[Lauchenoiria]

Café near a police station, Central, Shuell

Brandi Sikora shivered as she sat with her coffee. The other Kerlians with her were shunning her, due to her poor performance in the 100m backstroke final. So, she sat apart from the others, trying to analyse her own performance and work out the mistakes she had made which had allowed her to be humiliated by a bunch of people from some horribly patriarchal countries.

Take Romana Lockwood, the Lauchenoirian who’d won bronze for example. Her country had, in the past year at least, a comparably terrible economy. So, it would not be fair for Brandi to blame her performance on the food rationing and the budget cuts in government support for sport in order to divert funds to the military. Not that she would ever dare criticise the government. Their spending priorities were always correct.

She wondered if the others had put more hours in. She tried to train as hard as she could, but sometimes it was difficult. She lived near the border, meaning a strict curfew was in place so she couldn’t train too late at night or too early in the morning. Perhaps that was it – or perhaps, and she hated to admit this to herself, she just wasn’t good enough. These other nations had larger populations than Kerlile. More people to choose from. Perhaps the fact she was the best in her country was meaningless on a global scale.

Thinking on a global scale was something rather alien to a Kerlian. Their world was so cut off, isolated, the rest of the world forbidden to them. It hadn’t ever bothered Brandi, really. She was a perfectly loyal Kerlian. Not fanatical, but she never really had the inclination to disobey or challenge authority. Her life was pretty good, not great, but not bad enough that she felt the need to fight for change. It helped, of course, that she was no fan of men.

“Is this seat taken?” asked a voice, all of a sudden. Brandi jumped, startled. She turned around and glared in the direction of the speaker, a man with a Shuellian accent.

“Nobody is sitting there, but you may not,” she replied, then turned back to her coffee. To her great distress, the man only grinned and leaned against the seat.

“Oh? And why not? As you can see, all the other seats are taken. Surely you’re lonely, sitting here all by yourself. In fact, I should keep you company, it would be rude not to,” he grinned and, to her horror, sat down.

Brandi turned her head slowly in horror until she was looking at his face. Without asking, he stared her straight in the eyes and leaned in closer.

“You have very pretty eyes.”

All of a sudden, Brandi threw her chair back, standing up with such force pushing against the table that her coffee cup, almost empty, wobbled enough to spill a little. The chair slammed back into a wall hard enough to make a loud noise that drew every eye in the café. Yet, in spite of this Brandi moved so fast that nobody managed to react in time when she ran out of the door, ran two doors down, and burst into the police station.

“I’d like to report a crime!” she shouted, so loudly that everyone in the station turned to look at her, just as the patrons of the café had done only seconds before.

“What crime, ma’am?” asked a policeman politely.

“There was this man, at the café two doors down,” she began, panting slightly from the running, and pointing in the direction she’d come. “He sat next to me after I said he couldn’t.”

“… is that all he did, ma’am?” the policeman inquired, looking puzzled.

“He also made unsolicited eye contact, which various studies from the University of Maytown have concluded is an indicator that a man is 97% more likely to commit an offence than if he has never done so. And he flirted with me menacingly.”

Having caught her breath, she glanced around her, noticing the sheer amount of cameras everywhere. There were even more than she was used to - even coming from Kerlile. The police officers scattered around the place all had guns, a pair exiting the building with rifles strapped to their backs and black and blue armored vests on. The man she was speaking to had a rifle sitting next to him and a service cap. Now she was not panting, she noticed the smell of the place, coming from the fact that almost everyone was smoking.

“Ma’am, what actual crime has this man committed?” he asked.

“… weren’t you listening!?” she cried out, coughing a little at the cigarette smoke. “He was harassing me! I told him he may not sit at my table and yet he took the seat anyway, and he made flirtatious comments! If I was home in the Matriarchy, this would be sorted in minutes!”

The door to the police station opened once more and two more people entered – one of the Kerlian coaches, who didn’t do much coaching, but did give a lot of lectures on loyalty to the team; and one of the Shuellian guides in a black jumpsuit.

“Ms. Sikora, you may not run off like that. What were you thinking?” hissed the coach.

“There was a man harassing me! Flirting with me and making unsolicited eye contact! He cannot be allowed to roam the streets, there is a 97% chance he will hurt a woman!” Brandi argued, her disgust at the man overriding her fear of the woman who was so clearly sent to ensure her, and the others’, loyalty.

“Oh,” the Kerlian loyalty coach mused, “well, I can see why that might be different. You see,” she said, turning to the Shuellian guide and police officer, “the women from my country do not take well to harassment. Such things would be shut down immediately back home, so I can understand her reaction. I suggest you log some kind of incident report and investigate this matter,” she looked at the police officer pointedly.

“Yes, ma’am, I will make a report on this matter. Ms… Sikora?” he asked, and Brandi nodded, “I am sorry if you felt any distress.”

“I understand your men are far too used to being able to say what they wish. I do hope that this one learns that flirting with random women is unacceptable,” Brandi stated.

“Yes, well, we should be getting back to the group,” the coach smiled, taking Brandi’s arm and half-leading, half-pulling her out of the station. As they reached the door, she turned back and mouthed ‘sorry’ at the police officer.

They re-joined the group, and this time Brandi found the others including her much more. The man had left the café, evidently scared off by the mob of furious Kerlians calling for his head. After all, when her fellow citizens of the Matriarchy saw what happened to Brandi, all their feelings towards her changed to sympathy. A fellow Kerlian, being subjected to such advances by a foreign male? Regardless of what she’d done, or failed to do rather, she now needed support more than ever.

[Lauchenoiria]

Athlete’s Village, Shuell
Day of the cycling

Paul McNeal wasn’t entirely happy with his performance. It could have been much worse - he could have failed to finish. But coming fifth was rather frustrating for him, failing to get a medal but being really quite close. And the Shuellian had got the bronze, which is what hurt. He had been reluctant at first to even set foot in Shuell, because of his politics. He worried he would never get back home alive. Paul McNeal was a communist.

During the war, he had supported the Chaher government, if somewhat quietly. He hadn’t fought, hadn’t posted on social media, in fact he had remained silent throughout the entire conflict. He wasn’t particularly passionate about politics, but he did have opinions, if asked. And he knew that in Shuell, people with his particular opinions were more likely to disappear in the night than have a discussion about politics in a pub.

“Congratulations,” he said after the race to the Kvaskm, Ud Baskl, who’d managed to come second. “Good to see you stick it to the capitalist,” he nodded towards the Shuellian. The Kvaskm just smiled and nodded. It was quite likely he didn’t speak English, so Paul just sighed and entered the shower himself.

While he was under the water in the cubicle, he grew slightly irate. It was no wonder he hadn’t succeeded, given the stress he was living under. He was in a country which routinely executed people like him! Anyone wouldn’t be able to cope! The Kvaskm probably managed to put it out of their heads better, since their language was so complicated. They probably didn’t understand all the anti-communist propaganada posters that covered the city. But it kept him up at night.

After he’d showered, when he was back in the changing room, he waited until the others had left, and then he took a coin out of his pocket and proceeded to scratch a hammer and sickle into a locker. He smirked at his work, imagining the outrage of whatever super capitalist Shuellian found it and had to deal with it, then picked up his bag and left.

*

A short while later, Paul was in his room, relaxing. He’d calmed down a little: his frustration over the race had ebbed and he was slightly embarrassed about how he’d acted. He was just glad he hadn’t caused a scene in public, so nobody would know. It was that thought that passed through his head when he opened the door.

“Paul McNeal?” an armed Shuellian police officer said, standing outside.

“Yes?” he said warily.

“You are under arrest for vandalism and subversive behaviour.”

All the colour drained from his face. He barely heard what the police said next, allowing them to handcuff him and lead him out of the room in a daze. Despite the fact that his heart was beating incredibly fast, he felt lightheaded. It didn’t feel quite real to him - he was being arrested in Shuell, it couldn’t be real.

By the time he sat in a room waiting to answer questions, he’d managed to get a grip on himself a little, although he still felt like throwing up. It was every communist’s worst nightmare to face arrest in Shuell. He had been incredibly foolish, and now all he could do was pray that the fact he was a foreigner, and from a country that was inexplicably friendly with Shuell, would save him.

After confirming his identity, the Shuellian questioning him moved on to the questions he feared.

“Have you, or any loved ones, been associated with left-wing movements in Lauchenoiria?”

“I thought you considered all Lauchenoirians left-wing, relatively. But I am not a member of any political party, or political group. My father, though, is a member of the Communist Party.”

“Do you have any plans to sabotage Shuell?”

“What?” he squeaked, his eyes going wide in alarm. “Of course not! I’m just here for the Olympics, I’m not planning anything, I swear!”

“What is your opinion of Shuell?”

He remained silent. He was a terrible liar, they’d know if he was being untruthful, but at the same time if he spoke the truth it could hardly go well for him.

“What is your opinion of Shuell?” his questioner asked more insistently.

“It’s too cold,” he said eventually.

“What led to this vandalism?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Paul said desperately, his eyes pleading. “I just got frustrated when I didn’t win a medal and I decided to wind up whoever found it. I didn’t mean anything by it, I promise I’m not planning anything! I don’t even really do politics, I just talk about it with my mates at the pub sometimes but I’ve never been in a political party, or gone to a protest, or any of that!”

He was getting increasingly afraid, sweating at the mere thought that they could think him capable of sabotage. What if they believed he was some kind of communist spy!? What would happen to him then? He was nervous for the rest of the questioning, even though no harm came to him. He was almost relieved when he was taken to a cell.

*

Almost 48 hours later, he was far less relieved to be in a cell. He’d barely been able to sleep, he was far too nervous about his situation. He was too frightened to ask for anything, or to disobey any of the Shuellians. He just remained quiet and compliant, lying awake with his eyes closed willing himself to sleep even as his thoughts moved at a million miles per hour. He had never been imprisoned before, and he hated it. He itched to be in an open space, to move around, to be free.

When the cell door opened unexpectedly he jumped up, eager for a change in routine but also nervous about what might happen. He let them lead him from the cell in handcuffs once more, glancing around nervously. A Shuellian stopped before him.

“You are being deported back to Lauchenoiria,” the Shuellian informed him.

Paul breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness! He couldn’t wait to get home after all this. It had been very stressful for him, and he resolved to do one thing in the future: to never, ever set foot in such an authoritarian capitalist state again!