Pandora's Tale: the novelization

Last year, while I was working on the first chapter of Pandora's Tale, I wanted some feedback on the story. As it happens, I attend an open mic which is great for providing feedback. Unfortunately, comics aren't the most open mic-friendly medium. So long story short, I ended up writing a prose version of the first two chapters.

These were written fairly quickly, and my priority was explaining the story over writing amazing prose, so they're not as polished as they could be. That said, people liked them. I'm actually planning on adapting them into an audio version eventually, but in the meantime, would you like to read the first scene?

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There wasn't much to do in the maturation bay. Featureless white and gray walls stretched to the ceiling high above, and the only things to truly catch the eye were the regularly spaced signs and monitor screens, displaying messages like “Excellence”, “Dedication”, “Obedience”, “Serve with Pride” and “Happiness Through Servitude” in a bold, friendly looking typeface. The typeface was important. There had been studies. Indoctrination was so much easier with a nice font, something that so many authoritarian regimes of the past had failed to appreciate.

The vast majority of the bay's occupants were Helpers. Helpers were mostly human. The precise extent to which they were human was closely guarded by the company. The Helper genome was the secret sauce that kept them in business, after all. Helpers were a little shorter than the average human, and matured more quickly, but the features that most set them apart from humans were their large, catlike ears, and long, fluffy, prehensile tails.

Many of the Helpers in the chamber were napping – they were part cat, after all. Others sat in small groups and watched the giant monitor screens as they switched between inspirational, “do your best” style messages and reminders that Helpers existed to serve. Nobody really enjoyed this, but there wasn't much else to do. Sometimes, a few particularly energetic Helpers would take turns chasing each other around the bay, howling with laughter as they ran and pounced. This sort of behavior was strictly against the rules, of course, but realistically there was little the Overseers could to to stop them.

Overseers were the human attendants who tracked the development of the Helpers, ensuring that all Helpers in a batch met company standards for education, appearance, obedience and so on. A few Overseers could be seen throughout the bay, their navy blue uniforms standing out easily against the simple pink-colored dresses worn by the Helpers in the girls' section.

An Overseer approached a trio of Helpers, as they sat and chatted, and looked them over carefully. All three would hopefully be ready for sale soon. Hopefully. The one in the middle – the one with the striking, fuchsia hair - was, unfortunately, becoming a problem.

“Number 6165,” the Overseer said, standing over the group. “I've been looking for you.”

The middle girl looked up, wide eyed and curious. The Overseer frowned back, her eyes hidden by the reflective lenses of her glasses.

“You belong in the boys' section,” she continued. “Wouldn't you rather be with the other boys?”

Number 6165 smiled back serenely. “No!” she answered.

The Overseer hmmed to herself. She'd been expecting this. This behavior wasn't new.

“Last time I talked to you, you said you felt like you might be a girl. Has that changed?”

“Yes!” 6165 replied. The Overseer felt a pang of relief.

“Now I'm sure I'm a girl!” 6165 clarified cheerfully. The Overseer's good mood evaporated.

“Well, that's... inconvenient,” she said, crouching down to the Helper's level, and holding out her hand.

“Come with me.”

The Overseer led her charge through the maturation bay. A tall woman, she appeared to tower over most of the Helpers. She glanced back at 6165, wondering what could have gone wrong. Whatever was happening here, it had got way out of control.

“How did your hair get so long?” she asked.

“I don't like having it cut,” came the answer.

The Overseer sighed. “The rules state all boys are to have their hair cut every month.”

6165 didn't miss a beat. “But I'm a girl!” she replied.

The Overseer groaned to herself.

“Number 6165,” the woman said, “what is the purpose of a Helper?”

6165 knew this, of course. Every Helper knew this. “The purpose of a Helper is to serve their masters with dedication and excellence. To obey their orders, anticipate their needs and make them happy.”

Okay. This was something the Overseer could work with. “And do you think your future Master will be happy with a boy that thinks he's a girl?”

6165 thought for a moment. A Master probably wouldn't like that. A consistent theme of her training had been that there were a lot of things Masters didn't like. “No...” she conceded. Not that it mattered, of course. “But I'm not a boy who thinks he's a girl. I'm a girl!”

Now the Overseer was starting to lose patience. They were going around in circles. “Number 6165,” she began icily, “do you have a penis?”

The girl looked away uncomfortably. This wasn't something she liked talking about. “Yes...” she answered, reluctantly.

“Then you're a boy,” the Overseer said. “Girls don't have penises.”

“But I... um...” 6165 stammered, trying to form a counter argument. This really didn't seem fair.

“We'll get you analyzed and see if we can do something about these delusions,” the Overseer continued.

6165 looked up at her. Those words were concerning. “Am I broken?” she asked.

“Yes,” the Overseer said, matter of factly. 6165's expression changed from concern to devastation.

“But don't worry,” the woman continued. “We'll find a way to fix this.”