were adorned with long false lasses and heavy mascara. The two emerald gemstones sharp, seeming to cut into my skin.

“Hello gorgeous” she leaned in and pinched my nipple.

I didn’t react. I couldn’t. Couldn’t move my body, not even turning my head. The long hair gagging my throat made speech impossible. I felt the thick strands brush against my throat. The taste of her last shampoo running down all the way too the base of my tongue. Only my eyes could follow my capture, completely helpless.

“Sorry, we don’t have all the fancy tech you do at the Institute. But we find the old methods still to work for us, I hope you agree. We do try our best”

She was behind me now. Her pen continued to mark points on my skull. I tried in vain too push against the restraints around me. Nothing. No way out. I could only sit, and look forward.

Gemma returned too my view. A small metal box in her hands. She places it on the table, my eyes watching the cassette tape attached to the top. Then she brought two metal wires from the box, attaching the probes to either side of my temples.

I shut my eyes as the metal spikes jabbed into my skull. Her icy cold fingers traced across my cheeks. “It’s ok… you’re going to be ok” her voice was soft and cruel. “This might sting a little. But you’re going to feel so much better once it’s done. Just think all those nasty little thoughts in your head. Just gone. Poof, don’t need them”

She smiled and turned to the machine. Flicking a switch so the box came to life. Mechanical gears churning inside before the cassette began to spin. The same familiar humming, the same sudden clunks. But what was happening remained unfamiliar. Dread filled every ounce of my flesh as I guessed what was to come.

 

The machine clicked to life.

 

Re-baseline.

 

“Baseline” I screamed into my gag. But no noise left me.

 

The machine waited patiently.

 

Re-baseline.

 

It answered after a moment.

I screamed as loudly as I could but too no avail. There was no escape, no way out of my restraints. I could only look forward.

 

Re-baseline.

 

Fire ripped into my skull. The probes lighting up with a greater pain then I had ever experienced. Even greater then I could have imagined.

My head felt like it was about to explode. The shock of the electricity numbing any sensation beneath it’s oppressive thumb. Then it pulsed each pulse larger and larger as if it was pushing too see how much pain it could inflict before the shock killed me.

 

Re-baseline.

 

It repeated.

I couldn’t pass out. It didn’t let me. Each brutal shock of the probes carefully designed to cause the maximum amount of pain without sparing me death.

 

Re-baseline.

 

More pain.

 

Re-baseline.

 

Pain.

 

Re-baseline.

 

Gemma tapped on the side of my skull. I was surprised I could feel it but the machine seemed to hyperstimulate every part of me. Her gently touch on the side of my skull made me worried I would bleed out.

 

Commandant Baronessa Dove Victoria Marina White, please select Baseline.

 

No answer.

 

Commandant Baronessa Dove Victoria Marina White, you have no Baseline.

 

The pain grew. The smell of my own burning flesh filling my nose.

 

Commandant Baronessa Dove Victoria Marina White, please indicate you would like to receive Baseline.

 

I cried.

 

Preparing Baseline.

 

Even the tears rolling down my cheeks burned my skin. I was dying, but death wouldn’t come to realise me from these chains.

 

Baseline prepared.

 

The cassette kept turning. I heard a loud sound begin behind me, a drill beginning too spin. The sound close too my head.

 

“Echo” I’m sorry my child I couldn’t protect you.

 

The spinning drill approached my skull.

 

“Echo” I’m sorry Dove. My baby girl. I hoped I could keep you safe.

 

“Error-prone”

A sound like tears echoed out the machine.

 

I cried.

Then Gemma’s drill pushing into the back of my skull in an instant. I felt the bone crack and shatter, then the feeling of my own blood rushing down my neck.

Something warm and liquid followed after it, filling the cavity inside my skull.

 

Commandant Baronessa Dove Victoria Marina White, you are far from Baseline.

 

I am far from Baseline. I repearted the words inside my head.

 

Commandant Baronessa Dove Victoria Marina White, you shall return to Baseline.

 

I will return to Baseline.

 

The smell of soot filled my nose, as I drifted off to sleep.

 

 

To be continued

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you for reading. As I said at the start I apologise for the tone being darker, I have had this idea floating around for a while and finally had motivation to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard).

As always feedback is greatly appreciated and I promise whatever I write next will be (atleast slightly) lighter.