Fall Of Women In The Darkest Hour

Author's note: Once again, given the peculiar nature of the subject matter, this story warrants a special disclaimer. This is a fantasy, not a manifesto. As famous erotica author All These Roadworks usually puts it, "my kinks are not my politics". Do not use this story to promote a political worldview. Practice your relational life consensually, or not at all.

This story is set in the Fall Of Women narrative universe. In this world, a diabolical conspiracy has unleashed a mind control virus that compels women to submit to men. These stories are anthological, so you can read this one even if you haven't read the original, or any other story in the setting. Having said that, reading them will naturally net you the best reading experience.

As always, all characters are over the age of 18.

Now, without further ado... enjoy the read!

I -- Antarctic Lullaby

I am surrounded by a desolate expanse of snow and ice.

I'd ask you to imagine it. It's difficult, however. We are so used to an environment that conforms to our will, but there is no such thing here. As far as our experience goes, it might as well be an alien planet. The simplest, most mundane things can kill you, here.

It's incompatible with long-term, easy human residence. It's swept by cold, unforgiving, howling winds. It even looks eerie, illuminated by a perma-day for half the year, and then plunged into darkness for the other half.

I'd ask you to imagine how spectral it looks now, in the last few days before the final sunset of the season.

Close your eyes and picture it: the sun sits low on the horizon for most of the day, radiating a deep, dim light that barely illuminates the icy landscape. Even when the sun is up, the light is pale and diffuse, casting long shadows and creating a hauntingly beautiful twilight.

The sky is dusty pink and orange. Sometimes, it looks to be bleeding. But every day, slowly and inexorably, it darkens: the cold, black winter begins to seep into its palette.

It's haunting. And beautiful. And hostile.

You know how that's significant? Because, right now, this otherworldly landscape feels far less hostile, to me, than my own world. The cities and houses and parks that are supposed to be my cocoon... how can I think of them as safe, when you consider the horror currently unfolding out there?

At least, here, in the icy desolation, nothing actively hates me. Sure, there are a thousand ways to die. But none of them are malignantly, single-mindedly directed at me because of my gender. There is no malicious app, or virus, or whatever it is, trying to worm its way into the most private inner sanctum of any human--into my mind.

Wow, look at the words I'm writing...

Well, you likely want to know how I'm doing, so there it is. That's my state of mind right now. Or, well, at time of writing. By the time you read this letter (and the ones to come, to be sure), hopefully this nightmare will be behind us for good.

We'll be able to meet in person, have a few drinks, and laugh at the men--because they must be men, come on--who designed this thing, who sought to enslave us.

Yes, laugh. Because there's no way this insane plan can succeed. "Rachel," you'll tell me, "how silly you've been! There was nothing to fear, all along." Just picturing it lightens my gloomy mood, a little bit.

I suppose the fact you'll only get to read these words by the time they no longer apply, makes me writing them a little futile... like I'm talking to myself. But, listen. It keeps me sane, busy, distracted. It's better than staring at the wall, and letting fear suck me in.

Here I am, going on about how dark my mood is... when you're probably having to contend with the payload right now. I mean, I don't know for sure. Christ, I hope not. But I mean, probabilistically... I don't know. As you can imagine, the news we get here comes in bits and pieces, but I seem to understand this is very widespread, and...

Just, be careful, okay? If that thing is inside you.

Here, at least, none of us have been exposed. Can you believe that a year ago, I wanted to delay my stint here to the next field season? Now I'd be out there, with all of you... What a way to dodge a bullet, huh?

The living quarters of the ice lab are cramped and sterile at the best of times. Now, with our moods somber and dark, they feel... depressing. Tasha in particular has been pretty hard, but I know Maria's hurting too, even though she keeps the stoic face up.

Hell, so am I.

We're not getting much done, to be honest. We mostly huddle together and talk in small whispers, seeking safety and reassurance in the warmth of each other's presence.

Staying close and preserving warmth is never a bad idea in general, here. Our lives here have always been defined by the harsh, isolated environment and the rigorous demands of the job. This is even truer here at the ice lab.

I realise I haven't really updated you in a while, so I might as well tell you about my own unexpected doomsday bunker... the ice lab is really just a tiny detached outpost, far from the main hub and its facilities. It's meant to study the impact of climate change on the ice sheets.

Unlike back at base, there's no support staff here, nothing of the normal, already small comforts of the main hub. Just a kitchen stove, cramped sleeping quarters, a lab area, and other bare necessities. Just barely enough for the three of us.

I never thought I'd be grateful for that. I... can't imagine being around men right now, even colleagues, even if my mind is unaffected. I shouldn't blame them all, I know. But... ah, I don't need to explain this to you. You probably feel much the same.

The slight. The horror. The sheer disbelief.

Not sure if I've told you... truly, we couldn't believe the news when it first reached us here.

I don't mean that as hyperbole, I'm being literal.

We thought it was someone's idea of a sick joke--in poor taste, of course, but it does get boring here, and a bored mind will cook up all sorts of shenanigans to pass the time...

But no. I mean, I'm used to the world seemingly getting weirder and weirder with every passing year, and reading the news over the last few years has been pretty much just doomscrolling through the improbable and the absurd. But I've got to admit, a misogynistic mind control virus challenged even my expectations, no matter how low.

Communication is never a given in Antarctica, but the ice lab is even more limited. As the hours turned into days, we've stayed gathered around our satellite phone and radio equipment, our disbelief turning into shock, then horror, and then downright dissociation.

Look at us, my friend. Maria, the climatologist. Tasha, the marine biologist. And me, the glaciolocist. Three women with enough academic qualifications between us that we'd get bored listing them all, the symbol of everything the developers of the payload--whoever they are--must hate. Free. Independent. Equal.

And yet, here we are. Besieged, forced to feel unsafe and afraid, just because some woman-hating bastard out there...

I am... I don't know. I feel even more a woman now than I ever did before. I am suddenly a lot more consciously cognisant of just how chafing and unjust the systemic oppression against us has been.

How much has our gender had to endure, to suffer, to overcome? And now this? This... global dreamscape of enthrallment, of exploitation? This attempt at stepping on our necks again, and forcing us down to our knees?

What have we done to deserve it? When will justice be served? When will we be allowed to finally just exist, at last?

If I feel this violated, I can only imagine how you must be feeling, if you have indeed been exposed... So much of who you are, of what you've achieved, your visions, your ambitions, your hopes... someone is trying to snuff them out like a candle. To restrict and restrain you.

I hate it with every fibre of my being.

I must confess that I spend a lot of time thinking about how this is even possible, to be honest. I have to reconcile my knowledge of the world with the fact that, apparently, it's actually possible to develop a... mind control app? And that someone out there has enough resources to do it in pursuit of a radical patriarchal agenda. Or a teenager's sexual fantasy. I don't know which interpretation is worse, to be honest.

God... this reminds me of the pandemic all over again. Glued to the news, trying to figure out every possible detail of the unfolding disaster, struggling with the complete lack of clarity and seemingly contradicting details. Except, it's hard to be truly glued to the news when you're in Antarctica.

No phone signal of any kind, really our smartphones here are just glorified cameras and alarm clocks. No internet. The ice lab is in a relatively remote location, so even the one satellite phone that is kept here, only gets coverage for very brief windows of overflight. And that, with a very narrow bandwidth, so no roaming data.

The main hub has more satellite phones, and enough bandwidth that you even get data sometimes. It also has somewhat rudimentary WiFi, even if the allocation is usually restricted.

In the isolation of the ice lab, we've had difficulties accessing information. That's been our salvation. No signal, no connectivity, no payload.

It does mean you'll receive my communication late, and in the outdated forms of physical letters... but I'll count my blessings. Especially timing. See, I'm not sure if you remember, but this is the end of the field season here. Normally, we'd be just about to rotate out, hand over everything to an incoming team.

If the payload had been deployed a little later...

I suppose that brings me to my plans. Well, dear friend, you have probably concluded already, just by reading this message, what course of action we've settled on. Maria and Tasha (especially Tasha) were very uncertain, at first. But the more we talked about it, the more they came round to see my reasoning.

We know what we must do.

We've called, or will soon be calling, everyone. The research vessel, Chile, the university department. We're not going to get rotated out. We've told them to cancel everything, except the supply deliveries. Who knows, maybe when we get the next resupply visit, I can ask them to deliver my letters to you! That would be very nice.

So, yes. We're going to stay holed up in here, safe and sound, until...

Until...

I suppose we could go back to the main base, at least. But I don't want to be even near WiFi now. Not until I know more about how this thing actually spreads.

There is no more sensible alternative, no matter how unpleasant this is. The unknowns are too many, the risks too great. All I know is that we're safe in here.

I won't lie. The thought of being away from our loved ones for an indefinite amount of time is daunting. But it's a small price to pay to avoid the... God, I don't even want to think about it.

It's only going to be a short stay, anyway. Surely, surely a fix will be found soon, how could it not be? The entire scientific resources of the world are going to be mobilised to rectify this injustice. Surely.

Still. We're paranoid by professional training, and we like to be prepared. We've double-checked every instrument, every supply--food, medical, whether our equipment is in working order. It's kept us occupied. It's the current inactivity that's destabilising me... and why I'm writing to you.

Even though you can't read this right now, much less respond, you're still keeping me company, in a way. You're here, with me. I'm... very grateful for that. I hope that I can be with you too, in the same way. My words may not reach you yet, but in spirit, my thoughts will.

Just like the three of us... we may be women under siege, lost in the middle of nowhere, but we're not alone. We have each other, our intelligence, our self-respect, the strength of our convictions; and that's all that matters.

We do get a little bit of cabin fever, which I guess is understandable. It's just... I'd ask you to imagine it. How surreal it is, to be stuck here, while the light outside begins to fade, while the sky bleeds... stuck in this ethereal, liminal, suspended reality. While the world we know crashes and burns behind us.

I've never been afraid of the dark, never needed any routine to fall asleep, never needed something to lull and cradle me. But now...

It's childish.

It's just... I've had a dark thought, earlier. How many women do you think are like me? Free of the payload, unaffected? I don't know, of course, but I suspect a minority. That makes us, quite literally, an endangered species.

Maybe that should make me feel a sense of responsibility, increased determination to keep myself and my two friends here safe, until the crisis abates. But it doesn't. All I feel is... A troubled feeling of foreboding. Like a cloud, passing before the sun. Like the fading of the day, and the coming of the dark.

It's childish, but I don't want the sun to go away for six months, and the mere thought is enough to keep me up well into the night. I guess I'm now afraid of the dark.

Last night, I... actually tried to call you, you know? It wasn't very smart. We only have a brief window of decent signal coverage here, and we need to use it for critical needs and essential information, but... I felt lonely, and I couldn't sleep.

You didn't pick up, but it was worth it anyway, after all. I don't know if you've set up some kind of weird voice mail or what, but the music was soothing. It helped me fall asleep, I don't know, I guess it made me think of you. Of the love and warmth that still exists in this world. It lulled me to sleep, like a lullaby.

It makes me take heart. For all things there is a season, right? This may be women's winter, but spring will come in turn.

As surely as the fact that day follows night. Even here, where the night lasts for months, and there's nothing outside, save for the desolate expanse of snow and ice.

II -- The Arrival

In the small hours of the night, when reason is buried somewhere deep and inaccessible, and fears reign unopposed, it's hard to escape a cold thought.

How ironic would it be, if our downfall were to come here, gliding over the waves, in the form of... a group of fellow women?

I know, I know. I can picture your reaction to this. Rachel, what the hell are you talking about? Well, sorry, I'm a little rambly right now. I haven't gotten much rest, in fact, I'm writing to you when I should be fast asleep.

We, uh... received some bad news last night. When we managed to get in touch with the ship, they informed us they were already on the way back to Chile.

Yeah. It means what you think.

The replacement team that was meant to take over from us, has already landed. Three women, just like us, and for once, for once, I wish they were all men instead, because then we could send them running back into the world, fucked up as it is.

But no, of course. It's three women, just like us, and just like us, they have zero intention of heading back to civilisation, since they fear exposure to the payload. They're terrified, my friend, and I can't blame them...

But I'm terrified, too.

I just... I wish they'd at least stay back at the main hub. But of course, they will not hear it, and again I note with grim irony that I can't really fault them for their reasoning, can I? I was the one who invoked the precaution principle when arguing that we should stay at the ice lab. Right now, with its complete lack of connectivity outside of satellite, it's one of the safest places on earth.

When it comes to protection against misogynistic mind viruses, that is...

Our protests were for naught. The staff back at the main hub didn't know what to do--there's no training for this sort of thing, I guess--and ultimately couldn't stop them from beginning their journey to the ice lab. They'll be here soon, and I don't know what to do.

What would you do? How would you judge me? I'd die for your advice, right now. Tasha essentially refuses to have an input in this, she's really struggling to hold it together. I've talked about it with Maria, a little...

Begrudgingly, we've both concluded that we can't refuse three fellow women in need, seeking succour and shelter.

Can we?

I've run the math in my head. I've run it a thousand times, over and over.

Numbers don't lie. Our three would-be replacements were still some way out at sea, when the payload started its roll out, hitting device after device. Brain after brain. Woman after woman.

What if...?

Maybe I'm being stupid. This isn't a, I don't know, a pathogen. It's not like a woman with the payload implanted deep in her brain is contagious, or anything like that. I don't think so, at least.

But we know so little about this thing! Even more so here, where the news comes in slow trickles! Of course we know what the payload does, more or less, but I don't have a single clue how a woman carrying it would even behave in general. Or if she'd be a danger to us.

So, is it a wonder that I can't sleep?

I'm struggling with anxiety, dear. I haven't struggled this bad with it since college. I hum the lullaby to myself, the one in your voice mail, and it does calm me a little... and I do have the meds with me.

Still. My mind keeps conjuring up the absolutely most horrific, worst-case scenarios, like my brain is trying to terrify itself on purpose. Tormenting mental imagery...

Like, say, that maybe there's no fix for this thing. And maybe it's about to breach our little sanctuary here, and get me. Fuck, it feels like a horror movie. You know all those pandemic stories where the characters aren't infected, and somehow, that makes the mere prospect even scarier?

That's my mind space right now. I'm... not okay, alright? I see, in my mind's eye, rows and rows of women, collared, each collar fastened to the other by chains, being marched towards an auction bloc. I see women falling, kneeling, their breath driven out of them and their pupils dilating as they marvel at what's being done to them... at their inability to stop it.

I see myself among them, my degree and my achievements trampled into the mud, turned into the dirt men walk on. I see them ogling me, with a kind of calculated superficiality, the appraising look you give an object you're mildly but not overtly interested in. Leering at me. At the humbling of my ambitions, as I become little more than a pound of flesh at the market.

And of course, there's only one way I could end up like this: if I was betrayed by the women I'm about to let in. Wouldn't that be so unjust, so cruel, so evil?

Sigh. These are midnight thoughts. If I keep dwelling on horror scenarios, I'm going to give myself a panic attack. I just need to wait for the diazepam to work, and then hopefully, I can get some sleep, instead of staring out the window. Waiting for the newcomers, and praying that they're not bringing the monster with them.

If you were here, you'd tell me to take a deep breath. We're all women here, in this remote outpost in the middle of nowhere. We're all in this together. But will that be enough? Or...

Yes, my friend. We're all women here.

What if that's exactly the problem?

III -- The Siege

We've locked our phones away.

They were so suspicious, at first... you know, it hurt me a little. It gave me a startling realisation. Three women on one side, three on the other. We face a faceless enemy that seeks to destroy us, to own us, to conquer us. If there ever was a time for girl power, then this is it. Our direst hour of need... our darkest hour.

Instead, look what fear has done to us. We, all women with an ingrained sense of our equality and excellent education, were looking at one another with suspicion and paranoia, wondering if any of us could turn out to be the agent of our destruction.