It's Really Happening

Jay continued to kick and scream as they wrangled her downstairs. This couldn't be happening, this was insane, these people were monsters! She did the best she could to try and escape, but they had three men handling her, keeping her compliant as they made their way through the grey nondescript corridors. They moved past cell after cell after cell, with Jay's mind broiling with emotions; fear, confusion, anger, hatred. That fucking Tony! She would kill him! They wanted a crime? She'd give them a crime!

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached their destination: one of the cells. Inside it was a table and two chairs on either side. On the far side of the table sat a woman with an almost featureless appearance. Like God had decided there was nothing to see here when she'd been created. She was holding a clipboard and a pen. Jay gulped as the guards seated her down opposite the woman. One guard then remained in the room, while the other two left. This was really happening, wasn't it, Jay considered tearfully.

"Ms Presswell?" the featureless woman showed her teeth in a way Jay noticed was an attempt at smiling, but instead came across as though her face muscles had been pulled back like a suction pump,

Jay just shuddered softly but didn't reply. She felt far away, like she wasn't really in the room. Her fingers tapped against the table incessantly,

"My name is Margaret," the woman continued blandly, "We have a number of questions we need to ask you before we continue onto preparation, do you understand?" This whole thing was rehearsed, she'd done this a million times before, Jay thought, "do you understand, Ms Presswell?" the woman repeated with a sharper tone,

Jay nodded silently, fingers tapping even more,

"Good. Now we appreciate that this may be a difficult time for you, but rest assured that we will help you through this transition in a relatively painless fashion..." she could not be serious Jay thought. Painless? Were they fucking kidding?

"This is insane..." Jay muttered quietly. Margaret stared at her,

"What was that, Ms Presswell?"

"This can't be happening! I didn't do anything wrong!" Jay found herself emboldened, finally finding the words to speak, "this whole thing is complete horse-shit! I've been given no legal counsel! No right to a defence! No right to an appeal, and now you're telling me my old life is over!? Just like that?"

There was a pause, "Ms Presswell..."

"Fuck you!" Jay shouted,

"Ms Presswell," the grey woman continued sternly, "Another outburst like that and I will need to have you gagged, understand?"

Jay just stared back at her, gobsmacked. So they really weren't going to listen to her at all?

"We appreciate that this may be a difficult time for you..." there it was again, totally rehearsed, Jay fumed, "... but we can confirm that yes, this is actually happening. As of your sentencing you are now the property of the state to be sold into slavery. The World Order has done away with defence counsel and appeals because they drag out the process, sometimes for years, while this system allows for quick and immediate punishment. May I remind you, Ms Presswell, that slavery is important. By becoming a **** you will become a valuable commodity in the new world system. With any luck, you may even end up like me."

Jay looked at Margaret with visible confusion,

"Yes, I am a ****," Margaret said matter of factly. She held out her wrist to show Jay the small but noticeable pill-shaped bump by her veins, "here's my tracker chip. You will be installed with one just like it soon. I was just like you once, many years ago. A dangerous criminal without purpose. Then I was sentenced to slavery and purchased by the court-house as an administrator. So you see?" she lent back, holding her arms out wide to show off their surroundings, "it's not all bad."

Jay did notice the surroundings: the cold dead walls and the cold grey woman in front of her, and understood that things were bad, if not worse, than she'd realised.

"Now, to get down to business," Margaret continued, "I'm going to ask you a series of questions and you are to answer them honestly and promptly, understand?"

Jay just stared at her again, feeling indignant as she dug her fingernails into her palms,

"I will require verbal answers from you, Ms Presswell."

"Yes..." Jay finally returned, "I do understand." Jay had never wanted to commit a crime before, but now she wanted to see this woman dead,

"Your full name please, for the record,"

"Jay Lilith Presswell." Margaret scribbled it down, then glanced up at Jay,

"Lilith is a nice name. Your mother's?"

"Grandmother's."

"Very good. And both of your parents are deceased, correct?"

"Yes." Scribble, scribble,

"Any next of kin?"

"My cousin in Gibraltar, Susan. I haven't seen her in over a decade."

"And no other family?"

"No."

"Date of birth?"

"March 6th, 2024."

"Ah the 2020s. Such a difficult time."

"I wouldn't know,"

"Of course. You were still young when the World Order took over and fixed things,"

"They didn't fix things for everyone," Jay muttered, thinking of her early life in the orphanage and her struggles growing up. Margaret ignored her,

"Place of birth?"

"I grew up in Philadelphia."

"Current home address?"

"645 Lautrec House..." Jay paused, wondering if she should give them her address. Ugh, it's not like they wouldn't find it eventually, she reckoned, "...West Street 11817."

"Very good," Margaret simpered, "an acquisitions team will be dispatched to secure your property for auction."

Jay gulped, this really was it then,

"Just so you are aware, Ms Presswell, your bank account has already been frozen. Since the state centralisation of the financial system it is incredibly simple to seize a person's bank assets."

This was not a surprise for Jay. While she herself hadn't "raided" people, as it was termed, she'd had a number of colleagues in the bank whose job it was to scrutinise and drain people's bank accounts when they became slaves. She always felt the practice was so morbid and didn't understand the thrill her colleagues felt. She always supposed it was to satisfy some kind of sick fetish. She took a deep breath, and picked at her fingernails,

"I am afraid with that in mind, Ms Presswell, I am going to need you to remove your clothing now."

This caught Jay by surprise,

"What?" she asked with cold precision. This bitch could not be serious!

"As a ****, you no longer have rights to ownership. This includes the clothes on your back."

"So what? Jay questioned, "I have to strip here, right now, in front of you?!"

"Yes."

"This is insane!" Jay gesticulated her handcuffed wrists, "I need to strip while wearing these?!"

"The guard will remove your handcuffs," Margaret replied calmly,

As the guard moved to unlock Jay's cuffs, Margaret continued,

"This should go without saying, Ms Presswell, but if you should attempt any **** against me or the guard, or should you refuse to remove your clothes, you will be disciplined severely. The clothes will be coming off with or without your cooperation. Do you understand?"

When the guard removed Jay's handcuffs, she enjoyed the freedom and rolled her wrists back and forth. Standing up, she looked at Margaret with daggers in her eyes and responded quietly, "Sure."

She took her smart jacket off first, placing it on the table. Then she looked back at the guard, who was watching her intensely,

"So what, he won't leave the room?" Jay asked,

"I'm afraid modesty is no longer a privilege for you, Ms Presswell."

Of fucking course, Jay huffed. She stood there for a moment, not wanting to continue, then relented, thinking she just needed to get it over with. She unbuttoned her neat white shirt and placed it on top of the jacket, exposing her bare skin to the unpleasant air of the room. She felt goosebumps spread across her back. Then she took off her black flat pumps and her comfortable white socks. She hated the feeling of concrete on her now bare soles. Finally, she pulled her slim slacks down, and placed them on the top of the rest of her clothes. She sat back down in just her matching pair of white bra and panties, and felt the guard's eyes burning deep into her neck.

Margaret just sighed, "Ms Presswell. You do not own anything. Why would you assume you own your underwear?"

Jay stared at her with total contempt, "Really?!" she exclaimed, "I have to be totally naked even for this?!"

"Was that not clear?"

The way Margaret said that, like it was just the most natural thing in the world for a woman to be nude for an "interview" like this, made Jay want to retch. It was like she'd fallen into another reality. This could not be real!

Knowing if she didn't comply she'd only be making things worse for herself, Jay stood up again and unclasped her bra, holding it up in front of Margaret before she dropped it on the pile. The panties quickly followed, leaving her completely nude. Jay quickly sat down, wanting to give the guard as little of a show as possible, and held her breasts with her arms.

"Very good, Ms Presswell," the grey woman sniffed, "your clothes will be cleaned and sold on. As always with the World Order, no resource is wasted!"

Jay rolled her eyes at the repeat of the state maxim. Really, you're going to bring that up when talking about the clothes you've just ripped away from me?! She shifted a little on the chair's fabric, feeling it tickle her bare buttocks. She crossed her legs quickly,

"Now that we have that unpleasantness out of the way, we can continue," Margaret expressed, "Now, any partners?"

"No."

"No boyfriend?"

"No, I've never had the time."

"Really? Margaret raised an eyebrow, "a good-looking woman like you?"

Jay squirmed, feeling her face turn increasingly red,

"No boyfriend," she repeated curtly,

"Very good. Any allergies?"

"No."

"Dietary requirement?" What, because my "owner" will give a shit about my preferences, Jay raged,

"No."

"Any mental health issues? Have you attended therapy sessions?"

What, for this? Jay wanted to say. Or what about my years growing up raised first by a fucked up orphanage then later being brought up by a World Order-sponsored "institution"?!

"No," was all she said in reply,

"Exercise regime?"

Jay sighed, "I went jogging every morning, but I didn't have a gym membership or anything like that."

"Understood. Sexual preference?"

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Straight."

"Any kind of sexual abnormalities?"

"What?"

"Fetishes."

"You've got to be kidding."

"I am not."

"No, no fetishes that I'm aware of." Jay replied, flushed and indignant,

"Very good. Some clients are interested to know these things," was all Margaret said by way of explanation. "Right!" she put her pen down, "that is everything from my end. The guard will now take you to medical for a full body examination. Again I would suggest you be entirely cooperative, Ms Presswell," she said, looking at Jay's rebellious expression, "once we've determined that you are healthy, you will be prepared for auction."

Margaret stood up, and motioned for Jay to stand as well. Jay covered her crotch as well, feeling her embarrassment at being naked with this woman become all-encompassing,

"Thank you for your cooperation, Ms Presswell. And I wish you the best of luck on your purchase."