A Losing Cause

Author’s Note: Everything contained here is fantasy and does not reflect the author’s personal or political views. This is much darker than my normal content. The following ‘script’ is meant to be a dystopian fantasy, blurring the line between erotic and unsettling.

“Feminist rebel is captured on camera!”

Webcam footage of a terrorist woman is leaked! For everyone saying this was staged: LOL look at this bitch’s face!!!

[Party approved transcript of the events follow]

A woman sits in front of a computer, mid shot with amateur lighting and a white, drywall background. She’s wearing a pink, knit ski mask and a black hoodie with a graffiti ‘women’s lib’ symbol spray painted on in white.

Before she even speaks, you can see the tension in her body. She’s trying to project authority, sitting tall with her hair up, but her fear is too great to be hidden. Her breathing is too heavy, her eyes too wide.

Rebel: “Fellow—”

Her voice cracks. She clears her throat and starts again, lowering her voice slightly.

Rebel: “Fellow free thinkers, I reach out to you again. There have been rumors of our cell’s capture, but I’m here to let the world know our fire burns on. No matter what their propaganda says, no matter how many…”

She pauses, trying to maintain composure.

Rebel: “… how many of our sisters they t-try to silence. Our fire will continue to burn!”

Her eyes flick to the side, off camera. She hears something moments before it’s loud enough for the mic to pick it up.

She resumes, faster, starting to panic.

Rebel: “They fail to realize how—… how strong the Feminist Will is. And-and that is why they will fail! Because- they will underestimate our-our…”

She’s now looking directly off camera, to her left. The mic levels hit a max as the growing rumble has turned into a thunderous rush. Shadows on the wall behind her let us know there’s movement behind the screen.

Rebel: “The Patriarchal Pigs, can send their cronies after—”

Large, strong, black-clad figures swarm the frame. The women’s diminutive size is suddenly clear, in contrast to these bodies. She’s probably no taller than 150cm, maybe 110 lbs. These men dwarf her.

Combined with her reeling back from the camera, her voice moving away from the mic and growing fainter, she seems to shrink before the intruders.

One of the men pushes her against the wall, easily restraining her with one hand around the base of her neck. She’s not choked, but the force and shock make her mute, drawing in a deep gulp of breath in panic.

More figures are in the room, maybe a half dozen. They haphazardly knock over the camera, and with a THUNK and brief stutter, the video continues, lopsided from the ground, slightly out of focus…

Rebel: “You—”

She gasps to catch her breath.

Rebel: “You’re just fascist stooges, p-proving—”

The figure holding her tightens his grip, sliding her up the wall, lifting her slightly off the ground. She goes silent, mouth still slightly ajar, gasping. Her eyes are wide behind the pink mask.

As she’s been pushed up against the wall, her clothing has been slightly askew. Her hoodie has pulled tight against her body, exposing the slightest bit of her stomach. It’s firm with a hint of muscle, she’s been training and working out to be a good fighter. All of that seems in vain now.

She remains in shock as the large man pushing her higher, almost to his eye level. Her mask has also been torn, the loose knit ripping. A single lock of dirty blonde hair pops loose, falling across her face.

The figures in the room being talking, muffled deep voices that seem more amused than concerned. They’re enjoying this, their tone is clearly mocking, even jovial as they observe how easy the woman was captured. They seem to not notice or care that they’re still being recorded.

Rebel: “I-I won’t…”

A slightly smaller figure steps forward from the group. Less hulking than the man holding her, but still larger than the cowering woman.

The interrogator leans in and grabs her face. While the dialogue isn’t audible, his tone is severe. The rest of the chatter goes silent as he hisses something inches away from her face.

Rebel: “No! That’s not- She’d never…”

She begins to cry. Whatever she’s heard has made her forget about everything else that’s happening.

The severe man nods slightly to the man holding her, and she’s released to the ground, collapsing in a heap.

Rebel: “You’re l-lying!”

She sobs, shaking her head. Her mask is now ripped in half, the left side of her face exposed. She’s just a girl, no more than 20.

Her shirt is now askew, her right sleeve bunched up revealing a toned arm.

The zipper has broken on her hoodie. She absent minded pulls at the collar, feeling the bruise forming on her neck where she had been held.

The severe man leans down next to her, saying something inches from her ear. She shakes her head again. He pulls out a phone and touches the screen.

We can’t see the image, but we can hear, dimly a woman’s voice from the device’s speakers. The woman on the ground tries to look away, the hulk who’d held her wrenches her head back, forcing her to watch.

She reluctantly complies, her body shaking with sobs as she watches something on the screen that breaks her to her core. 30 seconds pass as the room is silent, save for the rebel’s gasps and the tinny voice from the phone.

Once the audio stops, the severe man asks her something. The woman continues to shake her head, weakly now. He repeats himself, booming in anger.


She recoils at his question, pauses and then nods.

Another man from the group steps forward from the group and presents something to the interrogator, then steps back off frame.

Rebel: “What- what are you…?”

The hulk pulls her back by her hair, her mouth open from surprise. With a shocking swiftness, the interrogator cups the side of her face and pops open the vial in his other hand.

Before she can even know what’s happening, the vial’s contents are poured down her throat. A little spills, tickling down her exposed face. It’s a dark red, nearly blood colored.

The men step back, to the sides of the frame. She chokes and coughs bracing herself on the ground, ripping off her mask, pulling herself free from the hoodie, pawing at her throat…

She’s choking, her face turns a dark red…

Then, suddenly it stops. Her breath is calm and normal. Her posture loosens, and she slumps back against the wall. Her face is neutral and blank, but returning to it’s normal, pale color.

The interrogator steps forward again. His tone is consolatory, like a parent talking to a child. He places a hand on her shoulder. When she seems not to acknowledge him, he gently lifts her chin to meet his eyes.

He talks for a minute more, her face remaining unnaturally calm.

Then he repeats himself.

Severe man: “Do you understand?”

The woman nods, with just the slightest hint of a smile.

Severe man: “Very good.”

Someone from the group, partly off frame, reaches down now to the laptop we’ve been watching from, placing it back on the table.

We watch as the room silently resets to where we began. The strong man helps the woman up, gently putting her back in front of the frame.

She sits slightly relaxed, glazed. Her face is thin but attractive. Her hair is unkempt but long and flows down her shoulders. Now in just her white tank, it’s difficult not to notice her tight breasts and toned body.

With her relaxed posture and dizzy expression, she looks more like a fitness model, flush from a workout, not like a woman who had just been assaulted.

The men move behind the camera, only their shadows giving a hint to their presence.

Her eyes drift, then snap back up to the camera. A smile forms on her face.

She begins to speak again, her tone disturbingly enthused.

The Party welcomes another convert. Like so many before her, this former Terrorist has seen the error of her ways and is spreading the message of peace.

She will continue to expose the misguided ideology of our enemy on approved intranet channels. All women are encouraged to heed her warnings of falling into their dangerous propaganda.

She has given herself fully to the Party and in mercy, she has been granted the Penance of Community Service. To participate in her streamed Community Service, Party Members may use the login key attached to this file to watch her live and instruct her in her Rehabilitation. She will be Complying with all acts requested to demonstrate her Penance.

If you suspect anyone to be sympathetic to Terrorist ideology, report them to your local Party Headquarters.

The Party will Help you.

The Party is Love.

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