In the Year 2041: Part 2

          The bus to the factory was crowded and hot, as usual. Some forty men were fighting for every inch of space with both of their hands and legs. Those unfortunate enough to get on one of the later stops were thrown around like a group of ragdolls, as more people tried to desperately squeeze in. The pressure. The stench. The noise. The noise was the worst and definitely the most difficult to get used to. The screams of those trampled on and the growls of those doing the trampling made the hearts of those canned inside go faster every time they occured. Louis McRoy had been working in the factory for almost a decade and it was still difficult for him to listen to it all, no matter how hard his face tried to hide it. Still, it was day as usual for him and some other old farts like him. There was, however, one sound that bothered him the most that day. Crying. Crying right next to his right elbow. The one making the noise was a handsome fella with a finely-chiseled chin and eyes which would have looked domineering had they not been covered in tears.

Louis felt that he had to do something with the boy, if only for the sake of his right ear.

''What are you crying for?'' asked Louis. ''Haven't seen you round here. New here, huh?''

''Yes, uh, sir,'' answered the fella. ''I just got here. I'm just... new... first day...''

He started crying again. Louis gave him a while and began again:

''Cry while you can, boy. You won't have it so easy at the factory.''

Only when this phrase escaped Louis' mouth did he realise how wrong it was to say it. The fella's crying intensified.

''You'll get used to it, though,'' said Louis. ''Everyone does, eventually. One day, you'll just stop crying.''

''When,'' said the fella, sobbing, ''when is that 'one day'?''

''Well... I stopped after a week or so. Can't remember. Been here for almost ten years.''

The fella started howling. After thinking about what he had said, Louis decided to stop talking altogether. However, he heard a shouting voice somewhere behind him:

''You either shut this faggot up or I'll kick you both queers out the bus myself!''

''Wanna see you try. Eat shit, retard,'' said Louis. He turned to the crying fella. ''You'd better shut up, though. You see how it is round here.''

The fella bobbed his head while sobbing. The bus went surprisingly silent without his howls.

''If it'll make you feel any better,'' said Louis, ''I can tell you what I did on my first day in the factory. I'm Louis, by the way. Wanna hear it?''

''Ben,'' said the fella, ''Ben Rigby. S-sure. Go ahead.''

''So, uh... When I was your age, maybe a little older, I got on, just like you, on the bus. It was my first day of work. Cried even harder than you did, like I had got pepper spray all over my face and asshole. Cried so hard, boy, that I didn't notice I had entered the wrong damn bus and, instead of arriving at the Rosa Luxemburg Adults' Toys Factory we're headed for now, my ass got off at a completely different place on the other side of the goddamn city.’’

‘’Really? Holy shit, were you scared?’’

‘’You bet. Thought they were gonna execute me or something. Fortunately, they went lax on me that time and only had me work double shift until the end of the week. Those were the days. Guess what I'm trying to say is: at least you're on the correct bus, boy. You are, right?''

''Yeah, I double-checked. I'd rather not be here in the first place, though.''

''Nobody does. Clench your teeth and just... Look, we're almost there.''

The factory finally appeared on the horizon. The gargantuan structure was covered on all sides with concrete and asphalt. Its numerous tiny windows gave it a bizarre, sponge-like look. The closer the bus drove to the building, the smaller and weaker the trees outside the window seemed to get. Ben saw a lot of trucks and lorries entering and leaving the facility. ''An awfully busy place,'' he thought. The strangest, however, were the workers; instead of going directly to the factory after leaving their commutes, they gathered around what looked like a sizeable, bent pole.

''When we get there,'' Louis said, ''we need to stand somewhere in the crowd for the speech. Try to listen to everything very carefully and not to turn away too soon.''

Ben couldn't stop looking at the pole as more and more people amassed around it. Soon after, eight black silhouettes started to become clearer and clearer on the elevation right next to it. Closer, they became three women and five men in dark uniforms. The woman closest to the pole held a big whip folded tightly in both of her hands.

Ben got off, Louis right after him. The large group surrounding the square consisted of all kinds of men; some looked at the pole confused; some looked at it with visible effort, trying not to look away; some, the oldest of the bunch, looked at it with nothing but marrow-deep apathy. Ben looked behind; two more buses were on the way. A terrible, Glowiak-pitched voice forced his head to turn back to look at the pole again.

''It is our pleasure to welcome you all back at the Rosa Luxemburg Adults' Toys Factory. To see you gathered all around, listening to me... This is what we fought for a decade back and what, in a sense, we try our hardest to maintain. This is the natural, sane order of the world. The women of the world, with the help of their allies, can finally breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that the new order is, without a doubt, here to stay. It will stay and you will help to maintain it. If you don't like our plan and have any sort of doubt about it, take your necklace and look at it until you're convinced again.''

The mention of the necklace made Ben's face red and ready to cry again. The memories of the castration were still a fresh memory to him. The hopelessness came back. The feeling of waking up in a hospital bed with something missing in your crotch, only to find it floating in a portion of formalin right next to your head, then be told that you had to put in on your neck and not take it off for the rest of your life...

Ben felt tears appearing in the corners of his eyes.

''As long as both of… them remain there,'' the woman continued, ''our realm is secured. No woman shall ever feel fear, hunger, or discontent. You owe them at least this much. You owe them to spend the rest of your lives helping to build our paradise in which everyone is, at last, truly free and equal. Let it stay that way.

''I was infromed beforehand that today is the first day in the factory for some of you. Indeed, the crowd seems to be a lot bigger; my pride in the system and in The Party can only grow with it. For the newcomers, and those who seem to forget how lucky they are to live during our enlightened times, let me read out the most important rules:

"One: All employees of the Rosa Luxembourg Adults' Toys Factory are also subjects of the European Feminist Freedom Party. Although they are not actual members of The Party and, as such, are not granted any extended reperations that are connected to that title, they are guaranteed protection whenever The Party feels that they are in any way unequal. In turn, all employees are expected to support every official statement of The Party, just as The Party supports them in their daily lives. Mutual support is an integral part of every progressive society.

''Two: Workdays start at 4 am and end at midnight. The first shift starts at 4 am and ends at 2 pm; the second shift starts at 2 pm and ends at midnight precisely. The two-shift system warrants stability; because of that reason, workers shall not implement changes in their workday for any reason without a confrontation with their designated overseer. All employees are guaranteed transportation on and out of the premises of the factory. Workers seen outside of the premises of the factory during their workday are to be arrested and punished without trial. Workers seen on the premises of the factory outside of their workday shall be treated accordingly.

''Three: An overseer should be treated as an extension of The Party's power and, as such, is expected to be unquestionable in their requests. Workers are to fulfil every order of their overseer, no matter how irrational and pointless this order may seem to be; this law can be extended to other overseers and other positions of power, if the situation requires the law to be extended.

''Four: Any association with the following groups: The Army of Mars, Spes In Caelis, Eastern European Liberation Army, Men's Guard, and any of their immediate or intermediate subjects shall be punishable by death as soon as possible with no trial and no possibility of appealing the judgement. Conspiracy shall forever be severely punished.

''This concludes the rules for now. Further details will be explained to you by your overseer. In order to show you that we're as serious as we can be, however, we decided to arrange a show for all of you; for the newcomers to see that we're serious about it, and for the old ones to keep their memory fresh. Convict on stage, now.''

The two men who entered the stage could not have been any more different from one another. A muscular, emotionless man with a gun pushed forward what could only be described as a crying, skeleton-like male shadow. The convict could hardly see through the two gargantuan swellings under his eyes. His mouth, constantly dripping with blood, bore nothing resembling teeth inside of it. His arms, tied behind his back, looked about as strong as two deflated balloons. He had to be constantly guided with the rifle held by the gorilla walking behind him. The guard’s grunts were easily audible, as the entire square went silent.

When the convict was finally stopped right next to the pole, the woman next to him started to untie her whip. Its length grew and grew in Ben’s eyes, leaving him wondering how long it would get. After a few seconds, it grew to such size that he anxiously realised it was not a whip at all; it was a rope, now thrown over the bend at the top of the pole. One of the workers was made to climb a ladder and tie the rope tight.

The other woman continued her speech:

‘’The convict standing before you has got no name because he deserves none. He proved to be a traitor to our cause by making an alliance with The Army of Mars. Apart from him, five other collaborators were found. They were rightfully neutralised and the effects of their propaganda have been, hopefully, fully eradicated. This man, if you can call him that, appeared to be exceptionally fanatical in his fruitless crusade against The Party. In return, this two-faced scoundrel will get the death he deserves – that of a humiliated rat, and the legacy he deserves – to be forgotten and spat on for as long as The Party reigns. Remember this, then – The Party will always give its people exactly what they deserve; if you lift a hand to harm it, you will have that hand chopped off; if you lift a leg to kick it, you will have that leg broken; and if you open your mouth to speak against it, you will have your tongue nailed to a wall. See for yourselves.’’

A bag was placed on the convict’s head, followed by a noose placed around his neck. His yelps ringed in the ears of everyone surrounding the square. Soon enough, he started to kick and turn. The more the guard tried to put him in place, the more the convict fought and cried. The cries turned into screams, the moves of his body radicalised to the point at which he looked no more man-like than a starving dog trying to bite the hand clenched on his neck. The crowd watched the rope, which moved to the left and to the right, intensifying in its dance, seemingly about to break, ready to be released and kill.

The second guard pulled the lever. The rope straightened. The convict spasmed for a moment more before giving in. The bowl below him started to fill up with whatever he had held inside his bowels.

Ben felt every muscle in his neck tense up and try to force his head to turn away. The mention of the necklace he could bear, although barely, and it was hard for him to imagine an even worse, more vile thing. The convulsions of the convict proved just how innocent his mind had been. He found the movements almost otherworldly. The thought of a man, a being with experience and consciousness unmatched by any animal to exist or to have ever existed, convulsing like a fish held in the air just simply could not enter his head. He only knew that it really, really made him want to cover his eyes.

‘’Don’t even think about it,’’ whispered Louis. ‘’They’re almost done. Hold still.’’

One of the guards checked the convict’s pulse. His nod was a sign for the speaking woman to move on:

‘’One weasel neutralised, one lesson learned by every one of you, I hope. Only the enemies of The Party need to worry. A typical, honest, hard-working man will always be an ally to our cause. You have the chance to repay the wrongdoings of your sex and that opportunity begins today. Rejoice! Now, go to your locker rooms and get ready. Your overseers will instruct you further at your workstations. Long may The Party reign.’’