Conquests
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It had been said that if a third World War broke out, civilization would be so ruined that the fourth would be fought with sticks and stones. While not entirely accurate, it was true that by the time World War III ended at the turn of the 22nd century, human progress had been set back by over a century and the world map had been scrambled beyond recognition.
The city of Yerevan had been fortunate in that it was spared the brunt of the war's wrath. By 2242 it had grown into a prosperous and cosmopolitan city of six million. Largely undamaged by the war, it had become the capital of the budding West Asian Coalition that stretched from the White Sea to the Caspian. Though economically prosperous, it was nestled between the militarily powerful European Confederacy and the sizable Central Asian Expanse.
It was only a matter of time before long-standing tensions between the two great powers reached yet another boiling point. This time, the conflict was fought over who would exert the most control over the West Asian Coalition and its state-of-the-art industries. As tensions rose, the CAE took the initiative and marched into neutral Coalition territory. The European Confederacy naturally launched a massive counterassault, turning Yerevan and the surrounding region into a raging battlefield.
When the dust settled from the violent land grab, the Central Asian Empire stood victorious and annexed most of western Asia into its fold. With many of its industries in shambles, Yerevan fell into disarray and martial law was imposed.
Komal, a 26-year old woman of mixed Indian and Russian descent who once faced a promising future as a young skilled professional, found herself unemployed in the wake of the conflict. Waking up into yet another day sure to be filled with rejections from multiple jobs, she turned on the morning news.
"In an attempt to restore order, the CAE has requested that all civilians register themselves with the authorities," the news anchor -- widely believed (correctly) to be a CAE agent -- said. "This process will ensure higher employment rates for all, and a better quality of life for all in this exciting new time. Over the next few days, we will be providing information on where and when you are to register. Please note that registration is not optional and non-compliance will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."
Komal, irritated at yet another annoyance in her deteriorating life, changed the channel. Same news anchor, delivering the message again. Another channel change... same news anchor. An annoying but effective way that the government had been delivering messages as of late. "Shit," she muttered. "Looks like there's no way out of this." Watching the program further, the anchor provided a friendly reminder that all major exits to the city had been closed and that residents should not attempt to leave the city.
When the time came, Komal headed down to the nearby convention center that had been designated as the registration site for 20 to 30 year-old females from her city block. Although she tried to beat any crowd that might gather, she found her designated line to be quite full and extending well outside the convention center. Komal looked around, seeing different lines for men and women of assorted ages funneling into various entrances of the convention center. There was an air of boredom and nervousness throughout the entire crowd, which was patrolled heavily by small squads of CAE soldiers.
Nearly ten hours later, an exhausted and hungry Komal moped over to the registration desk.
"Name?" asked the obnoxiously friendly soldier with a smile on his face.
"Komal Shumeyko."
"Age?"
"Twenty-six."
"Address?"
Komal listed off her address.
"Occupation?"
"Currently unemployed."
After answering the question, Komal noticed that the soldier began navigating through a series of menus on his computer.
"Field of expertise?"
"Umm... economics." Komal had never actually held a job in her field of work.
"Years of experience in your field?"
"Well... I went to school." Komal felt rather inadequate.
"Years of *experience* in your field?" The soldier emphasized the word 'experience' in an obnoxious tone.
"zero." Komal noticed the soldier doing more navigating on his computer.
"Previous jobs held?"
"Honestly? None... really..." Komal muttered. Her parents had, admittedly, never pushed her to get a job in secondary school or university. Shortly after she finished school, the war killed any prospect of her finding a real job.
"Skills of importance?" The soldier remained obnoxiously friendly.
"Data entry... some math, I guess, uhh... analytical skills," Komal said. General, vague terms that she would use on a resume.
"I see," said the soldier. More fiddling with the computer. "Friends and relatives in town?"
Komal thought that was an odd question to ask. "A few friends... but I moved away from most of my relatives."
"They been sending you money, support?"
"How is any of this relevant?" Komal interjected. Upon receiving a cold glare from the soldier and hearing irritated sighs from people in line behind her, Komal continued politely. "Not for a few years. I've been living on government subsidy."
"All right," the soldier said. He fiddled on his computer for awhile more. "Great news, Komal. The CAE has need for people of your background. As a matter of fact, we can get you a job as early as tomorrow."
"Really?" Komal's eyes lit up at the prospect of making some honest money, even if it was working for the CAE.
"Absolutely. Here's a pamphlet detailing where you can show up tomorrow."
Komal went home that night, grabbed a bite to eat, and retired to bed out of exhaustion and the desire to be well-rested for the next day. She woke up early the next morning and put on her nicest outfit and a flattering amount of makeup. With nothing better to do, she began walking to her destination on the outskirts of the city.
She barely recognized the area when she got there. What had once been a bland part of the suburbs had been bulldozed and a number of temporary buildings had been erected. Several fairly small lines, apparently age and gender segregated, were forming before the various buildings. Komal found the appropriate lie and waited.
As she got closer, she saw that the windowless building had a metal front door; they were letting people in one by one. Ominous, but functional and simple -- much like what the CAE was known for. When she got to the front of the line, she identified herself to the soldier at a small kiosk in front of the building.
"All right, Komal," the soldier said with a smile annoyingly similar to the one she had faced the previous day. "Enter the door, go down the hall, and go into the door at the end. We'll be doing employee processing there." Komal entered the building -- cramped, dim, and dull -- and walked down the hall to the only other door she found. She opened it and walked in, letting the door close behind her.
She found herself in a sterile-looking 10x10 room with two armed CAE soldiers and two men who looked like CAE civilians.
"Komal Shumeyko, age twenty-six?" asked one of the civilians coldly. Komal, a little nervous, answered in the affirmative. The man nodded towards the two soldiers; one of them, quickly and instinctively, grabbed her by the wrists and drug her, kicking and screaming, towards a steel table on one side of the room.
"What the hell IS this?!" Komal shrieked. "What the hell are you people doing?!" She received no answer as one soldier held her down and the other one chained her with shackles to the table. She struggled against her bonds, but they were quite firm.
"Miss Shumeyko," said the cold-sounding civilian. He proceeded to rattle off a short speech that sounded well-rehearsed. "As you may have guessed, the CAE took serious losses in the occupation of West Asia. We need to fortify our defenses as quickly as possible in the event of another European assault. Due to your lack of relevant skills, your reliance on government subsidies, and your apparent lack of close ties with family and friends, you have been chosen for CAE slave labor."
"What?!" Komal gasped increduously. "Slave labor?!" She couldn't believe her ears -- that was something out of ancient history books, or something used by primitive civilizations... not something used by a modern and powerful regime.
The cold-sounding civilian ignored her and returned to his desk. The second, sporting a pair of shears, walked over to Komal, squirming as much as she could in her tight restraints.
"Stop moving," said the man with the shears. "It's not as if you're the only one going through here... we've already processed hundreds of women in your age group over the last week. I don't think you'll be able to escape a situation that hundreds could not." Komal, feeling defeated, began shaking as she tried to restrain herself. There was no way this could be happening.
The man first took the shears to her waist-length, wavy jet black hair. With a few large and messy cuts, her hair -- which took ages to grow -- was in long strands on the floor. What remained was a sloppy, half-inch long hairdo. Komal felt tears welling up in her eyes as there was nothing she could do to stop them from doing what they wanted with her.
Komal began squirming again as she realized what was next -- but she ended up being poked roughly several times with the shears. The man made a rough slice through her shirt, ripping it off; he then pulled off her sandals and cut her pants up the legs before unceremoniously ripping them off as well. Komal sobbed as he continued with the shears, snipping her bra down the middle and pulling it off. As ashamed as she felt, Komal took a bit of relief as the man didn't linger too long at her smallish but round breasts. He had as much passion as an old doctor who had done this hundreds (or thousands) of times before. The final indignation came as he ripped away her panties, revealing her slightly trimmed bush.
The man with the shears backed up and the two soldiers returned. They unfastened the shackles holding her to the table and pulled her, still sobbing, to her feet. She struggled against their grip and kicked at them with her bare legs, but to no effect. They grabbed a second pair of shackles that were hanging from the ceiling and bound her wrists above her head.
Komal, hands raised and feeling utterly esposed, tried to back away as the man who previously held the shears returned. Disregarding her struggle, he grabbed her forcefully by the neck and plucked out her earrings and then reached up to slip rings that she wore on her fingers. Komal used the opportunity to deliver a kick to the man's groin. He fell to his knees and Komal delivered another kick to his chin, knocking him to the floor.
Before the man had completely sprawled out, the two guards were on her. One got her in a fierce headlock, making breathing difficult. The second produced a flashlight-shaped device from his pocket and shoved it with considerable force against her left nipple. He pushed a button on the device and Komal howled as agonizing shocks flowed through her body. After a good fifteen seconds of shock, a weakened, sweating, and sobbing Komal hung limply from the chains.
"As you can tell," said the man getting up from the floor, "we do not tolerate that sort of behavior. Consider yourself warned." He grabbed the rings on her fingers and placed them on his desk before grabbing a hose that was attached to the wall.
"Close your eyes." Komal followed the instructions as he turned on the hose, spraying her with a blast of warm water that smelled faintly of bleach. He hosed the makup from her face and circled around her, dousing her entire body. When he finished, the two soldiers approached with towels and began drying Komal. It seemed as if they enjoyed it a little too much, spending a suspiciously long time rubbing her breasts and bush more than completely dry. As they walked away, she thought she saw them grinning at each other, peering back at her small but shapely form.
"We're almost done," said the cold-sounding man who had given Komal the speech earlier. "We're going to give you an identifying mark right now." The man who hosed her down approached with a rectangular block. He pressed it against her upper right and left arms before pressing it against the back of each of her hands. She looked up at her hands and saw what looked much like a barcode placed beneath the symbol of the CAE.
"Think of it as a more humane replacement for a branding iron," said the cold man. "That ink identifies you as a slave in service of the CAE, and will not rub or wash off. Although... with your behavior, I do wish that we had a branding iron to hold up against your delicious brown flesh of yours..."
Komal remained quiet, continuing to weep. As she cried, the guards came and removed her shackles before shoving her towards the man who hosed her down a few minutes before.
"Here is your outfit," said the man, handing Komal a folded bundle and a pair of flimsy-looking shoes. "Get dressed. And note that you will, for the foreseeable future, be given this one outfit. Don't damage it."
Komal unfolded the bundled garment, which looked somewhat like a pair of white overalls but a bit less revealing towards the top. It was made from what felt like canvas or some other durable, but incredibly uncomfortable material. Despite the pathetic garment, she was eager to cover her nude body and put the overalls as quickly as possible. It was baggy, but there was no apparent way to adjust it.
"Note that the garment and the shoes contain no strings, laces, buttons or zippers, or anything that could possibly be used as a weapon," said the man with a sneer. "This is the closest fit we had for someone of your size." Komal silently slipped on her soft-soled shoes and looked at the man for her next orders.
"Out the door," said the man, pointing at a steel door in the back of the room. "We have a lot of other young ladies to process today." Komal was eager to escape from the four men who had seen her nakedness and rushed through the door. It slammed shut and locked behind her.
Komal now found herself in a long hallway with another lone door at the far end. As she walked, she heard distinct sobs and cries coming from beyond the door.
TO BE CONTINUED
Libbie
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