Conform or Suffer

Chapter 7 Workhouse

One Year Later, November, 3:00 a.m.

*

Quig examined his new ID card. Cannot marry other elites scrawled across the top. He shoved a half-torn letter into his cup holder.

*

Dear Quig,

I don't care what the law says! We only pay full elites. We'll continue to publish you, but you shouldn't expect another check from Moth Kingdom Press.

*

Quig started his station wagon. He gagged as he drove past a giant billboard of Zill standing on the beach in a swimsuit. Recall the prime minister: An economy built on workhouse labor won't survive. How dare the government call her ugly?

"Not ugly, but horrid, simply horrid," he said to himself.

Another billboard wobbled in the wind. His vehicle idled at a stoplight, and he stared at the mock painting of his sister, Ida, with white wings, wearing her wedding dress. A cloud covered her face, and lightning bolts were drawn in for no reason. Underneath her feet was the typed message. Muted green highlights, regular women's beauty. Do not dress like this woman.

He turned left at another billboard.

America's social media platforms and broadcasts taught us our language, social, and beauty customs. Video blogs used to teach the truth that female beauty and avoiding having opinions are important. Ugly women and weak or offensive men embarrass the kingdom. Sadly, Earth has moved away from cancel and beauty culture.

*

Partial sounds of the radio crackled. "This is a warning..." The signal faded back into nothingness.

Neon signs flickered in pulsating bursts. Workhouse Number 15 for Ugly or Unacceptable Women, Reject Men, and Criminals.

Quig drove into the workhouse loading lot, waiting for a guard to let him through after flashing his broken elite identity badge.

Twisted barbed wire fences surrounded the seven-story cement and steel buildings.

Chained women and men dressed in faded workhouse uniforms moved in and out of semi-trucks.

Guards surrounded them with laser shotguns. Cheaply gloved hands dug into raised farm beds and frantically gathered their dying harvest.

The regular workhouse population wore muted green except for a dozen prisoners dressed in shades of harsh red.

Chains wrapped around their ankles.

A male prisoner bolted from the group, his green uniform snagged on the fencing before being pulled down.

"We have another crimson!" A guard ran after him.

Others joined in, and the prisoner was dragged back by three guards.

"Place him in solitary and give him a new wardrobe," the lead guard said.

Shipping trucks with muddied snow tires loaded manufactured goods in brown packaging.

Quig scanned for his sister, but he didn't catch a glimpse of Ida.

"Seven of you will be chosen next week to fight for your lives in a beauty contest, but you'll have the opportunity to marry a broken elite," Vex said to a small group.

"As long as he bathes and has a job, I'm all in," a man said.

Guards walked over to examine Quig's station wagon. They slid his care packages into the wooden donation box.

He drove away, cutting through an empty bookstore parking lot to pick up speed.

The lights from the other cottages and the Kindness Rebel headquarters kept the neighborhood bright to spite the darkening clouds.

His vehicle stopped in front of a cottage. He leaped out and fumbled for a brass moth-shaped key.

Pixie wings stuck through the slits in his suit jacket, one twisted and shorter.

Quig glanced up and stuffed the key back into his pocket.

Gray, full dragon shifters circled above him. These were not the humanoids that drove cars and lived in houses, but enormous fire-breathing beasts still flew occasionally in the sky, but away from spaceships and The Moth Kingdom citizens underneath.

"Why would they circle in a storm?" Quig asked himself.

Sentient life forms on the planet derived from this common ancestor and the humans.

Dragon shifter's science, magic, and genetic modifications eventually became the people of the planet.

But Vex learned his ancestors' secrets and programmed the population like they were mere computer simulations. He used his stolen magic to stay young and control beauty.

The kingdom's multiple births had side effects, but they gave Vex more labor for his workhouse.

He stole more.

Still furious that criminal shifters like Vex and Zill sold their power of being reborn that they harvested from the sea, but their attempts to incinerate them always failed.

Shells, sands, and seaweed formed into a powerful magic. The dragons called it their 'magical science' because it was not fully one or the other.

One of the dragons struggled to land in the bitter wind, and she sat next to Quig. She transformed into a humanoid dressed in a simple fur robe.

Her arms were heavily scarred from badge removal. "Stanton wants your niece for a trade, but I don't know for whom. He thinks Dot borrowed your car and is heading to Avery-Joy's. I informed him you're staying in my tent village, so he won't look for you at your apartment."

"It's kind of you to help me," he said. "Oh, Hempstead, I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. The wind is blurring my vision."

She flew off.

The door swung open. He collided with a wall shelf, and a knitted doll fell to the floor. Dim light from the stained-glass window shone over the handicraft as he walked into the kitchen.

Lanterns on the breakfast table lit the frosty home, and heavy quilts covered the surrounding chairs and a booster seat. Gold wastebaskets overflowed with fast-food takeout containers.

He blew warm air into his hands, and frozen particles developed. "Odin, when were you going to tell me your generators broke?"

Quig's brother-in-law fidgeted with his black blazer and gold tie as he emerged from the shadowy corners of the room. His facial features resembled a human except for his sparkling unicorn horn, unique fingers, and tail. He was a man of color. Odin tossed a suitcase to Quig. "The entire block is out. If Junior is elected Prime Minister, I'll be reunited with Ida, and I'll purchase a new generator. Take Betsy to your apartment."

"Are you coming?" Quig tugged at his brother-in-law's sleeve.

"No, I'm not. My boss asked me to cover for her secretary in the office, and I'll ride the storm out when it strikes. She has a target on her head, and if I'm killed, protect my girl."

Betsy rushed from the living room wearing a thick wool cloak over a black jumper and matching rubber boots. Her pixie wings had not yet developed because she hadn't reached puberty.

Quig grinned at his niece. "Betsy, did you grow an inch? How old are you, again? Thirteen."

"Nope, still six and short, like Dad. I'll never be tall." She held up six fingers and pointed at her frown. "My smile hurts."

"I'll fix it with cake." Quig grabbed the booster seat, her suitcase, and his niece. Darkened clouds, bleak and thick, inched closer.

Evading the tanks chasing them, he cut through three parking lots, losing his pursuers.

The wind rattled the sign overhead. Squad and workhouse board members cannot be on university grounds without a court order if they are not on the approved list.

Icy snow fell as they reached teacher housing.