Note: Although this scene revolves around a government sex slave program, it contains little direct depiction of either sex or mind control. If that is an insurmountable problem for you, this might not be the story for you.
*****
"Do you know why you are here?" the administrator asked her.
"Because somebody couldn't take a joke," Betty sneered. She knew she shouldn't antagonize him, but it was either that or break down in tears. The Purity of Information Office, they called it, naming it the first, last, and greatest bastion of freedom and harmony. All a lie, a filthy, disgusting lie, and she refused to bend in the face of tyranny.
"Really now, Ms Ellison, such antisocial behavior does not become you. Surely you can do better than that."
"If you know so much, then why don't you tell me."
"Very well. Do you know what this is?"
He set a thick pamphlet on the table and pushed it forward. Betty's blood ran cold.
Of course she recognized it, she'd been the one who wrote it, a scathing expose revealing the mayor's corruption. Shady deals with his friends and relatives, pilfering the city's funds like they were his own personal piggybank, a vast web of extortion and intimidation. After months of research she had lain those out for all the world to see, in sixteen double sided pages that should be enough to convince even the thickest of heads how dirty the government was.
How had they caught her? She had been so careful.
This was bad, real bad. Betty thought she was here for an offhand joke she had made about the administration. It wasn't the smartest idea, the sort of things her parents had warned her against, but she hadn't let that bother her. She was a student, the most they would do for an ill conceived joke was a stern talking to. At least for her first offense.
That book, on the other hand...
Her eyes drifted to the room's second door. An ominous slab of metal meant to intimidate anyone who wasn't already on edge when called into the Purity of Information offices. As for what was behind that door, that had been another abomination her pamphlet had railed against. The processing creche.
It had been a medical device, once, and though it had failed to live up to its promise, it had still seen some use in elective surgery. At least, until people had discovered the inevitable side effects. Then the government had stepped in. Not to ban it, but to use those side effects for their own twisted ends.
Five minutes would inflame the body's erogenous zones, leaving a user abnormally sensitive and horny for the rest of the day. Twenty minutes would do all that, but also leave the subject docile and pliant for the next week. Thirty minutes got what the government euphemistically called a "Joy Bringer". A lurid, filthy minded slut who was good for little more than fucking. A full hour would not only magnify the effects, but make them permanent.
She wanted to say something sarcastic, but bravado failed.
"I don't know what that is," she trembling told him. "But that title looks antisocial and I want nothing to do with it."
"Funny," said the administrator. "I would expect that its author should be quite familiar with the contents."
"I have no idea what you're-"
"We have witnesses."
"That's impossible."
She had been so careful, there was no way they could have traced those back to her.
"Come," he said, rising from the desk where he had been seated since the moment she arrived. He beckoned her forward, and she reluctantly followed. The administrator pulled aside the blinds along the far wall, revealing a pane of mirrored glass looking out into the waiting room.
"Do you know who that is?" he asked her.
"Old Pe- Old Man Ron," she said, practically spitting out the words, almost using the name all her classmates called him.
Old Pervy Ron, was what they called him, and every girl in town knew exactly who he was. That disgusting, lecherous man had been a staple of the downtown for as long as she could remember, spouting lurid filth at every girl who walked past him with a pair of tits. Since she was practically still a child, she had been forced to endure his crude comments every time she wandered the downtown with her friends. She'd never heard of him doing more than talk, thankfully, but what he said was bad enough.
It was a mystery why he was tolerated. He had no connections, no friends or relatives in high places, and having drank away every cent to his name, no money either. Even after all her research, all the corruption she had uncovered, she still didn't understand why the government tolerated him.
The old perv didn't need to do more than talk. Everyone knew that the man was a regular at Opening Paradise, the seedy, government backed brothel on the edge of downtown. No one knew what he did for a living, or where he disappeared to when he wasn't screwing whores and harassing women, but somehow he could afford to visit with shocking regularity.
Even when he was so broke he could barely afford the cheapest of liquors.
Betty had heard the stories, of course, about how he hounded Tab (real name Tabbitha, but she would literally kick your ass if you called her it) the time she'd been sentenced to work the brothel's front desk. He'd been by every day, or so the story went, sometimes twice or more, each time telling her exactly what he would do to her when she screwed up again and was sent to the back rooms.
In lurid detail.
For years, Tab had been a terror and a psycho, but after that week she had gone as straight and narrow as anyone ever. Gone was the drinking and the fighting, and her posse of delinquents had been forced to shape up or get ditched. It had been a welcome relief to Betty, who had never been on good terms with the nasty bully, but it was impossible to ignore that haunted look in her eye.
"I don't think that's entirely fair," the administrator said, "Thirty seven is hardly that old, though I'll admit he wears his years poorly. Hard living and substance abuse have taken their toll, alas. But to answer your other question, Mr Ronald Simmons has been quite useful in corroborating our own records. Records involving a certain copy shop."
"Bull shit!" she said, "We made sure to-"
Betty shut up, but it was too late.
Stupid! If they had the proof, then Old Pervy Ron wouldn't be here waiting to testify, he'd have simply done it and gone back to his usual pastime of ogling schoolgirls.
"You used forged copy cards, yes," he said. "Quite ingeniously done, I'll admit, but forged or not they still left a timestamp in our system. It was simply a matter of finding someone who could identify who might have used the shop during that timespan. Your timing was clever, sneaking in when the shop was momentarily unattended, but futile, in the end. It always is."
"Every word in that booklet was true," she said quietly, "You know that, don't you. The sort of people you are working for."
"Oh, absolutely," he said. "Every system has a certain degree of wastage and inefficiency, that much is true, but it beats the alternative. I believe that a smart girl like you would have recognized that in time. I like to think that we might have been coworkers some day, had things gone differently."
"I would never help you."
"Perhaps," he said, "An academic point, at any rate. You
