Future Perspective of a male

A Futuristic Perspective of a Brainwashed Male

Sweat kept my palms slick, despite my persistent efforts. No amount of talcum powder or hand towels seemed to help. I guess its just one of those things that only happens to men now. The Alpha Gene discovery changed a lot more than just the appearance of women. Or even men for that matter.

Half a century ago, genetics research made the second most prominent discovery in history, right in line after DNA. A dormant gene lay hidden in the X chromosome, which, once activated, could boost stamina levels to incredibly high ranges, increase the size of the brain to unheard of proportions, and cause the human body to rapidly evolve new adaptations. Mankind rejoiced, believing we were embarking on the next stage of evolution. Finally. But the euphoria faded quickly with the realization that the gene could only be activated when the combination of chromosomes was X and X. Not X and Y. And thus, the long history of male domination ended.

In the beginning, the activation of the gene in women was strongly encouraged. It was viewed as a benefit to human civilization – in the Western world at least. The usual culprits called for Jihad to wipe out what they saw as an affront to the natural order, not that their nations even had the means to implement the gene therapy. In Europe and North America the future was ushered in with great gusto and good order.

It wasn’t orderly.

The Alpha Gene quickly was re-christened as the ‘pink’ gene, and the carefully screened women who were chosen to taste the heady wine of super-humanity conspired to bring it out in other women. Their birthright, they called it. By the time the secret propagation was discovered the numbers were too large to control. Neo-Amazons began to seize control everywhere. With their newfound physical, intellectual, and now military and political strength, it didn’t take long to topple the ruling sex – men.

Within three decades, women controlled every single arena in which men formerly dominated. Men everywhere, regardless of class or race, banded together: seeking to protect their integrity through solidarity. These efforts proved futile when it was revealed that the Alpha Gene allowed women to reproduce without needing sperm. Halleluiah! Was the general female cry. The last shackles had been cast off. Men weren’t needed anymore. Now they would be given a taste of the subjugation that they had forced women to drink from the beginning of history.

Men’s lives were reduced to lowest forms – begging on the streets, or providing entertainment for their female overlords, which consisted mainly of torture or sex, sometimes indistinguishable from one another. Soon, flimsy reasons were made to destroy even those miserable specimens. Men would be shot down for speaking to a woman, for daring to stare at any female passing by, for appearing in public without a female escort.

Tyranny ruled. The male population throughout the world dwindled to minuscule numbers. The few that remained became freak shows, remainders of the almost extinct ‘male race’.

Now, in the year 2067, I know all of this from my sire, who told me our history before being killed himself. I am currently waiting my turn in the annual competition that limits the number of men on earth. Only 10 men from each generation are allowed to survive. The poor fellow before me was killed instantly for answering one question incorrectly, while a crowd of queens looked on with smiling eyes and beaming faces.

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I am on my last question. If I answer correctly, my life will be spared. If not, my existence will be terminated. I am doomed either way.

The last question beeps onto my screen, and the faces surrounding my chamber lean in closer, studying me, murmuring.

“Which is superior in value? The Queen of Spades or the King of Hearts?”

Though I can read, the question is read aloud to supplement my understanding. I can’t help but raise my eyebrows. The answer is obvious.

The adjudicator, a pale, blank-faced woman, leans forward to speak into the microphone. Her voice is as hollow as her face:

“If you answer wrongly, the next button you push, will cause you to be…”

Pause.

Murmurs.

“…disintegrated.”

She completed in a breathy voice, genuine smile et all.

I smiled. Of course I knew the answer. I placed my palm on the button below the King of Hearts and pressed, smiling back at the adjudicator’s now shocked face. A collective gasp as my choice of answer flashed out on their screens. I felt my body begin to vaporise.

Freedom at last.