Starzel, p.12
Starzel, page 12
Fury mixed with tension and soon the courtroom was filled with angry voices. The Judge looked up to see the ratings which have surpassed the target mark. The monitor beside the ratings shows all stations in the broadcast band were now watching her courtroom. As she turns back to look at the audience I can see the glimmer in her eyes. She allows the chaos for a few more seconds and then illuminates the word, "SILENCE" on all monitors and sounds the sirens.
When the doors around the outer walls open and the Androps come through, two at a time in each of the five doorways, the audience returns to quiet and attentive. “There are many reasons our Great Republic adopted the rule of law. Perhaps no one reason more telling or important than this display taking place live inside my court today.” Her attention turns to me as well as each camera one by one.
“Do you understand why they call for your death?” she asks.
“No.” I restrain from explaining how the human condition has evolved an intuitive disdain for life.
“There are four beliefs in our population regarding men. The most popular being that men are a utility best used for entertainment and slave labor. This group of women wants men trained to fight to the death. They love to watch cage fights, kickboxing, and similar sports where men beat one another bloody with their bare hands. For the men too old and too weak for fighting, they are trained to build houses, and streets, serve in the military, or be placed in prisons where they can provide the sexual demands of the stronger criminals. The latter of which provides popular television and high ratings for late-night shows but I’ve never watched. I don’t enjoy syndicated rape shows, but that’s just my personal choice.
“The next largest group of women believe men are too dangerous to be allowed out in public. They say men are like pitbull terriers and even with proper training, rules of law, regulations, and the like, they think our world will never be safe until we ban men from the planet. They panic in fear at the presence of a man. They feel powerless and threatened. Fear is a terrible emotion and one no woman should ever have to experience.”
The sounds of cheers and applause fill the room for a moment. Silence comes when the androps flash yellow beams into the crowd and announce thunderous words of warning. All went quiet.
“Please control your emotions in my court. None of us want to experience the heavy hand of these cybernetic patrols,” The Judge pleads before continuing.
“You see, Eulǝr, this is where my decision concerning how to deal with you becomes a choice.”
“Me?” I question with a voice of contempt for the human lack of sense for true justice. “You told me that all you cared about were the ratings. I’ve helped you achieve the highest rating and now the entire world is sitting in front of their televised device watching you. You should allow me to be free and on my way.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the advocate take a swing at my jaw. I caught his fist and throw him backward from his chair. Before the androps moved, and before the small man could leap to his feet, she screamed, “Stop!”
“This will not go on one more instant. You will be respectful of this courtroom and the laws or I will have these androps finish you right here. You have the choice to sit quiet or I end your life. What will it be?”
As my eyes scan the room I see their hungry eyes. They want my death to fulfill their desire for a false sensation of superiority. My sense of instinct to raise my HUD and initiate extreme survival protocols rise. It would be the right thing to do, but I stop myself. Remembering that the end of humanity ends life for the kuudere too. The universe would erase our history. My mission to find the missing data and restore the code is more important than proving Syganoid superiority.
For a moment I twist mother's ring on my finger and then I feel the destiny stone inside my pocket. Looking at the Judge, and then I fold my hands on top of the table, “I will sit here quiet, and listen for the judgment.”
“This is the only warning I allow you.” She says.
BEFORE THE FINAL DECISION is made, the judge flips through her tablet. I imagine she’s taking time to calibrate her thoughts. She'll want to refresh and regain control of her performance act before the cameras are back live. I watch as she’s getting herself into character for the show. She motions for the camera and the lights to illuminate her face.
For all I know she could be booking her vacation, in any case, the cameras are back live.
“The third group is much smaller than the first two, but it is the most powerful group," she says while picking up a cat and petting its long thick fur. "Because this group of Ladies is aligned and not at all divided on the issues that are most important to them. When they vote, they vote as a united society and that has great power in the effect on ratings. They call themselves The Ladies. They want men to admire them, worship them and romance is their dream life. The Age of Chivalry with Knights in shining armor stir their libido. They want men trained to be puppets for women to play with. They want handsome, well-groomed, and perfectly behaved men at their feet.
“You have many qualities for this group with your fine chiseled shoulders, chest, back, and arms. I could see there would be many women who might choose to have you under their control. You would do well as a servant in their harem of boy toys to play with and torment.
“Still, with all those muscles you would also be a good choice for cage fighting. There are many women here today who would enjoy watching you get the life pounded out of you. This brings me to a decision point. A choice awaits. Is The Great Starzel Republic better served training you for the military role of killing and death, or for romance and emotional torment?
“There is one more question I have to ask of you and then I will decide your fate. Your advocate tells me that you told him about a special mission that you’re on. Perhaps it is time for all of us to hear it from you rather than me repeating what he has told me. I want you, Eulǝr, to tell the world about this grand mission. Tell us why you are going to Culver City.”
Confident as the day I left Planet Forty-Four my heart center swells with pride for the salvation of humanity. I stand and face the nearest camera.
“There is a rather large and important data set missing in the universe code that binds human existence to the evolution of time-space reality. The code itself was defined and later the document was written by the sage named Banyan. His writings were completed when he lived in what is today called Culver City. I am going there in hopes of finding a copy or copies of his work and from there I can repair the code and replace the missing data. If not, I hope to find some clues for where the code may otherwise be located.”
While I take my seat, the advocate pats the back of my hand and gives me a nod of approval. But, before I can scoot my chair back to the table, the audience erupts with laughter. Pet dogs howl and bark too. She doesn’t wait for the room to fall quiet as she had before, now she speaks in a laughing voice to show her solidarity with the room.
“That is a very important mission, isn’t it?” She leans across her desk, plucks the cat from the right corner of the bench into her arms, and laughs with the crowd working the room with her eyes and posture before turning in seriousness to look at me. “You’ve done a great amount of acting and performing for me and helping with the ratings, but now I want you to stop acting and tell me the truth. Why are you walking through my Republic without escort, without documentation, and without an identity? Truth, Eulǝr, truth!”
“What I have said is the truth and it is, as you say, a very important mission.”
Once more she motions with her arms and hands for the audience to quiet.
“You are some kind of fucking idiot,” the advocate whispers.
The sound of the stone head gavel slamming against the granite gavel block reverberates through the courtroom like a thunderclap in a silent sky. It is as clear and as certain as her final words. “Take him to the training center in Santa Monica. Process him into the general population of the facility. I give him forty days of training and if no woman claims him in forty days, bring him back to my courtroom and I’ll consider his suitability for the fight ring. He doesn't deserve to die with honor in the military. Let the viewers watch him die in the caged fighting ring instead.”
The gavel struck the stone again, but this time, its sound seemed to meld with the screams that filled the air. The true nature of my mission became obscured in the darkness, and the hope that had once burned within me flickered, threatened by the encroaching nightmare. My head pounding in pain from the swing of the policeman's baton hours ago. My skin feels brittle where the dried blood covers my ear and the side of my neck.
The androps, no longer programmed for crowd control, approached with cold, unfeeling intentions, their robotic forms now taking on a menacing aura. They seized me with force, their metallic grip biting into my flesh.
The camera crews, instead of breaking down the set, turned their attention to me with a sinister glint in their eyes. The once well-lit room transformed into a dimly lit chamber, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The holographic projections shifted from serene landscapes to distorted images of destruction and despair.
Inside the portable holding cell, the comfortable seat transformed into an unforgiving, metal contraption designed to restrain and subdue. The hum of machinery took on a cold, mechanical rhythm, echoing the heartlessness of the world outside. The beeps that filled the air were sharp and unforgiving, reminiscent of a countdown to an inevitable confrontation.
Disappointment mingled with confusion as I realize the society I find myself in is a twisted manifestation of feminist ideals taken to an extreme. The judge's gavel strike reverberated through the chamber, but instead of justice, it carried a sinister sense of control.
“I’ll be going with you,” says the advocate. "I'll make sure you are processed and transitioned."
The electromagnetic beams inside the paddywagon grab my arms and legs and I am spread eagle within the ultra violet-colored traction beams.
Chapter 5, Grooming Boys
Transportation from the courtroom to the training facility in Santa Monica is a blur in my memories. I can recall the twisted streets, I know it was a few hours, and that’s about all I recall. My head is pounding with pain and the wallop that the patrolman gave me must have caught up because when they released me from the transporter holding cell, I passed out. Right now I’m awake but still feel half out of it. Behind me, I hear the sound of a heavy door when it closes into a solid jam with a thud followed by the sound of a metal chair as it slides across a smooth slab floor. I’m laying on my left side on top of a thin mattress and facing the wall of what sounds like a small cement-walled room. My senses pick up on two men in the room who are seated across from one another around a steel table. While they talk, I lay quiet, my head throbs and my consciousness struggles.
“Hey. Sorry to be an ass, I mean I know you got yourself in some shit too. You wouldn’t be held up in this security room if you didn’t have some crap going on, but fuck-me-brother. My life is hauling ass down the highway called out-of-control and what seems like light speed. Man, I’m not even sure what day it is. My wife has got me spinning like a top, and well, shit up my back . . . I’m fucking outraged. Man, I’m going to pop if I don’t talk to somebody about this crap.”
The second guy, who has been in the cell for awhile clears his throat a couple of times before responding. “It isn’t a security room. This is a processing cell. It’s where they put men when they are being arraigned for transfer into a training program.”
“Fuck me to tears,” the new guy says. “What's his story? The guy in the rack.”
“I’m guessing he’s sick. He hasn’t moved since they brought him in a few hours ago.”
“Fuck me to tears, man. He’s probably got that new virus strain that is killing, what is it now something like two fatalities out of every fifty cases? Just my luck I get locked up with some superspreader fucknut. Shit my life in a pail, cus it is a hellhole of shit!” he shouts.
Five crashing thuds against the solid door come in rapid succession as someone on the other side uses a club against it as they shout, “Hold it down in there!”
“Take it easy man.” The first guy says. “You don’t want to get these ex-cage fighters turned training center security guards riled up. They love little else but to smack us with their billy clubs. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”
My eyes close and my mind watches the HUD display as my systems run routine self-diagnostics and monitor my internal implants and attached devices. Resting here, while I listen to the two men.
“Thanks, brother. Like I said, I know you’ve got enough of your own shit to deal with but I have to talk. It’s how they train us for years we learned to talk everything through, and express our feelings and emotions. Then, when we do, they punish us for being soft and ridicule us for being like little babies. They tell us to man up and be strong. Take it in stride. And so, when we take it and bottle it up they tell us to stop being so stubborn and all closed off. They ridicule us for being too self-centered and egotistic. Telling me I have to learn to trust and be open about my emotions. They fuck us no matter what we do until we finally accept that we are just wrong no matter what. We learn to accept that it doesn’t matter one way or another because we are stupid men and we lack, from birth, the ability to be good, valuable, worthy beings.
“Shit, dirty fucks! Oops. Sorry man. I’ll be quiet.” He shouts at the door.
The new guy pauses a minute anticipating the security guard to acknowledge his apology for the second outburst. When he continues, I can hear the other guy drinking some water and then he chews on a bite of what smells like a meatloaf sandwich. The new guy continues.
“My beautiful wife. That’s what we are supposed to call them right? Beautiful, wonderful, amazing, and all that. She’s been having an affair with some fucking douchebag across town out in Malibu. My friend knows the guy and tells me the suck-ass bastard is a real player. You know, a pickup artist with no training at all in marriage and romance. But it doesn’t matter to her because he’s handsome and tall, and has a good-paying job. The typical PUA profile guy.
“Night before last she didn't come home and I was going nuts worrying. Where is she? I wonder and fret. What’s happened to my darling beautiful wife? Well fuck, you know . . . so then I’m calling around to all of her friends trying to find out where she is. Nobody knows anything. Well, then I called around to the hospitals and nobody had her listed in the medical systems.
“There can only be one place else. She's off with this fucking douchebag, fucking her brains out all night leaving me, her three dogs, and our two kids home worried sick. Shit, man I’d like to tell you it’s the first time she’s played this scene out, but she’s done this twice before. Well, I decided then and there this was it. I’m packing up and taking off to Santa Barbara.”
“Calm down, man.” The first guy says with his mouth full as he chews. “You’re getting loud again and those guards are going to come through that door any second now.”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Says the new guy. “I’m just so angry with her. So, like I said, I’m going to take the kids and we’ll ask for MGTOW to take us in and protect us. They have almost all of Santa Barbara County under their control now and they're growing. But that’s a different story.
“Where was I . . . oh ya, so I take the dogs and kids over to my mom’s house first thing yesterday morning. I asked my mom to take care of them and tell her I’d be back tomorrow to get them. She’s all riled up and started telling me that joining up with MGTOW is dangerous and not good for the kids. But I told her we would be fine. Then, I went home to wait for my wonderful wife to come home so I can have it out with her. I’m going to give her what’s what and fuck her life up for a change. You know what I mean?”
The first guy takes a bite from his meatloaf sandwich and through a mouthful of meat, “Mm-hmmm. Go ahead, man tell me more.”
“THE WHOLE DAY DRAGS on where every minute seems like an hour with me waiting like a love-sick teenager." The new guy in the cell wasn't going to give up telling his story. "When the day was done and not one sign of her, not a phone call or a message. It was like an emotional roller coaster for me. My mind was running nonstop from panic and worry that something has happened to her, to fury and rage that she can be so cruel and uncaring about my and her children's feelings. Then, the phone rang and I scrambled to answer but it was my mom.
"Fuck-me to tears, man. My mom was hysterical and I can’t understand a word she was saying. ‘Mom, slow down, I can’t understand you. What’s happening?’ After a few minutes, of me trying to, but I still can’t get her to calm down enough to speak so I can understand her, I give up. ‘I’m coming over Mom. Be there in ten minutes.’ I hung up the phone, grabbed my keys, and went to the truck.
"When I got to Mom’s house there were three patrol cars out front. Lights flashing and a few cops are posted out front keeping watch on the front yard. And then an ambulance pulls up and they rush out a gurney and take it inside. At this point, man . . . I’m right on top of them as we slip past the two cops out front one of them grabs me by the collar. ‘Hold on there shorty. Where do you think you’re going?’ He shoved my back to the porch wall beside the front door.
"It’s my kids and my mom in there! I shouted back at him. What is going on? And just like that," he snaps his fingers. "Three of them fuckers have me on the ground, handcuffed, and a knee on the back of my neck pushing my face into the front lawn. When they let me up he puts me in the patrol car and brought me here.”
“Pretty intense scene man,” the first guy says. Washing the last of the meatloaf down with a long drink, then he says. “Why did they take you down like that? What was that all about?”
