The door slammed open, thudding against the concrete wall of the room that was once a high school classroom, but now appropriated for a much more noble task, all of the desks and blackboards stripped away to leave a mere room of painted bricks and linoleum floors. Light from the hallway violently flooded into the dark room, causing the assorted women to groan and shut their eyes, turning their heads away from the unwelcome source of light. And if their hands weren’t manacled to the wall, they likely would have shielded their eyes reflexively.

“Look alive, ladies!” the guard snapped, cattle prod clenched in his Vaseline-softened hand. “We got us a new initiate into the order, and one of you bitches has to…service him,” he snarled.

The girls actually perked up at this, all having long ago rationed that being chosen at some point to service some greasy incel was, at the very least, better than sitting in a makeshift prison with a communal chamber pot in the middle of the room. It was nice to be chosen for something over the other girls, and hey, you got to live in an actual house, right?

The guard flicked a light switch, which turned the ceiling light on in the room…for about a second before the bulb sparked and burned out.

“Fuck!” he snarled in rage, “Why didn’t you worthless whores change the lightbulb?!”

An ebon-hued woman in the back glowered and wordlessly twitched her wrists to show the extent that she could move her shackled arms.

“You fucking bitch!” the guard hissed, making his voice ever more clipped and hissy to show he was really angry, before stomping over to this impudent black woman. “Tyrone isn’t here to save you, hood-rat!” he growled, before flicking on his cattle prod and shocking her on the shoulder. 50,000 volts jolted through the woman’s body for about a half a second before the cattle prod shorted out.

“Dammit!” the guard shouted at nobody in particular, smacking the side of his cattle prod to try to bring it back to life as the woman twitched under his feet.

“What’d you do, forget to charge it?” a pallid redhead asked with a sneer, eliciting laughter from the other women.

The guard gritted his teeth together and let out a high pitched “REEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”, focusing his eyes upon the freckled white she-devil as he stomped into the room and gave her a front snap kick right under the chin, immediately before tearfully running out of the room.

“Shut the fuck up, white bitch! I was playing video games! I didn’t have time to charge the stupid cattle prod! I’m not a chad who remembers to do things!”

The door was left open, and the women awkwardly stared at the surrounding situation: the redhead bleeding from her mouth and picking herself up off the floor, the black woman just now recovering from the electric shock, the few scraps of hallway that they could see from their chained vantage points…when suddenly the guard stomped back angrily.

“Hrrrrrrrrrrrr!” he throatily growled to give voice to his rage. “I almost forgot! I have to, uh, take an Asian woman to the new guy. Yeah…”

Briskly, he walked over to the nearest raven-haired Supaiyat and unlocked her shackles. For a brief second, this woman thought she might run for it, but she decided against it. Where would she run to? This was a world of incels now. Behind every blade of grass there was a rifle. And so, despite the fact that she felt like she could probably fight this particular guy to a stalemate, she went with him as he put his soft, womanly hand on her tricep to keep her from running.

Look on the bright side, Cassandra. At least you’re doing better than them. She looked back with a faint sneer of triumph, grasping whatever satisfaction she could get from her situation.

“I can’t believe that slut; she thinks she’s better than us,” she heard somebody mutter as the door closed behind her.


With a squeaky groan of sweaty satisfaction, Chris sexually finished into She1la’s immaculately crafted silicone vagina, rolling off of her and laying back, looking up at the ceiling and enjoying the illusion that he was in bed with a flesh and blood woman. With a mighty squelch and slop, rolling piles of weeks-old ejaculate spilled out of the robo-vagina and onto the bedspread, his last load being the metaphorical straw that broke the broodmare’s back.

“Aw, dammit!” Chris whined, grabbing nearby paper towels to wipe up the coagulated mess. “Bzzt, perhaps it’s time to clean me out and maintenance me, my lord?” She1la inquired chirpily, her sensors automatically programmed to remind her owner of whenever she had more than 100 ml of ejaculate inside her, a reminder that she had issued Dave and Chris every day for the past 3 weeks.

“Ugh, I GUESS so…” Chris whined again, jostling the synthetic organ to unlock the mechanism that kept it fastened between the gynoid’s hips. “Whirrr, you’re so punctual and driven, master. Clean me out and fuck me again!”

Chris was, as always, enticed by her charms, but his thoughts were immediately hijacked by the flood of congealed, clotted spooge that spewed from She1la once he pulled out the jizz-trap.


Dave sat on the edge of his bed as Cassandra stood in the corner nervously. Dave coughed, hoping to break the tension.

Why isn’t she jumping on my dick already? How do I start this?


Cassandra goggled at her new government-mandated boyfriend nervously, suddenly regretting the foolish idea that she was in any way being advantaged over the other girls for being chosen.

Jesus, I have to service this dork for the rest of my life? Couldn’t he at least have been halfway-decent-looking? She frowned at this last bit, remembering that all gym equipment was melted down for capsule apartments immediately after the Beta Uprising. The house sucks, too.

She hadn’t needed more than a cursory glance around to get the lay of the land, as it were. This was a two-bedroom apartment like all the other apartments that were around nowadays: concrete blocks and gray paint kludged together in the basement of what had once been a fairly luxurious suburban McMansion in…what was this place called again? Before the beta uprising changed its name to Airstrip 3, that is. She remembered that the region was once called “New England,” but couldn’t remember the finer details.

Christ, has it really been that long?

Anyway, there was no point in remembering Old World geography. Not when she had all of this to look at. Electrical wiring sloppily but effectively connected to a tangle of wires, adapters, televisions, computers, and video game consoles. Laundry strewn about haphazardly. Crumbs of junk food dusting the air. And…that was about it, actually.

Her new domestic domain.

“Ahem” came the throat clearing from the bed, voice kept artificially pubescent due to decades of bad diet. Oh right, her government-mandated boyfriend.

Dave was frustrated by the lack of action, but then suddenly had a flash of inspiration: He ripped off all his clothes, laid back on the bed, pointed at his erect penis, and said “Yo!”

That’s the ticket! When she sees this big white cock, her natural instincts will kick in and she’ll start fucking it!

To his shock horror, this pale lotus, this delicate nadeshiko…rolled her eyes and scowled at him!

Dave sat up and scowled in response. “…Wha-what are you doing?”

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

“Wha-bu-yes it’s supposed to impress you! Y-you’re an Asian woman!”

Cassandra rolled her eyes again and muttered something to herself.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘Let’s just get this over with.’”

At this, Dave tingled with excitement. Oh my god GOVERNMENT-MANDATED GIRLFRIEND was the last thought to go through his mind before his sexual initiation commenced.

The sexual initiation consisted of Cassandra mounting him in the cowgirl position and riding him for about 30 seconds before Dave climaxed. Brusquely, Cassandra hopped off and got dressed.

And yet, that still wasn’t the worst sex I’ve ever had, the woman thought, being in her mid-thirties and thus being able to remember a time before the only men around were matchbox-chested dweebs.

Dave, for his part, was coming out of his post-coital glow and coming to the growing revelation that he had, in fact, performed poorly.

“Um…I was a virgin,” he said diffidently.

“Yeah, I know.”

“So…uh…I wasn’t good?”


Dave scowled in growing rage at the very concept that an Asian woman wasn’t wowed by his white sexual prowess. He had done his duty in school and memorized the entirety of the posts on the long-purged /r/incels board. He knew good and well that even in the dark before-times, an incel could go to Asia to get willing and pliant pussy.

Asia was and is pussy paradise. Asian women are supposed to belong to white men. You’re supposed to worship me all ran through Dave’s head. Feelings of overwhelming inferiority, feelings that were supposed to have been purged with spastic rifle fire all those years ago, came flooding back into Dave.

Cassandra rolled her eyes again, savoring the opportunity she suddenly had to hurl invective onto her new owner. “Oh gee, I’m sorry. Did I spoil your erect nipple yellow fever wet dreams, Chughead?” She followed this insult with a faint sneer, enjoying the petty rebellion life had afforded her despite the dire consequences she knew this could result in.

Might as well die now; it’s not like it’ll get any better than this, she thought.

“Uh, well, uh, it’s actually WHITE fever if you think about it,” Dave stammered, knowing that this was the tried and true comeback to such allegations. To his horror, his lotus didn’t shrink back, she didn’t submit, and she didn’t acknowledge his righteousness. No! She stood there with a blank expression of disdain on her face, and asked him with a dejected tone, “…’Kay, now what do you want me to do?”

Dave stood there, hands clenched on opposite sides of his head, fuming with a burgeoning sense of self-loathing that he wasn’t supposed to be feeling. He was a soldier of the new world; he had done his duty to make the world a better place! The world was supposed to be a place where humiliation and emasculation were to never happen again!

And more than the self-loathing, he burned with white-hot hatred towards this foid, this Asian foid who dared talk back to him.


“RrrrrrrAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Dave screamed, mustering all his strength and punching his new GMG square in the face.


Chris cracked his knuckles and surveyed his handiwork. He had cleaned out the jizz-trap until it practically sparkled. Sure, the bedsheets were still a bit moist and goopy, but he could live with that. He might not have a government-mandated girlfriend yet, but by Rog, he could take pride in his labor. And speaking of GMGs, how was Dave doing?

“RrrrrrrAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” rang through the house, followed by the dull thud of a blow. “What the hell?!” Chris asked himself, before throwing the door open to the main room. “Dave, are you okay?!”

A wordless series of grunts and groans were his only reply, and Chris hurried to the door and threw it open.

To his horror, Dave and his girlfriend were locked in battle. Dave had shot for a takedown and backed the woman into the wall, and she responded with clobbering hammerfists to the back of Dave’s neck. The takedown was cinched and they hurtled to the ground, arms and legs whirling to land strikes and find desperate purchase on the other. The woman grabbed a huge clump of Dave’s hair, and, rising to her feet, began kicking him in the stomach, and kicked him again and again and again, each kick clumsily landing with the inner curve of the foot, soccer-style, but being effective nonetheless against a skinnyfat torso.

“No!” Chris shouted, running into the room and grabbing the woman around the waist, trying to wrench her away from his best friend. She thumbed Chris in the eye, kneed him in the groin, and sprinted towards the door. “GET BACK HERE!” both men screamed, but she was too fast for them; she was out the door and into the light of freedom!

Her freedom lasted roughly three minutes before she was summarily executed via drone strike.


Back home, Dave and Chris licked their wounds and assessed the damages. Nothing too bad; Chris’ eye was red but undamaged, his groin was being iced, and Dave had a clump of his lank and greasy hair torn out, but they would live.

“Still want a government-mandated girlfriend?” Dave asked sardonically before putting on his jacket.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” and with that, the door slammed shut.

Dave walked away from the apartment building, still nursing his battered stomach, and immediately stepped into a pile of discarded Doritos bags. The weather was relatively warm, but the breeze made his choice of a jacket seem wise. Cars drove by on the street next to the sidewalk, each one hitting one of the many potholes on the street.

When was the last time these things were repaved? Dave thought, his mind then immediately focusing on the streetlamps that had long ago fallen down and still only provided light intermittently. I mean, I know taxes were abolished in 2055, but SERIOUSLY, is there not enough money to do some basic goddamn infrastructure?

No, of course there was money. The water was still drinkable and came when you turned the faucet, and you could get Hot Pockets and tendies from any store on the planet. Dave shuddered at the thought that suddenly spawned in his mind:

The infrastructure sucks because nobody bothers to fix them! Because…because the leaders, the men of the Order, aren’t choosing to do it!

As Dave walked down the sidewalk, he couldn’t help but notice the other guys in the area who had government-mandated girlfriends. In one house, the man could be seen slamming his GMG’s face into the wall through the window. In another house, the man and woman could be seen having a loud screaming match, with the man slowly but surely backing down before the rage-filled estrogen of his woman. And outside of another house, he saw another guy doing much like him: a typical citizen of the state (scrawny and acne-encrusted, as God intended) aimlessly walking, seemingly to clear his head.



“Shouldn’t you be at home playing video games?”

“I can’t go back into my house right now.”

“Why not?”

“My girlfriend kicked me out. She wouldn’t submit to me and made me leave. I called the commincels to execute her; they should be here in half an hour or so.”

All of this information coalesced into Dave at once. He knew that he had done his duty and been a model citizen of the Incel State. He knew that this was supposed to be a new world, a better world. He knew that women were biologically ordained to submit to any man once they were mandated to that man. And yet…the trains didn’t run on time, the streets had potholes, and women still wouldn’t submit to men like him? They still wanted some fucking CHAD?!

Silently, Dave felt his stomach, still hot and sore from the repeated kicks. His neck twinged with pain, too, as did the portion of his scalp from which a chunk of hair had been ripped.

Fucking bitches.

His gaze scanned over to a propaganda poster extolling the virtues of not going outside in favor of masturbation, but he ignored it. He also ignored the advertisements for sexbots of all colors of the rainbow.

He had never known a world not run by incels, but for the first time in his life, he felt a horrifying emotion:



For all installments of “Der Beta Aufstand Hat Begonnen!,” click here.

Previous installments:

  1. Part 1