Walter watched the cartoon video in some awe. It explained, in the cheesiest 1950s-style way possible, how nanobots were injected into a woman's bloodstream, made their way to her brain, and then coated her synapses, changing her impulses and desires.
He looked around the room. A circle of men in matching jackets watched him -- beta-male types mostly, except for their leader, the charismatic Mike, who grinned wolfishly at him as the video continued. Walter's wife stood beside him, looking up aghast at the screen.
"I knew it. I knew there was something fishy about this whole town," whispered his wife, who looked a lot like a young Nicole Kidman. "Bunch of nerds, and their impossibly hot, ridiculously servile, blonde bimbo trophy wives."
"Sshhh, honey, I want to hear this."
"What?"
To an upbeat tune suited to a Disney educational cartoon about modern technology, or one of those guides to staying alive in a nuclear attack by hiding under your classroom desk, the narrator showed how the nanobots gave the woman pleasure when she obeyed her husband, and sparked painful electrical currents when she had bad thoughts, until those neural pathways completely closed off. They also downloaded straight into her cortex plenty of recipes, and tips on housecleaning, to make sure she was a top-notch housewife for her man, willing and subservient.
"I told you, didn't I!" Joanna hissed. "Bad enough that these losers found these stupid wives, but when I figured out who the wives used to be -- CEOs and scientists, giants of industry, leaders in their field --!"
"Honey, please," Walter semi-whined. "Quiet."
The circle of men shuffled a little closer to the pair, as Mike turned to look up at the video he'd undoubtedly watched many times -- at least as many times as there were men in the room.
The narrator was explaining that the women became perfect wives in the bedroom, too. Installed with countless techniques for mind-blowing sex, the wives' brains were taught that their husbands' pleasure translated to their own pleasure. "Plus, gentlemen, inhibitions are a thing of the past with these neuro blockers -- your wife can't wait to have a threesome with you and any other woman. Or man, if you prefer! Blowjobs, anal, bondage, a little abuse ... Whatever she used to object to, she has no objections anymore! If it's what YOU want, then that's what SHE wants too!! Act now, gentlemen -- the Perfect Wife ™ can be yours, today!!"
Mike turned off the cartoon with a remote, and the screen faded to darkness.
"Does that help explain things, Walter?" he said quietly.
Walter's mouth was hanging open slightly.
"I knew it I knew it I knew it," muttered Joanna, looking around at the men again. They didn't look like comical losers any longer -- they had the predatory looks of men who had been kicked around by life, but were through being kicked. "I told you, I tried to warn you, but you wouldn't listen! You didn't want to believe me!"
"Silly ... silly girl," said Mike, in that odd, jerky speech pattern that made him sound like Christopher Walken. "Walter believed you. Walter knew ... all the time."
She turned on her husband, eyes blazing.
"At the Men's Club," he said quickly. "Chet's wife made us the most amazing quiche. Rudy's wife performed sexual favors on him while we all watched. Orville used his wife's mouth as an ATM! She gave singles! I was convinced."
"But you didn't say anything? To them, to me? You know this is wrong, sweetheart, you've got to see that." Joanna was starting to feel desperate, the direness of the situation finally sinking in. "You just let me think I was crazy, no matter what I saw ... and holy shit, Bobbie! What your idiot friend Dave did to Bobbie? How could he do that to his own wife? One day a slovenly, strong-minded, foul-mouthed author, and the next day a simpering blonde with an immaculate house who's a dynamo in the kitchen and OK never mind I can hear it now. I get it."
Walter held up a silencing hand to his pretty wife -- calmly, but still something he'd never done before. He turned to Mike. "You can really do this?"
"We
have
done it ... dozens of times. I gotta say, we're ... getting pretty good at it." The older man pressed a button on his remote, and a hole began to open in the middle of the floor. "My name isn't really Mike, it's a nickname. Because I used to work for Microsoft."
"I worked for IBM for years," said Stu.
"Apple," said another man. "Disney," said another. "AOL." "NASA." "Mattel."
A platform was now rising out of the floor, like a slab in a morgue or a tomb -- complete with the form of a body on top, under a sheet.
"Between us men, we know everything there is to ... know," said Mike, "about robotics, computer programming, microtechnology ..."
"But what do you know about cooking? Cleaning? Caring for children?" spat Joanna.
"Everything can be looked up on the internet." Mike smiled as he stepped forward. All the other men took a step forward too, and Joanna moved closer to the center, to the slab. "Our wives have wireless access 24/7 to the best that all of collected humanity has to offer."
"And what about a woman's hopes and dreams? Her bodily autonomy? Independent thought?" Joanna pleaded. "You can't find that on the internet. Quite the opposite, in my experience. What about a woman's soul??"
Mike made a gesture, waving all that away. "Irrelevant."
