Fall Of Women - In The Darkest Hour

So... we've locked our phones away.

Look. Giving up my phone--Maria and Tasha, too--was unnecessary. We've been in here for six months, of course our phones are clean. The three newcomers, well... If they did have connectivity during the voyage, even briefly, the payload might be in there, somewhere, ready to be accidentally opened and viewed and...

Now, maybe an infected woman isn't contagious. But if she has that thing on her phone, I want that locked away... as a compromise measure. You know, instead of dropping it into the ocean.

But like I said, they were suspicious.

The worst was Ember. She's a fellow glaciolocist, and acts like the informal leader of her group... much like I do mine, I suppose. She challenged my request. Said we had no more rights than they did to seek shelter here.

It was a horrible confrontation. Tasha just shrivelled up and she hasn't really said more than three words in a row since. Maria backed me up, but emotionally and mentally, we weren't prepared for this sort of thing.

Again, I wonder what you'd do, if you were here...

For what it's worth, at least, all three seemed to behave... well, I guess normally, to me. Margaret, their marine biologist, is a lot older than I expected. Silver hair, very dignified and aloof figure. Jenny is a young, wide-eyed climatologist... I bet she never expected her first foray into fieldwork would be quite like this.

I tried to put myself in their shoes: they arrived here, thinking they were about to embark on the research experience of a lifetime. But in the meantime, the world came crashing down behind them.

So, I made the offer that we'd give up ours as well. And... it worked. It was seen as the olive branch I intended it to be. We've put all our phones--no other electronic devices on hand, thankfully--into plastic bags, then into a requisitions locker. The key is next to the stove, in full eyesight of everybody at all times.

It will be hard, surviving our isolation here without the company of our smartphones. Even without connectivity, it's still a way to keep busy... but them's the breaks. We just need to be patient, until dawn breaks, the nightmare ends, and we all get to wake up once more.

On the plus side, I now have even more time to write to you. Yay!

So, I've been thinking... maybe we should lock up the satellite phone too. But... I'm not exactly sure. I mean, based on what we've heard, it doesn't seem like that'd be a source of danger, and it is our one point of contact with the rest of the world. Our one source of news.

Can you imagine if the payload were cured tomorrow, and we wouldn't even find out, because the sat phone's in a locker? Having to wait here until someone remembers that we exist? Haha. Oh no, I'm not risking that.

No. I want to be right next to this phone at all times, my friend. When that good news reaches us down the narrow satellite bandwidth we have available, I want to be the first person to pick it up. Mid-ring. The first ring, of course.

There's another element that convinced me to leave it out. I mean, think about it. Say I'm wrong, and we were exposed through the satellite phone... then that's already done and dusted, the damage would already be done. So, locking it away now offers no benefits either way.

Jeez... I suddenly feel very self-conscious. You're probably struggling with this evil, corrupting voice in your head, bombarding you with... images... on a daily basis, and here I am, going on about phones.

Whatever. We've given the newcomers a quick tour of the ice lab, such as it is, but it's clear that the small space is going to be a challenge. We have to rearrange some things to make room for them, and it's a tight squeeze. I can only imagine what a nightmare using the single bathroom is going to be. But we'll manage.

I just wish there wasn't such palpable awkwardness, you know? The tension in the air is thick, despite our attempts to make small talk and joke around... every jape quickly dies, greeted only with minimal, forced laughter, before silence descends once again.

I wish we'd find something... else to talk about. Normally, our interactions would be limited to the handover process, but right now I'd take just about anything. Because when left to its own devices, my mind keeps wandering into dark places.

I suppose the implementation of a conspiracy to enslave our entire gender might be expected to have an impact on my mental health. But I hate that I find myself returning to it, over and over, asking the same questions, again and again.

For example.

Can you be exposed to the payload without even noticing? Somehow, that's not how I imagine brainwashing would work. Which is stupid, because until a few days ago, I thought there was no such thing to begin with.

In any event, from what I'm hearing, it's... quite an ordeal for the women affected. The descriptions we've gotten, the slow, progressive loss of control, like a substance addiction slowly undermining your life, stripping it of coherence until there is only one wish, one need, one hunger...

If one of these three women has been exposed, how could we even tell? No men around, right? Nothing to keep you busy.

The problem is, I don't even know exactly what the baseline would be. What does a woman with the payload look like? Is she in pain? In a constant internal struggle?

Does she slowly break down over time, smaller and scared and less confident, trying to control her impulses and her subconscious, but always losing ground?

Or is it more like being programmed? Like, you know, a mantra. Or a prayer. Would she be told, night and day, that she exists to worship man's boot? To crawl under man's desk and suck his cock? Do her eyes go glassy and unfocused?

... Do yours?

Jesus, I don't even know why I'm thinking about this stuff. I'm so sorry, it's just...

My sleep is restless and plagued with nightmares. Add the cabin fever, and my conversational skills and impulse control are a little rusty, right now. Even the lullaby isn't enough to soothe me anymore, though it does remind me of you.

Imagery straight out of pulp and corny fantasy somehow coalesces in my subconscious. Widespread ownership, slavery, a strong and wiry hand tightening around a throat. It would almost be comical, if it weren't so violating, so rapey, so... dehumanising. I almost imagine that men have lasso'd us, you know? Like they're cowboys, and we're horses, waiting to be slowly but inexorably reined in.

Fillies, I guess?

And we'd be pulled closer and closer, the leash shortening. Then we'd be pushed to our knees, and they in turn would place one knee against our bent backs, preventing us from rising. Woman after woman, all of us being brought to heel, like dogs.

I'm a scientist, I try to protest in my dreams. The equal of any man. I have a right to self-determine. Besides, you can't touch me. I'm in a place where your filthy hands can't reach, where your evil little app can't get to me. But in the dreams, the hand that's forced me to my knees lifts in the air, slapping me into silence, cutting off my protests with a single, casual act of violence.

And that's when I wake up with a jolt, and sit down to write to you. I have to believe you're doing well, out there. You're my anchor to sanity. I have to believe there will be a world to come back to, when this is over.

I can hear to the breathing of my five "roommates", right now. as it were. Isolated here, like me, in a world where we don't really belong anymore... at least for the time being.

I can't help but wonder what the future holds for us, my friend. For you, for them, for me...

For our gender.

IV -- The Dying Of The Light

It's dark, outside.

That's true most of the time, at this point of the year. Soon, daylight will be but a memory.

I feel like I'm sustaining myself on memories. Of my achievements, of all the fulfilling things I got to do, before someone declared war on women. I spend the time lost in reveries about our time together at college, about the holidays, the condo I bought, your first car...

What else is there for me in here, anyway? A nuclear shelter may keep you safe from radiation, but a luxury mansion, it ain't, and that's what life is like, here.

The air is stale.

Conversation among us is reduced to a bare minimum.

I don't really know why. I mean, of course the general situation is horrible. But I've never seen Maria this taciturn. I feel like I barely know who Ember, Margaret, and Jenny are. It's just... we don't talk.

Tasha, well, alright, she was always a little... God, I hate the word I'm thinking of. She's not weak, that's not what I mean.

Oh, whatever. Point is, we all seem... lost in our little personal bubbles. You know when you're really depressed, and you have no energy whatsoever, so you just lie in bed all day? Yeah... we're all sluggish. Quiet. Visibly worried.

I mean, we could work. Nobody expects us to, not in the current circumstances, but at least it'd keep us busy. But the thought of dragging myself out of bed and looking at the slow deterioration of the ice sheets, with its apocalyptic implications, is not exactly appealing right now.

I would like something to get out of bed for. Instead, we're all stuck in this pattern where we just curl up and rest. Lost in thought. Counting down the hours until finally, hopefully, someone gives us the good news over the phone.

The way's clear. The bad guys are in jail. All is fine for womankind.

I... I have a problem, my friend.

I'm overthinking stuff. And yes, yes, where's the fucking news, but I don't mean it like that. Or rather, I also mean it like that, but it isn't just my anxiety I'm referring to.

It's Ember.

We've almost had another altercation--everyone else had fallen asleep, except her, but I didn't know. I was softly humming the lullaby to myself, trying to fall asleep, and she got so angry... irrationally so. I told her to go fuck herself, though. She's in my bloody ice lab, she's not gonna keep me from lulling myself to sleep. Eventually she gave up, turned her back to me, and somehow, fell asleep.

That's when I noticed my problem.

Ember is tossing and turning in her sleep. Do you see what I mean? Her eyes are closed, but she seems to be muttering something under her breath.

It's just REM, of course.

No no, trust me. I know.

Lots of people fidget in their sleep! Lots of people talk while asleep, too, sometimes even coherently. Even more frequent under stress or fatigue, which I'd say applies here. There's no reason to give even more ammunition to the raging fire of my anxiety.

It's just REM.

But here's the thing, right?

What if it's not?

V -- The Descent

I sit at the table, and watch.

I shouldn't, I really shouldn't. You put six people into this sort of situation, into this cramped space, and of course they're going to notice stuff. The brain makes them up. Even those you genuinely do notice... I mean, can I blame Maria if she looks fidgety as hell, constantly biting at her fingernails?

Can I blame Tasha, for basically trembling like a leaf every time the satellite phone rings?

I've noticed I'm talking a lot about myself. I guess... it's because this isn't really a conversation, you know? There's no turn-taking. It's almost like a note in a bottle. You're gonna read these all at once, so there's no point in me asking you how you're doing, over and over.

I'm sure your own messages to me will sound much the same, when I finally get them.

Still. In the interest of feeling closer to you, in spite of the distance, let me try and not talk about myself here for at least five minutes. How are YOU doing? Coping? Snuggling under the blankets and scooping up truckloads of ice cream?

Masturbating all the time?

What? Come on. The news might reach us in bits and pieces here, but it does arrive. We have a pretty good picture of what's going on, I think. Only yesterday we've heard that elected female officials are being kindly asked to temporarily resign from office, in the interests of national security... I guess that explains my dour mood here. Sorry.

It's just...

Are you still teaching?

I don't mean that as a--well, I mean, maybe I do, but... Okay.

Has anyone tried to collar you? You know, corner you in a narrow hallway on campus after you're done teaching for the day. Or accosting you on public transport. Or hell, breaking into your home... that's how it happens, right? All sorts of ways. And the world's full of immature, entitled little shits with obsessive crushes who probably jumped at the chance of securing that one girl that rejected them.

Overriding her consent without a second thought.

Just thinking about all the creeps we know, people who've been carrying torches for you or me, and simultaneously resenting us, for basically one and a half decades now... I'm honestly shocked that dweeb Jason hasn't shown up at your house yet.

* * *

He hasn't. Right?

Sigh. See what I mean about turn-taking? Eventually I just talk myself into the same loops that make me spiral, and spiral, and spiral. It's just, the news we're hearing...That'd make everyone feel like you're losing your mind, going crazy. No wonder we all look so subdued.

... Wrong word choice.

Alright, look. Anxiety is one thing, but this paranoia... never experienced an emotion this visceral before. It's compulsive, I don't know how to rein it in. Every little incident blows up in my mind into a certain vision of inescapable doom. It's wearing me out, little by little.

Not just me, either. Earlier today, Ember had the absolute gall to tell me I'm not getting much sleep. You should have seen the tone she used... like she was branding me as a leper or something. She's one to talk. She sleeps less than I do, and when she does, she murmurs all the time.

Before you ask, yes, of course I've tried to listen. It's unintelligible.

So, I said this, right. And of course Jenny immediately jumped to her defence. Margaret just... stared, I swear she had the dead expression of a fish, and Tasha well, whenever any of us has a confrontation of any kind, she just... shuts down.

At least I had Maria in my corner. Even though her nail-biting is making me feel a little on edge. What if she has it? I try to suppress the intrusive thought, believe me, but it just, well... intrudes.

Honestly, fuck Ember. This woman hasn't said one word of kindness to me since the moment I let her into this fucking ice lab, can you believe it? We were the first here, we were already safe. They have put us in danger, and now they act out, too?

The incident petered out quickly after that. But, cards on the table here... I don't know how much longer I can handle this. We have no privacy, nothing to do, no energy for conversations... and fear. Fear, most of all.

I try to keep my eyes away from constantly checking on the others, but I'm finding it harder and harder to just stop. Everything feels like it's moving in slow motion.

The smallest things start to seem like ominous signs. I catch Maria glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, and I can't help but wonder if she's trying to gauge my behaviour for any signs. Kinda like I'm doing hers. It's as if we've all become detectives, trying to solve a mystery.

At night, I lie awake, dreading that one of the girls might... I don't know what. Press a digital device to my face, so I stare at the app and the payload gets embedded into my brain?

That's how the news says exposure works, anyway.

Well, the key is where we left it. By the stove. Even if one of the phones does carry the payload... you know, this mind control virus designed to infiltrate my brain and weaponise it, to destroy me, to strip me of everything that makes me human, bind me in chains, break my will until I'm little more than a panting dog, begging for a fix... you know, that thing.

Even if it does carry it, it can't do anything to me, so long as it's locked up.

Maybe I should take the key myself. Just to be sure.

I know, I know... that'd be liable to truly plunge us into open mistrust or worse. Besides, why would a woman infected by the payload try to expose another? There are no men to please here anyway.

It does seem a little silly...

What if there is no mystery? Maybe I've been scaring myself to death over a false assumption?

I don't know. And that doesn't really console me.

You know what, friend?

It's a tradition for a new group beginning their stint down here, to sit down and watch The Thing together. I've upheld it so far. You've always refused to watch it, but I was looking forward to sharing it with Ember, and Jenny, and Margaret, back when their scheduled arrival was just part of the job, and nothing more.

It is a little morbid to start your stint here by watching that movie, but that's what makes it so cathartic, you know? We have a good laugh about it, and that's it.

You know what, friend?

Somehow, I can't laugh at that anymore.

VI -- As Night Follows Day

It's Ember.

I'd ask you to guess why. It's difficult, however. It's not like you have the array of clues at your disposal, so I'm going to lay it out for you. You tell me if my reasoning isn't sound... I think I've got it figured out. Listen:

Earlier tonight, I had dozed off in pure exhaustion, but I still woke up after only a few hours of restless sleep. And you wanna know what I saw?

Ember was masturbating.

Now, I know you're going to have mixed reactions to this. In a way, I did too. Actually, and somewhat stupidly, the very first reaction was embarrassment... she's a coworker, one I don't even know, not really. Okay, in the dark, I could barely make out her shape--she'd kicked off the blankets for a moment, thankfully the generator here is very reliable.

But embarrassment soon subsided.

Part of me said, look, Rachel, Jesus, humans have needs. There's no privacy here, sure, but there's only so long you can go before you need to rub one out, and we've been stuck here for months! And frankly, it's not like she could go outside or something, could she? We're in freaking Antarctica. Don't even bring up the bathroom, it'd take a contorsionist to do that in there.

The decent thing in that case was to go back to sleep and pretend I hadn't seen anything.

But then, there was the other part. The one that grew into sharper and sharper focus as the grogginess of sleep receded.

Ember was out at sea when the payload hit. Ember hasn't been sleeping well. Ember talks in her sleep. Ember really didn't want to give up her phone, and made a whole scene. Ember is masturbating, dear, and oh, you should have seen how she was doing it.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, it became impossible to ignore. The way her lips formed a small, surprised little o, like she herself was confounded by her body's reactions. The way she shook and trembled, like all her neurons were firing at once. The expression of soft, pliant responsiveness, animalistic docility, that was etched into her face like a bas relief...

Every minute aspect of her posture seemed studied to perfection to enhance and project an image of availability, openness, feminine inferiority. The way her bent legs emphasised the curving of her calves and thighs, the slight humping of her hips towards the air...

I couldn't see her eyes. But I bet you they were fucking glassy. I was watching Ember break down in front of me, slowly being disassembled by the new and alien sensations that must have taken over her body.

I've heard enough from what's happening out there to be able to recognise at least this much. Ember's brain is not her own, not really. She's being slowly, systematically subverted, as this piece of malware bypasses her defences, corrupting her from within.

The inner sanctum is breached.