On-Brand

Waking up in a strange environment, Trevor looked around and chuckled. “On-brand,” he said to no-one in particular. The dull headache told him he’d drunk too much the night before…typical.

He had vague recollections of the party and tried to recall faces. Which gal, guy or neither/both had he hooked up with? That he couldn’t recall a name or a face to put it to was something he’d dealt with in the past. It required a certain amount of self-deprecating charm.

The room looked like a cheap hotel trying to feel expensive; all white and clean lines with nothing in the way of distinguishing decorations. Hearing the door open, Trevor rolled out of the bed and held his hand out to the man entering. “Hi, I’m Trevor. I hope last night was pleasurable…or at least not too major a disappointment.”

A sour frown crossed the man’s face. His wrinkled, grizzled, scarred face with one eye gone milky and the other deep brown. The man was wearing an obvious uniform, but of what military or police Trevor’s couldn’t work out. It was nothing like he’d ever seen. The man’s left hand was mechanical and tapped with a metallic sound against his left thigh.

“That is so not on-brand,” Trevor said. He looked down at his hand that was still waiting for a shake, and realized it was in a bright orange glove. His eyes followed the hand to the arm, to his torso, to his legs, to his feet. He was clothed in a skin-tight, bright orange outfit with no visible seams or fasteners. Where he’d thought himself nude, he was completely covered.

“Trevor Michael Joplin, you are expected before the judge.” The man’s voice was like raking gravel over a rusty steel plate.

“Judge? What’s going on?”

Rather than answering, the man pushed a button on the device he carried. Trevor’s arms locked themselves against his sides, his hands curled into fists. No matter how he struggled, the suit restrained him more securely than any cuff or shackle.

Trevor followed the man out to a narrow hallway, lined with doors like the one he had exited. A line of blue light marked the floor and they followed it. As the man turned a corner, Trevor stopped.

“This is stupid. You have to at least tell me what—”

He was cut short by the suit forcing his legs into a back-twisting, convulsing gait to catch up to the guard, who just grunted at him. Before he could renew his protest, the man said, “Save it for the judge.”

The blue line ended at a nondescript door at the end of an empty hall. The guard opened the door and pointed in. Not wanting to endure the forced walk again, Trevor entered.

The chamber was small, entirely white aside from the pale blue wall behind the judge’s bench. The lights dimmed and a spotlight illuminated a circle in the middle of the chamber, throwing the bench, and the judge, walking in and taking a seat, in silhouette.

“Stand in the light,” the judge said, her clear voice a stark contrast to that of the guard.

Trevor moved to the circle of light and faced the judge’s bench. “What’s this about?”

“Trevor Michael Joplin. That is your name, correct?”

“Yeah. I still don’t—”

The judge cut him off. “You were born in Miami, Florida, United States of America? Is this correct?”

“Yeah. Wait…where—”

“On or about the Fifth of May 2022, did you attend a ‘Cinco de Mayo’ party in the Tenderloin district of San Francisco?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s what the party was. Julia was there, for sure, and I bet Maz and Cupid…still don’t know who I hooked up wi—”

“At this party, did you willingly partake of a pill that looked like this?” In the air between the judge and Trevor a hologram of a pink capsule with a blue ring appeared.

“I don’t remember,” he said, “but it’s pretty on-brand, so if it was offered, I probably said yes.”

“Trevor Michael Joplin, we are well aware of your lifestyle. Please stand still for a physical scan.”

He felt the suit holding him in place. Even if he wanted to move, he couldn’t. Trevor waited for the scanning lasers or flashing lights or buzz of x-ray machine, but nothing happened.

A moment later, the suit released its hold on him. “Now can I ask what’s go—”

“Trevor Michael Joplin, remain silent for a few moments. Once we have the results of your scan, we will be able to answer any questions to your satisfaction.”

While he waited, he stretched out a finger of his glove and rubbed his finger along it, getting the feel of the strange fabric. It was nothing he had ever felt before. It felt more like skin than cloth.

The seconds stretched into minutes before the judge’s silhouette moved and raised a hand. “The results of your physical scan find you marginally suitable. Now we can answer your questions.”

The spotlight turned off and the lights in the chamber came back up. The “judge” sat behind a wooden desk wearing a white uniform. Her close-cropped hair was raven black against her copper skin.

“Where am I?”

“You are in the headquarters of the Continuum Project.”

“That’s a non-answer. Can you please just explain what’s going on, and why I’m under arrest?”

The judge laughed. “You are not under arrest,” she said, “though I can see why it would feel that way. When you accepted the pill, it was explained to you that it was a one-way trip to the future, to father a new generation.”

“Say what? I thought it just meant it would be psychedelic and make me horny.”

The judge groaned. “As I have already stated, we are well-aware of your proclivities, thus you are in the last group to be woken.”

“Group woken, what?”

“The Continuum Project, founded in 1986, selected seven-hundred males between the years of 1991 and 2032 to be held in cryogenic suspension for the future which they foresaw.”

“What future?”

“The disappearance of the Y-chromosome. It was believed that the Y-chromosome was shrinking to the point of becoming unviable. It turns out, that belief was correct.”

“You’re trying to tell me this is the future and there are no men? What about the guard?”

“There are men, but they are nearing extinction. The Y-chromosome, or what is left of it, shows up in one out every thirty or so men. While the XXY combination is not as detrimental as it was during your day, it’s still not ideal.”

“So, wait…you’re saying I’ve got make a lot of babies to save humanity?” Trevor stood up straighter and puffed out his chest. “That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make!”

“I think you misunderstand what’s being asked of you. We took a DNA sample before we woke you. Your physical status, post-waking from cryogenics, and system still awash in intoxicants, tells us all we need to know.

“Your genetic material is being replicated in the lab as we speak, and you are free to go. Clothing and an ID are waiting for you in your waking chamber. You’ve been asleep for a few hundred years, though, so don’t expect anything to look the same.”

“What about a job, a place to stay?”

“With an ID you don’t need a job, but if you want one you can find it. There are subsidized housing units next to the facility. Just beyond them, you’ll find a 24-hour intoxicants club opened by the previous group we woke. I believe you’ll find it very ‘on-brand’ for you. Good day.”