Death Stone ch.8

The stadium is enormous, twice the size of what Harry remembered. Regular attendance at Quidditch matches is mandatory by both law and custom—and ticket prices are higher than ever. Million-point gates are considered unprofitable, and if they occur, Fleur fines the government until she earns an appropriate payout.

This is the new world, a world created by Harry’s wishes. His wife is the authoritarian ruler of beauty queens, and while the law requires everyone to say they love her this way, most of them genuinely love her because she is so unstoppable and incredibly hot.

The stadium has its private offices in a tall glass skyscraper attached to the front of the building. It swarms with security guards, mostly women, equipped with heavy weaponry. They wear blood-red leather jumpsuits and dark sunglasses, constantly checking their perimeter. Thigh-high stiletto boots complete their look. Each one appears cold as ice, but when they see Harry, they freeze and let out long, desirous moans. He intuitively knows that Fleur has hired only virgins for her personal entourage and that each of them lives in barracks, spending hours every day training their bodies to physical perfection. They are tall, slim, well-muscled, and oozing sex appeal.

Harry is still trying to comprehend the extent of Fleur’s newfound control over the world. The best he can do is imagine a cult, but one that rules everything and obsessively strives for women’s physical perfection and desires male purity.

The office space itself is spartan and cool—white marble tiles that provide a sharp clack for the sound of many women’s heels walking around. The walls are adorned with monochromatic modern art. The reception area looks almost like a cathedral, surrounded by golden statues of women with perfect bodies and faces similar to Fleur’s, floating joyfully in a sea of fire. Everywhere Harry looks, women walk in high heels and short skirts or mini dresses, hurrying purposefully yet gracefully to complete their tasks. All slow dramatically when they see him, Fleur, and Gabrielle, sending them looks of desperate need and obedience.

Above, there’s a massive series of screens, one rectangle for each floor of the glass tower. It appears that all the offices revolve around them, so every desk must face them. The displayed images primarily feature Fleur, then Gabrielle, then Fleur and Gabrielle together, and finally the rest of the cheerleaders. Alongside the pictures are insane, arrogant, crazily arrogant, and insanely arrogantly hot slogans.

A picture of Fleur staring imperiously: “I only look at you because you’re pretty enough to be looked at.”

A picture of Gabrielle and Fleur kneeling before a massive phallic statue: “Strengthen family values whenever you can.”

Gabrielle and Fleur in their uniforms, bathed in bright light, while the rest of the team is shown in shadow: “Leadership means foremost obedience to superiors.”

Then it shifts to video. His heart races immediately; it’s Fleur in a light blue dress, performing one of those corporate internal ads telling you how wonderful it is to be part of the company. We see her in the office, on the beach, in the mountains, and in a deciduous forest. It’s clearly shot on location.

“This place is the most desirable place to work in the world. Did you know we employ over fifty thousand young women, hardworking enough to meet our minimum qualifications, to sift through the incredible amount of resumes and video applications we receive every day?”

Although we receive literally millions of candidates each day, he chose you. You’re so easily replaceable, but if you work hard and look as beautiful as possible, you ensure that someone else will be instead of you. You’re good enough to work here. She winks intricately. I promise! Damn.

Three clerks wait at a standing desk, staring patiently with moist lips and desire in their bright, young eyes. The desk is impeccably clear, offering him a full view of their incredible bodies. None of them can be older than nineteen, yet they wear revealing silk blouses, tiny designer skirts, diamond jewelry everywhere, and impossibly thin high heels.

“Is wearing such provocative outfits part of the dress code?” he asks.

“Oh, you mean the diamonds?” She laughs. “It’s a bonus for working here and a status symbol. They don’t have to wear diamonds, but why wouldn’t they? They’re a girl’s best friend and let everyone in their lives know that my girls are better than others.”

He hadn’t noticed it, but she was right—every woman he saw wore diamond earrings, bracelets, pendants, necklaces, anklets, waist chains… Decorated. For him. Shiny and pretty, showing themselves off as pure trophies to be plucked and collected.

“Plus,” she whispered, “they’re not even good stones. Not that they would know, of course. The flawless ones I reserve for myself, Gabrielle, and the top cheerleaders.”

And the stones come from mines owned by Fleur. Giving them out this way isn’t even an expense, just a way to get rid of excess inventory.

“No,” he shook his head. “I mean… heels. Skirts. Tiny dresses. Cleavage…” Fleur laughs. “Oh, darling. How else would women dress?”

His brain expands at this moment, this new reality Fleur dreamed up finally starting to hit home. Their wardrobe and Fleur’s comment trigger a flood of images in his mind about how Fleur, owning controlling shares in global media corporations, has shaped public perceptions of femininity and masculinity.

Gorgeous, model-worthy newscasters with perfectly styled hair and cleavage on display, always shamelessly and convincingly blaming every societal problem on the poor, the ugly, and the feeble so-called men of today. That’s how they put it.

Every sitcom, talk show, award-winning drama, and blockbuster film fills the minds of the young and old with the significance of feminine looks, submissiveness to truly masculine men, and endless fitness and beauty regimens.

One of the most popular TV shows is Fitness for Murder, an hour-long crime series where the detective is a fitness model. All the victims are invariably young, innocent, stunningly beautiful young women, cruelly murdered by jealous, ugly, often overweight, and scarred women.

The heroine of the series, a dynamic redhead who has been a model under Fleur’s guidance for years, spends about thirty minutes working out in various environments with close-ups of her butt, breasts, and other parts of her sweaty body, before putting on a hot, tight outfit (another ten minutes), heading to the police station, and accusing the ugliest woman in the room.

She’s always right because even if the accused is innocent of that particular crime, it comes to light that she’s guilty of another, often more heinous one. She has a deeply involved relationship with her boyfriend, then fiancé, then husband, who is never shown on camera—just a shadowy figure to whom she devotes a few minutes per episode, pledging her undying erotic loyalty. They have sweet problems like her not finding the girl he wants for a threesome hot enough for his incredible cock, or an ugly girl moving in next door, so the heroine has to frame her for murder to keep her man from being exposed to her dirty face.
It is also worth noting that most of the perpetrators are not even that fat or ugly, if at all – their normal, lackluster appearance is mocked as being close to shocking or monstrous, and their weight exceeding one hundred twenty-five pounds is viewed as extremely hedonistic. 

This is just one example, but there are dozens of similar series where the protagonists are marvelous heroines hunting ordinary Jane women for the crime – essentially for not being sexy enough. And this doesn't even count the talk shows, news programs, and sitcoms that carry the same hot, biased message. Sitcoms regularly depict beautiful women in the dating world, somehow trying to find the “perfect” man – whose description somehow fits him perfectly – and belittling all the normal men they find as fat, slovenly, lazy, weak, effeminate, rude, boring, and stupid.

Utilities and housing are free for women living alone or without men in many parts of the country, as is education in dozens of Fleur-owned colleges and universities (where, of course, all the country’s leaders come from). 

Naturally, Fleur also deliberately sabotages all countercultural messages by using shadow corporations to fund media promoting body positivity and gender equality. Then she hires awful and disliked actors, employs terrible writers, and distributes poorly conducted media campaigns, followed by bombarding them with spam reviews funded by think tanks so that the popular concept is that the movement is both unsustainable and unwanted. She then completely ignores the body positivity movement’s efforts in Fleur-owned mainstream media (which is all of it).

Meanwhile, her news services run programs for both sides – those who strongly believe that women should be flawless, fertile, and submissive, and those who believe that women should be docile, magnificent, and completely fit. Of course, both sides are argued by absolutely beautiful, impossibly well-groomed, luxuriously dressed women in ultra-high resolution.

It is notable that amidst this polarization, there is a very strong and unspoken belief that the “men” available in the world are completely worthless. All the promises, desires, and rhetoric around submission and subordination refer only to the Perfect Man, a philosophical ideal, a religious figure, and a patriarchal ruler in one. And yet, like all societies, it creates its own unstoppable force of inertia through a fundamental contradiction.

Although it is an entirely matriarchal society, with available men being little more than slaves (most new births are genetically engineered from scratch without the use of a single “devolved” man in the process), the entire matriarchy is clearly waiting, on hands and knees (quite literally, in their churches), for one man. The Perfect Man. Him.

The two sides of the aisle constantly debate and completely control the congress. There is no House of Representatives – it was abolished since the populace is too busy ensuring they are physically perfect, and senators are appointed for life by the nomination of the Council of Supreme Enterprises. You can guess who runs it.

Somehow, despite the loud disputes of both parties over funding public education or creating a clear legal system for workers, there is always enough money to completely subsidize nearly all of Fleur's companies without a single argument and to fund wars to entirely exterminate the industrial and military potential of male-friendly countries. There are a few countries that have been literally bombed back to the Stone Age, with massive walls built on their borders to keep them in until they “learn their lesson.”