Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Light

Something snapped in the air and her assailant fell back, rubbing his own rear.

“You will pay attention,” the voice said, and continued describing the horrors awaiting them. Stacy screamed at the voice, demanding medical treatment for what she was sure was a life-threatening injury, until something snapped again. Pain flared out over her back, forcing her back down and, somehow, she kept her mouth shut. Her assailant leered at her, his face a dark promise of what awaited her, but he made no other move. It wasn’t as if she had anywhere to go.

“This lecture is concluded,” the voice said finally. It didn’t even sound if it was enjoying a captive audience. “You will now board your transport capsules.”

The interior of the capsule was as dark and cold as the grave. Stacy had barely had time to dress, despite the blood seeping into her outfit, before the transport capsule moved and plummeted down towards the planet. Her new home. She would spend the rest of her life there, she saw now, servicing commoners with her body, for she had nothing else to offer them. She had nothing, but a title that meant nothing and a mind that knew nothing they needed. Her life was about to become hell.

Stacy screamed all the way down.