‹ Prequel: XY Revolution
Status: Returning November 2016
XY Revolution
dix-huit
“Kevin!” I exclaim when I enter the foyer on the first floor.
The man is in a pin-stripe suit today, with a vest instead of a blazer. His tie is hot pink and there are silver bracelets on his wrists.
“Aw, it’s so nice to see you again, darling,” he says, getting up to hug me. “What kind of shampoo are you using at the moment?”
There’s a scowl on his face, almost ruining the effect of his silver eye-liner.
“Um, the normal kind?”
He looks like he might just hit me, the look of disgust is so bad.
“I’m going to have to talk to Naomi about this mess. How am I supposed to make you look sexy if your hair is so oily at the scalp and brittle on the damn ends?!”
I run my hands through my hair, defensively. I didn’t think anything was wrong with it; I was actually happy with it today.
“I’m a teenager,” I argue, “It’s supposed to be that way.”
“Nuh-uh. We do not accept that here. I laugh in the face of nature,” Kevin says defiantly, laughing afterwards to prove his point. “Now, let’s turn Cinderella from peasant to princess!”
I smile, remembering when my mum would read Cinderella to me when I was young – before we had to burn the book, because good things don’t happen to women.
My skin is now perfectly bronzed. My hair is a dark blonde with honey highlights, and my eyes have contacts in them filled with my prescription and a turquoise blue colour. I look nothing like myself, and I can’t even touch my scars to remember who I am. They’ve been filled with a paste which will last a whole week, if it’s not removed by Kevin prior to that.
All that vaguely reminds me of my usual self is my small nose and dark, surly eyebrows. Even those have been plucked into orderly lines though.
“You truly are a miracle-worker, Kevin,” a stern voice states.
I turn to see Henriette leaning against the doorway in a fashion I didn’t think possible for a woman who looks so proper. Kevin actually bows to her.
“Thank you, ma’am. I do try. She really was a blank canvas. I’ve never seen so much white in my life!”
I’m suddenly self-conscious about my pale skin and almost unnatural hair, which is in fact hereditary. Fortunately, I’m so brown at the moment I don’t think I could blush if I wanted to.
“You’ve done wonderfully, truly. Your reward, if all of this does indeed go well, will be exactly what you’ve been wanting. Derek too, I believe.”
Kevin’s jaw actually drops and his eyes start to twinkle. I’ve never seen a prettier man in my life than Kevin right now. He is actually glowing.
“Our wedding?” he manages to choke out dramatically, with his hand on his chest.
“It’s about time, I think. We could all use something uplifting, for morale,” Henriette says kindly, but I can’t tell whether it’s genuine or not.
Of course, rewards must coincide with the wills of the Resistance to be possible. I try not to be too bitter about that though. The Resistance runs on the spoils of raids and carefully organised shipments of supplies through trusted companies. Living beyond means isn’t practical or conducive to the purpose.
“Have you briefed Freya on taking care of her appearance and ensuring certain…mannerisms?” she asks.
Kevin nods frantically.
“Yes, we did get there in the end. She was very reluctant with the flirting though.”
I can hear the disappointment in his voice but I lock my jaw defiantly.
“Give the girl a break, Kevin. She’s only fifteen, and courtship is not what it used to be,” Henriette says with a cool fury in her tone.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“You’re dismissed.”
Kevin brushes down his waistcoat, bows to Henriette before wishing me good luck, and then leaves. It hits me like a ton of bricks, realising that I’m in a small room, alone with the leader of the Resistance; the most powerful woman in the world.
She asks me the most surprising question though, “Are you okay?”
“Oh, um, yeah. I’m a bit nervous I suppose,” I stammer.
“I’m sorry we have you out in the field so soon, Freya, without proper training. It’s really our only option though. We need that sniper angle, and Pierre was in rapture after your demonstration. No other woman here is young enough with that particular skill.”
“I understand,” I say, feeling colour somehow rush to my cheeks with the compliment.
“Travis will be with you almost 24/7 though, and he is the best.”
“I know,” I admit. “I just want to apologise for the way I acted yesterday-”
Henriette puts her hand up, stopping me.
“Don’t worry about it. Phil should’ve been able to fight off a fifteen year old girl. He’s got two years and at least thirty pounds on you.”
I feel my jaw drop just like Kevin’s and Henriette laughs. Laughs.
“What did you think? That you were the only agent to ever get carried away? You should’ve seen Travis in his first few weeks. He slept with a knife under his pillow and threatened me in a meeting. It took four people to bring him down.”
I smirk. No wonder he softened so quickly afterwards.
“I’m not condoning your behaviour in the slightest, but these things do happen. However,” her voice turns very serious all of a sudden, “If you lose control on the field, and if you compromise the mission, or get anyone killed, you don’t even want to begin to imagine the punishment I’d have in store for you. Understood?”
The goose bumps on my arms understand perfectly. I nod.
“Excellent,” she says. “Now, good luck. I’m sure you’ll do us proud.”
And with that, she departs, leaving me with a dumbstruck look on my face.
Breakfast does not stay down the next morning. It was sent to my room so there wouldn’t be such a rush around base, waking up everyone with the back-and-forth of agents trying to prepare for a sensitive mission. Fortunately, the meal also came with a bucket. They must be used to first-timers here. I wonder how many of them don’t come back.
My instructions also come with breakfast; go to the room Kevin prepped me in yesterday, meet with the others to go over back-story and be briefed in detail. Once my stomach is settled, I make sure my mouth is wiped, and take one wistful look out my window and leave. I don’t even know when I’m supposed to return here.
I’m the first one in the room, and that’s a good thing considering I’m supposed to change into a tiny little skirt, with underwear so tiny it looks like it could damage my butt, and a shimmery silver top which reveals more skin than I’m comfortable with. I don’t have the scars to worry about, but that makes me feel worse. My scars are my medals of honour; they prove that I’m a fighter; they show that I rebelled and I survived; they make me who I am. I understand completely how miserable Travis looked when he was told he’d have to cover his up.
Kevin taught me how to walk in stiletto heels, so it’s no surprise that I’m wearing a pair of the lethal weapons. I mean this of course that they’re a death trap for the occasionally clumsy teenager still trying to get used to her adolescent body, and that if I click the heels together, blades stick out the backs.
The make-up is supposed to last a week as well, so the black around my eyes and on my lashes is still in the perfect way Kevin left it. The contacts need eye-drops twice a day, so I can wear them full time, but otherwise, it’s just my hair I have to worry about. As it is, it’s easy to pull back into the sleek bun Kevin taught me.
When the men enter, they take a good moment to just look me over. Derek actually whistles.
“I know this is extremely inappropriate, but you’d turn me straight,” he announces.
Xander bursts out laughing at that.
“I look like one of the Female Ideals, without the cooking abilities,” I say.
The Female Ideals were a product of the FabDoll Corporation, which has many shares in Hollywood, but in turn their majority shareholder is none other than the UN. With the XY Regime, it was out with dolls, television and movies that depicted women wearing pants and having ‘male’ careers, and in with unattainable expectations of women’s appearances, abilities to do everything perfectly around the house, and of course, satisfy their man in every way possible.
A Female Ideal is a doll for young girls with tanned, perfect skin, blue or green eyes, dark or blonde hair, big boobs and butt, tiny waist and skinny legs. A Female Ideal is always dressed in stiletto heels and clothing which reveals too much skin, and sometimes, things you’d rather not see.
Designed by men, and marketed to young girls to brainwash them, the Female Ideals are the way of the future for the XY Regime. They’re already doing so well turning women against each other though. I can just picture Sarah and Mum, doing their ‘womanly’ duties around the house, obeying everything authorities say, and scorning other women who don’t put up with being objectified and treated like less than a human.
But Mum and Sarah are living with Gran now. I know she’ll make them see sense. They are just scared after all, right?
“You do,” Travis agrees with a tone of disgust. “And I look like the epitome of the modern man.”
He’s dressed in a suit, and with his hair colour so ordinary and slicked back, and the scars gone, he is handsome, strong, and sophisticated; everything a man is supposed to be.
“Well at least we’re not alone.”
“Sorry, Trav, but I’ve got her booked for the week,” Xander says, putting his arm around my waist and planting a kiss on my cheek.
Having seen him with Priyanka yesterday, the actions don’t make me uncomfortable, but rather make me laugh.
“Do you want to be briefed or should we just go?” Travis asks impatiently.
“Brief away,” Xander tells him, cheerily.
Travis actually rolls his eyes before starting, “We will arrive at approximately 1000 hours, on UN security building A, to the left of the main building. From there, we will be screened for weapons and the like. Or rather, you and Freya will be.”
He then turns to me and says, “You will be without weapons until we are in the room on the thirty-fifth floor. You do have the knives in your heels, but you shouldn’t need to use them.”
“Won’t they register with the screening?” I ask with a frown.
“No, they’ve been insulated by our technicians. How else would we be able to send assassins into heavily guarded, security conscious XY organisations?
“At 1400 hours, we will be meeting with Xander’s father, Mr Michaels. Freya, he is the head of security at the UN. Derek and I will undoubtedly be made to wait outside his office. Xander will make the apology and introduce Freya, who will…um, charm Mr Michaels.”
“Don’t worry, Freya. As far as old men go, my father’s pretty easy on the eyes. Good looks run in the family,” Xander tells me with a wink.
That information doesn’t make the prospect any easier to deal with.
“As I was saying…now you’ll be eating dinner with Mr Michaels that evening, assuming he accepts Xander’s apology.”
“That’s a sure bet.”
“Let’s hope so for all our sakes, Xander,” Travis snaps. “Freya, you will keep the table entertained the best you can. Derek will be analysing the security on Mr Michaels’ office to send back to Intelligence here. This must be completed before 2300 hours. Mr Michaels will return at 2315 sharp for a scotch and phone-call to one of the King or Queen pieces, with a run-down of the day.”
“Is that it?” I ask, sceptical.
“No. I’ll fill you in on the rest of the schedule when today is done. The less you know, the better, in case you are captured and tortured.”
“Oh wow, that’s something I wasn’t worrying about before. Cheers.”
“We have no time for sarcasm, Agent Belmont.”
Agent Belmont?
“All clear?” Travis asks and we each nod in turn. “Good. Now let’s go.”
The man is in a pin-stripe suit today, with a vest instead of a blazer. His tie is hot pink and there are silver bracelets on his wrists.
“Aw, it’s so nice to see you again, darling,” he says, getting up to hug me. “What kind of shampoo are you using at the moment?”
There’s a scowl on his face, almost ruining the effect of his silver eye-liner.
“Um, the normal kind?”
He looks like he might just hit me, the look of disgust is so bad.
“I’m going to have to talk to Naomi about this mess. How am I supposed to make you look sexy if your hair is so oily at the scalp and brittle on the damn ends?!”
I run my hands through my hair, defensively. I didn’t think anything was wrong with it; I was actually happy with it today.
“I’m a teenager,” I argue, “It’s supposed to be that way.”
“Nuh-uh. We do not accept that here. I laugh in the face of nature,” Kevin says defiantly, laughing afterwards to prove his point. “Now, let’s turn Cinderella from peasant to princess!”
I smile, remembering when my mum would read Cinderella to me when I was young – before we had to burn the book, because good things don’t happen to women.
My skin is now perfectly bronzed. My hair is a dark blonde with honey highlights, and my eyes have contacts in them filled with my prescription and a turquoise blue colour. I look nothing like myself, and I can’t even touch my scars to remember who I am. They’ve been filled with a paste which will last a whole week, if it’s not removed by Kevin prior to that.
All that vaguely reminds me of my usual self is my small nose and dark, surly eyebrows. Even those have been plucked into orderly lines though.
“You truly are a miracle-worker, Kevin,” a stern voice states.
I turn to see Henriette leaning against the doorway in a fashion I didn’t think possible for a woman who looks so proper. Kevin actually bows to her.
“Thank you, ma’am. I do try. She really was a blank canvas. I’ve never seen so much white in my life!”
I’m suddenly self-conscious about my pale skin and almost unnatural hair, which is in fact hereditary. Fortunately, I’m so brown at the moment I don’t think I could blush if I wanted to.
“You’ve done wonderfully, truly. Your reward, if all of this does indeed go well, will be exactly what you’ve been wanting. Derek too, I believe.”
Kevin’s jaw actually drops and his eyes start to twinkle. I’ve never seen a prettier man in my life than Kevin right now. He is actually glowing.
“Our wedding?” he manages to choke out dramatically, with his hand on his chest.
“It’s about time, I think. We could all use something uplifting, for morale,” Henriette says kindly, but I can’t tell whether it’s genuine or not.
Of course, rewards must coincide with the wills of the Resistance to be possible. I try not to be too bitter about that though. The Resistance runs on the spoils of raids and carefully organised shipments of supplies through trusted companies. Living beyond means isn’t practical or conducive to the purpose.
“Have you briefed Freya on taking care of her appearance and ensuring certain…mannerisms?” she asks.
Kevin nods frantically.
“Yes, we did get there in the end. She was very reluctant with the flirting though.”
I can hear the disappointment in his voice but I lock my jaw defiantly.
“Give the girl a break, Kevin. She’s only fifteen, and courtship is not what it used to be,” Henriette says with a cool fury in her tone.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“You’re dismissed.”
Kevin brushes down his waistcoat, bows to Henriette before wishing me good luck, and then leaves. It hits me like a ton of bricks, realising that I’m in a small room, alone with the leader of the Resistance; the most powerful woman in the world.
She asks me the most surprising question though, “Are you okay?”
“Oh, um, yeah. I’m a bit nervous I suppose,” I stammer.
“I’m sorry we have you out in the field so soon, Freya, without proper training. It’s really our only option though. We need that sniper angle, and Pierre was in rapture after your demonstration. No other woman here is young enough with that particular skill.”
“I understand,” I say, feeling colour somehow rush to my cheeks with the compliment.
“Travis will be with you almost 24/7 though, and he is the best.”
“I know,” I admit. “I just want to apologise for the way I acted yesterday-”
Henriette puts her hand up, stopping me.
“Don’t worry about it. Phil should’ve been able to fight off a fifteen year old girl. He’s got two years and at least thirty pounds on you.”
I feel my jaw drop just like Kevin’s and Henriette laughs. Laughs.
“What did you think? That you were the only agent to ever get carried away? You should’ve seen Travis in his first few weeks. He slept with a knife under his pillow and threatened me in a meeting. It took four people to bring him down.”
I smirk. No wonder he softened so quickly afterwards.
“I’m not condoning your behaviour in the slightest, but these things do happen. However,” her voice turns very serious all of a sudden, “If you lose control on the field, and if you compromise the mission, or get anyone killed, you don’t even want to begin to imagine the punishment I’d have in store for you. Understood?”
The goose bumps on my arms understand perfectly. I nod.
“Excellent,” she says. “Now, good luck. I’m sure you’ll do us proud.”
And with that, she departs, leaving me with a dumbstruck look on my face.
Breakfast does not stay down the next morning. It was sent to my room so there wouldn’t be such a rush around base, waking up everyone with the back-and-forth of agents trying to prepare for a sensitive mission. Fortunately, the meal also came with a bucket. They must be used to first-timers here. I wonder how many of them don’t come back.
My instructions also come with breakfast; go to the room Kevin prepped me in yesterday, meet with the others to go over back-story and be briefed in detail. Once my stomach is settled, I make sure my mouth is wiped, and take one wistful look out my window and leave. I don’t even know when I’m supposed to return here.
I’m the first one in the room, and that’s a good thing considering I’m supposed to change into a tiny little skirt, with underwear so tiny it looks like it could damage my butt, and a shimmery silver top which reveals more skin than I’m comfortable with. I don’t have the scars to worry about, but that makes me feel worse. My scars are my medals of honour; they prove that I’m a fighter; they show that I rebelled and I survived; they make me who I am. I understand completely how miserable Travis looked when he was told he’d have to cover his up.
Kevin taught me how to walk in stiletto heels, so it’s no surprise that I’m wearing a pair of the lethal weapons. I mean this of course that they’re a death trap for the occasionally clumsy teenager still trying to get used to her adolescent body, and that if I click the heels together, blades stick out the backs.
The make-up is supposed to last a week as well, so the black around my eyes and on my lashes is still in the perfect way Kevin left it. The contacts need eye-drops twice a day, so I can wear them full time, but otherwise, it’s just my hair I have to worry about. As it is, it’s easy to pull back into the sleek bun Kevin taught me.
When the men enter, they take a good moment to just look me over. Derek actually whistles.
“I know this is extremely inappropriate, but you’d turn me straight,” he announces.
Xander bursts out laughing at that.
“I look like one of the Female Ideals, without the cooking abilities,” I say.
The Female Ideals were a product of the FabDoll Corporation, which has many shares in Hollywood, but in turn their majority shareholder is none other than the UN. With the XY Regime, it was out with dolls, television and movies that depicted women wearing pants and having ‘male’ careers, and in with unattainable expectations of women’s appearances, abilities to do everything perfectly around the house, and of course, satisfy their man in every way possible.
A Female Ideal is a doll for young girls with tanned, perfect skin, blue or green eyes, dark or blonde hair, big boobs and butt, tiny waist and skinny legs. A Female Ideal is always dressed in stiletto heels and clothing which reveals too much skin, and sometimes, things you’d rather not see.
Designed by men, and marketed to young girls to brainwash them, the Female Ideals are the way of the future for the XY Regime. They’re already doing so well turning women against each other though. I can just picture Sarah and Mum, doing their ‘womanly’ duties around the house, obeying everything authorities say, and scorning other women who don’t put up with being objectified and treated like less than a human.
But Mum and Sarah are living with Gran now. I know she’ll make them see sense. They are just scared after all, right?
“You do,” Travis agrees with a tone of disgust. “And I look like the epitome of the modern man.”
He’s dressed in a suit, and with his hair colour so ordinary and slicked back, and the scars gone, he is handsome, strong, and sophisticated; everything a man is supposed to be.
“Well at least we’re not alone.”
“Sorry, Trav, but I’ve got her booked for the week,” Xander says, putting his arm around my waist and planting a kiss on my cheek.
Having seen him with Priyanka yesterday, the actions don’t make me uncomfortable, but rather make me laugh.
“Do you want to be briefed or should we just go?” Travis asks impatiently.
“Brief away,” Xander tells him, cheerily.
Travis actually rolls his eyes before starting, “We will arrive at approximately 1000 hours, on UN security building A, to the left of the main building. From there, we will be screened for weapons and the like. Or rather, you and Freya will be.”
He then turns to me and says, “You will be without weapons until we are in the room on the thirty-fifth floor. You do have the knives in your heels, but you shouldn’t need to use them.”
“Won’t they register with the screening?” I ask with a frown.
“No, they’ve been insulated by our technicians. How else would we be able to send assassins into heavily guarded, security conscious XY organisations?
“At 1400 hours, we will be meeting with Xander’s father, Mr Michaels. Freya, he is the head of security at the UN. Derek and I will undoubtedly be made to wait outside his office. Xander will make the apology and introduce Freya, who will…um, charm Mr Michaels.”
“Don’t worry, Freya. As far as old men go, my father’s pretty easy on the eyes. Good looks run in the family,” Xander tells me with a wink.
That information doesn’t make the prospect any easier to deal with.
“As I was saying…now you’ll be eating dinner with Mr Michaels that evening, assuming he accepts Xander’s apology.”
“That’s a sure bet.”
“Let’s hope so for all our sakes, Xander,” Travis snaps. “Freya, you will keep the table entertained the best you can. Derek will be analysing the security on Mr Michaels’ office to send back to Intelligence here. This must be completed before 2300 hours. Mr Michaels will return at 2315 sharp for a scotch and phone-call to one of the King or Queen pieces, with a run-down of the day.”
“Is that it?” I ask, sceptical.
“No. I’ll fill you in on the rest of the schedule when today is done. The less you know, the better, in case you are captured and tortured.”
“Oh wow, that’s something I wasn’t worrying about before. Cheers.”
“We have no time for sarcasm, Agent Belmont.”
Agent Belmont?
“All clear?” Travis asks and we each nod in turn. “Good. Now let’s go.”