Firstly, it's about time I apologized for the tediously slow addition of chapters. Just... Life, y'know?

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7

They did stop eventually. Sam could not even guess at how long they'd been travelling. Hours, surely. But he realised that in the dark, and near-silence, it was impossible to measure. The journey had been tiring: jerky; bouncy; cold and not helped at all by a growing pressure in his bladder. There had been some scuffling and muttering ahead of him which he had strained to listen to, if only out of boredom, but heard only "pissy arsehole" so wondered, not unreasonably, if someone else had been less successful at holding it. The body next to him suddenly moved and a strong hand grabbed his arm soon after, yanking him along with little consideration for the span of chain between his ankles. He almost stumbled down the two steps due to the hurry and was then, he thought, grabbed by another hand and pulled through what sounded like a heavy metal door as it slammed behind them.

 

A pause. 

 

Amongst low, echoing commotion.

 

He caught his breath, feeling sore and incredibly tense. He was shivering unconsciously. He tried, vainly, to hold the gown together over his rear, literally the only benefit he could find to having his hands fixed behind his back.

 

And then suddenly there was grabbing at his head: snipping, pulling. The binds across his face were taken, and the sack withdrawn. He blinked several times and stretched his jaw automatically. He was standing in a corridor with twenty or so other boys, all in identical gowns and shackled like he was. Some were protesting loudly; most were quiet and withdrawn. The mass began to inch forward towards a door, standing either side of which were two men. As Sam reached the front, one of them forced a hard, rubber ball gag into his mouth and buckled it behind his head. The second man stamped something firmly on his forehead and pushed him through the door.

 

Still dazed, Sam stumbled into yet another new room and was immediately overwhelmed by the sight. It was a huge, tall and rectangular room, with long, narrow windows running along one side between the wall and the ceiling. There was some kind of stage at the far end and the smooth wooden floor was overcome by a sea of blue plastic chairs. In almost every conceivable way it reminded Sam of his old school sports hall. He was at the back of a large group, filtering slowly down the wide aisle that parted the seats and snaking into the rows, behind those already occupied by earlier arrivals. Awkwardly, they each clutched their gowns and shuffled along to a seat, every last one them taking care to gather some material beneath their backside as they sat. More came behind them and the discomfort and embarrassment was tangible as dozens of semi-naked boys sat looking at their lap or their feet. Sam glanced around the room a few times and noted the burly men that lined the aisles, but couldn't see Luke anywhere. So much for looking out for him! he chastised himself. He looked at the boy immediately to his left, hoping to communicate something -- anything -- with his eyes, but the crumpled figure did not look up. Taking in the rest of the room, he guessed there were almost a hundred seats, rapidly filling up. There appeared to be small pockets of resistance flaring up, swiftly dealt with by one of the watching men -- sometimes by threatening, sometimes by violently grabbing them and shoving them back into their seat, snarling in anger, and sometimes by simply dragging or carrying them off and out the room through a door by the side of the stage. Sam did not wish to be one of those people, so contented himself with his own internal bewilderment and remained merely a passive observer. He did not, though, he was aware, feel close to tears like his immediate neighbour seemed to be.

 

Eventually the room was three-quarters filled, and the door was slammed closed. Moments later, a tall, thin man strode onto the stage and to the microphone in the centre. "Good afternoon gentleman. I am Mr. Smith, a PR Supervisor -- welcome to the programme," he said, in a flat voice without smiling. "Please watch this Induction video carefully. It will explain everything you need to know. We do not take questions at the end. Thank you." And with that he left the stage. Sam felt uneasy, but couldn't place why.

 

A large white screen descended from the ceiling above the stage, and lit up with the navy and white logo of the Government's PR Programme. Then, a young, pretty woman addressed them. "Welcome to your Induction," she beamed. "Congratulations on being selected for participation in the PR Programme. Your journey towards playing your part in saving the Earth begins here and your friends, family and countrymen all thank you for your service." Her face was replaced with a graphic of the Earth as her voice continued. "There are 64 million people in this country, a figure that is predicted to double in fifteen years. Our land simply cannot support such a boom so measures must be taken." As she spoke, little red figures began popping rapidly across the Earth until no green or blue could be seen beneath the heaving mass of graphic humanity. "Many solutions were considered and after consultation the PR Programme was agreed to be the best and most efficient. You have been enlisted to serve your country in halting the growth of the population and from this day forward will be rehabilitated in a homosexual lifestyle to minimize the burden of consistent procreation."

Anger burst out across the room as the sentence -- the word -- hung in the air, requiring the men lining the walls to intervene and again suppress or remove the disruptive few. Most, though, were silent. Sam was frozen -- trying to wrap his head around the concept. The woman's face had returned and had continued speaking. "... five-year programme in which you will acquire the necessary attributes to return to life as content homosexual. After your training, you will be fully supported by both your personal Partner and a vibrant network of other homosexuals and apprentices in the Programme," she smiled, as her head slid to the left and images flashed up of men smiling, hugging, playing football, drinking beer and playing video games together. Sam looked around. He felt sick. More and more boys had stood, suddenly not conscious of their arse bared for all to see; a few seemed to be crying; the majority were still: stunned. Heads were looking in every direction and every face wore fear. Sam was suddenly aware, once again, of every pain and ache in his body. His wrists, still bound behind his back; his shoulders; his ankles; his jaw around the hard rubber ball; a forming headache; the cold and... Yes, a very real knot in his stomach. Nerves. Confusion. Horror. He could not name it.

 

The well-dressed thin man appeared on the stage again and spoke coldly above the muffled outrage, clanking of chains and scraping of chairs that had erupted. "You will now be assigned to your Partner. Please follow instruction quickly and quietly to avoid consequence."

 

Yet more men -- guards, Sam had decided -- trooped through the door to the side of the stage and lined up in front of it. The speaker had retrieved a tablet and started reading from it. Codes. 

 

B349 was the first he called and a guard left the line, headed into the congregation and hauled a boy out, on whose forehead was stamped that very code. Sam immediately felt anxious that he did not know his code, nor could ask anyone as they each were gagged. All eyes followed the pair as they made their way to the stage, upon which another boy had appeared and stood beside the man, Mr. Smith. He was of a similar age to those in the room, and wore a similar gown. His hair was shaved and his face was sullen. The B349 boy approached Mr. Smith and the new boy, who seemed to speak a few words before taking his arm, leaving the stage and exiting through the door.

 

Sam tensed yet further. He did not want this -- to be partnered with someone in this insanity! To be spirited off into the absolute unknown, cuffed and basically naked! To be... Gay? What!? What the actual fuck!? His mind raced. Where was Luke? Was he safe? Was this happening to him? Maybe he'd be the person he'd be paired with... Surely!?! He was terrified. He felt alone, despite the hundred others surrounding him who were in the same situation. He didn't know what to do. He looked at the boy next to him: he was bent double, rocking slightly. Sam nudged him with his shoulder and he looked up. "Mmmot-de-huhhl" he tried to say through the ball gag. The boy shrugged, trembling and tearful. Sam just shook his head. It was pointless.

 

The room slowly emptied as boy after boy trudged to the stage, met their Partner and was escorted away. Eventually, as his attention was dwindling and there were no more than ten or twelve left, Sam's number was called. Reluctantly he stood as a guard approached him. Reaching the stage, he saw a slim boy with dark eyebrows stood waiting. The suited man introduced them: "B661, this is T172. He will be your Partner from this point onwards and you will learn from and obey him. Do you understand?"
Sam nodded, not really hearing the word "obey" as he searched the boy's face for... Something. Compassion? Answers? Apology? There was nothing, though, beyond a tiredness in his posture.

 

They departed, through the door that Sam had sat and watched swing one way and then the other for what felt like hours as it swallowed pair after pair, and were in yet another long corridor, windowless and bare but for a maroon carpet. He was led along, his ankle chain close to tripping him often as his Partner walked quicker, until the route came to a T-junction. They went left and shortly left again, stopping at a door labelled "Grooming".