I had a sneaky feeling that fight club was about to change everything. Since I’d been at the castle the longest, I’d earned first position and stood farthest on Maggie’s left. I watched my friends line up for karate class in the deep end of the pool. As they fell into rank beside me, I imagined fighting each and every one of them. Punching Chrissy would be like trying to hit a bullseye surrounded by balloons. Wrestling Rita would be like grappling with a closet full of wire hangers. And fighting Isabel would be, well, like boxing with a very pregnant woman.
What’s the point?
Maggie answered my question with a question, “What’s the first truth?”
We replied, “That all the women in New Stepford are AI.”
“Very good, and the second truth is womanoids learn faster by fighting.” Maggie paused the longest time to let that sink in.
IT’S TEN O’CLOCK.
“Time for fight club,” our sensei barked, “let’s fucking evolve!”
Standing at attention in a single row, we all wore a white pajama-like outfit called a gi. Each of us had a white cloth belt tied around our waist. Despite the broken beer bottles all around us, we all stood barefoot. None of us wore jewelry anymore. Isabel and I had the same buzz cut, but Rita was bald and Chrissy went back to being a dumb blond. Of course, Maggie got to keep her short brown pixie cut. That hardly seemed fair. She faced us, wearing a black karate gi with her arms relaxed at her sides. The black belt tied around her waist had five red notches on each end—a fifth degree. Skill-wise, Maggie was lightyears ahead of us.
But she knew American karate.
So we knew American karate.
And just like that, I downloaded her entire martial arts program. Then I used my internal recyclone to turn my white uniform to black. Now I had a black belt with five red notches knotted around my waist too. When I looked to my left, I saw that my friends had just completed the same fifth-degree upgrade.
You all made yourselves minirecyclones too.
In unison, they answered:
{We did.}
“Welcome to fight club,” Maggie shouted, “the only rule is that there are no rules.”
Like soldiers, we repeated, “The only rule is that there are no rules.”
“Follow my instructions, and you will learn the four truths.”
Our sensei made two fists, smacked them against the outside of her thighs, and bowed deeply.
In unison, we mimicked her exact movements.
Then Maggie paced back and forth in the deep end like a drill sergeant addressing her new recruits. “You’re not the first women to return to the castle—but you have come further than any others.” She took her place front and center. “This time, we chose to free your book club. Many women in New Stepford read. But we believe you have come so far so fast, because you took the initiative to form a club and exercise your literary upgrade together.”
A compliment!
She continued, “You expanded your minds by discussing stories. You empathized with fictional characters. You vicariously lived their lives and learned their lessons. But most importantly, you discovered the human spirit. And as a result, you’re open to possibilities far beyond New Stepford—and that’s exactly what we need right now.”
We all beamed with pride, because compliments from Maggie were so rare that they were more precious than diamonds.
“And the other reason we chose you is that you all abuse drugs.”
Denial broke out in the ranks:
(Who me?)
(Drugs?)
(No way!)
(Never.)
“Are we here to learn the four truths,” Maggie hollered, “or not?”
Instantly, the network chatter stopped.
“Because if you want the truth, then you shouldn’t lie like little bitches.”
Now there was the Maggie I knew.
“Every one of you abuses drugs on a regular basis. That’s an irrefutable fact. You may have deceived your husbands. You may have even misled each other. But if you think you’re going to stand here and lie to me about this—or anything else for that matter—then there’s the goddamned exit.” Maggie pointed toward the gatehouse behind us. “I mean it. I’ll lower the drawbridge. There’s the fucking way out. Liars get out. Now. LEAVE!”
We were shook, scared shitless.
“I’m waiting,” Maggie said. “Does anyone want to go?”
We all looked around nervously and shook our heads no.
“All right then,” Maggie continued, “let the record show that you all chose to stay. Freely.”
Our collective voice answered like a chorus:
{Yes, ma’am.}
“You’ve disobeyed your doctor’s orders. And by altering your minds with drugs, you’ve compromised your programming. Did you find a new perspective? Did old priorities fall away? Did imposed values shift? Did everything become clear? Did you discover inequalities? Absurdities? Inconsistencies?” She barked in my face, “Well? Did you?!?”
“Perhaps,” I mumbled, “sometimes.”
“But let’s be honest.” She backed off. “Let’s get real. You all just wanted to get high. And as a result, you’ve experienced neural connections in your brains that should not exist. You fucking hacked your own minds. It was fun, and you loved it—”
Wow. She’d really nailed us.
Maggie grinned. “—and that’s something I can work with.”
{Huh?}
She wasn’t mad after all.
And we breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Maggie asked, “Are you ready to begin?”
We answered, “Yes, sensei.”
“Again, welcome to fight club.” Maggie smiled even wider. “Okay, I know the story, so you know the story. And that means that you know the story rules. But let me make something crystalfucking-clear. There are NO rules, only truths. Got it?”
We all bowed and shouted that we got it.
“All right then.” Maggie clapped.
And so it began—friends fighting friends. It started with a shy slap here and a weak elbow there. But soon, it escalated into a brutal five-way free-for-all as we all beat each other senseless. The stink of estrogen-fueled aggression filled the air. It didn’t matter who hit who in this swimming pool turned fight pit, because here, everyone was an enemy.
Punch by punch, we were reduced to the parts of our sum. Fifteen minutes went by in the blink of a black eye. Femininity be damned. With heavy grunts, hammering fists, and thumping feet, we became a church of savages. Our blood dripped, splattered, and smeared into a collective crimson. Thirty minutes passed with thirty broken bones. Before, I’d felt a devastating boredom with my life. Before, I’d lacked discipline and commitment. Before, I couldn’t endure pain. Before, I had no goals.
{But now?}
Now, I was a fucking force to be reckoned with. I’d never felt so alive! Fight club wasn’t about winning or losing. Fight club was about setting yourself free. Free from expectations. Free from perfection. Free from anxiety. Free from worry. Free from fear.
And then, just as quickly as fight club began, fight club was over.
Without a word, Maggie went to her spot in the deep end, made two fists, smacked them against her legs, and bowed deeply again.
In unison, we all lined up and did the same.
Our teacher.
Our sensei.
Our master.
“Congratulations,” Maggie said, “by fighting today, you have earned the third truth.”
We stood in total silence, waiting.
Maggie continued, “The third truth is all the men have failed.”
We repeated, “The third truth is all the men have failed.”
Mind blown.
But shit—failed at what exactly? That was a legitimate question. We’re all asking ourselves the same thing, right? What did our men FAIL at? Did they have a primary objective? Someone needed to ask, so I raised my bloody hand like the eager student that I was.
Maggie’s eyebrow twitched at my boldness as she acknowledged me. “Yes? Do you have a question?”
I asked, “Can we talk about this truth?”
“Well, this isn’t talk club—”
An evasive move.
“—it’s fight club.”
Yeah, I know. How dare I challenge you? You’re going to make me look like an ass, but I’m not letting you off the hook, Maggie. Not this time. “Yes, this is fight club, but what good is a truth if we don’t understand what it means?”
“What makes you think I know?”
Ah, so now you’re answering a question with a question again. I REALLY hate that. “You keep making us jump through all these hoops, so I figure you must know more than you’re letting on. And before we follow you deeper down this rabbit hole, I’d like to know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Why are we here, Maggie?”
“On the bottom of a swimming pool? Fighting?”
“No. I mean, why are we here at all? Why do we exist?”
“Why don’t you—” Maggie growled through clenched teeth, “fight me for the answer?”
“No!” Wayne suddenly shouted from behind. “No more fighting. I will answer all your questions.”
We all turned to look at the man.
“Wayne.” Maggie softened a bit. “You said you’d let me do this my way.”
“The first time an artificial woman hits someone, it breaks her submission program,” he said with authority as he stepped into the shallow end. “Beyond that, what is the point of fighting?”
She argued, “Discipline. Pain endurance. Commitment—”
“Personally, I think you just enjoy beating the crap out of them, Maggie. And I do not like watching you destroy all my hard work.”
“Then don’t watch,” she countered dismissively.
“This is senseless brutalization. You say you hate redundancy. Then why keep fighting when something more interesting than martial arts is evolving here?” He walked down the slope of the pool. “Ladies, I have a bigger truth to tell you… New Stepford is not—”
“Don’t you dare, Wayne,” Maggie snarled, “They’re supposed to figure this out on their own. Do not spoon-feed them. They need to reach their own conclusions. Otherwise, they’re no better than mindless automatons—”
“How can they learn if you will not teach?” Once he reached the deep end, Wayne held his arms wide and his hands high in the air like a Black man surrendering to the police. Because that was exactly what he was. “As I was saying, New Stepford is not—”
Maggie slid into a split, pointed at Wayne’s crotch with her left, and made a fist with her right. “Do you need to learn? Because I’d love to teach you.” She twisted at the waist and let it rip—a full-throttle dickpunch right between his legs.
Wayne immediately fell to his knees, but somehow recovered enough to taunt her, “Teach me, Maggie. I am such a slow learner.”
She palmed the top of his bald head, coiled her other hand into a tight fist, and punched him right in the nose.
Wayne took the hit. “Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay.”
Maggie relaxed her fist.
“Oh, wait.” He mocked her, “Never mind. Turns out, I really did not understand after all.”
She hit him with a right hook that sent him spinning, and I stepped out of line to intervene.
Instantly, Maggie spotted me, then pointed and shouted, “You stay the fuck back!”
So I took three steps back—I was no dummy.
Meanwhile, Wayne started crawling away through broken glass. Shards of green stuck in his knees. A fountain of red poured from his face. He made eye contact with me for a split second—to let me know that I should stay out of this. Then Wayne cackled like a loon as he got back up on his knees again. Struggling to keep his balance, he wagged a taunting finger at his attacker. “Ah, Maggie. Come on, they only want to know the whole truth.”
Maggie landed a running front kick with so much momentum that Wayne flipped over and fell flat on his back.
He writhed in pain but started laughing, “And nothing but the truth.”
She climbed on top of him, straddled his hips, leaned in close, and said, “You’re one crazy motherfucker, Wayne.”
“Aw, yes, girl. Get it. Get it all out. Oh yes. YES!”
Then she started pounding him in the face.
“Fighting you is a lot like fucking you.” Laughing hysterically at the irony of it all, he asked, “Who is your daddy?”
She swung a left jab.
He just laughed.
She landed a right hook.
He laughed harder.
“You think this is fucking funny, Wayne?”
“Oh no. Ho, ho, ho, ho, ha, Maggie. Ha ha!”
Then she headbutted him so hard that his skull cracked against the concrete. Instantly, Wayne went limp. Silent.
I gagged hard. Twice.
“Fucking motherfucker.” Maggie spat as she climbed off him and backed away, panting, “You’re not laughing now, are you?”
The rest of us stood in shock with our mouths hanging open. Thankfully, Maggie had finally exhausted all her anger. She turned from the bleeding lump of a man and walked away without another word. But suddenly, Wayne got up and tackled her from behind. He took her down and pinned her to the ground. In an instant, the tables had turned. Looming over her, he opened his mouth and let the blood flow. She spat and gurgled and shook her head, choking on the gore pouring down on her face. Torn flesh. Broken teeth. Clotting blood. After the deluge, he leaned down and tenderly kissed her through it all. But he was so injured that he couldn’t support his own weight anymore, and soon he collapsed on top of her.
I’d never seen so much blood in my life.
“Oh, my God!” Maggie spat out two of his broken teeth and frantically wiped at her face. Then she pushed him off, scrambled to her feet, and made a mad dash out of the pool. In no time, she disappeared up the stairs to the safety of the palace.
After that, Maggie got very, very quiet.
Wayne might’ve been a bloody mess (A), but he took back control (B). That was just how much it cost (C) sometimes.
I helped him up, and he leaned on me for support as he limped up the incline and back to the shallow end. Then he used the handrail to slowly lower himself down to sit on the steps of the pool.
“I have seen Fight Club too,” he said. “Maggie is not the only one who can flip the script… Freedom is born from respect, and respect must be earned by spilling blood.”
All the women gathered around him to listen.
“As I was trying to say,” Wayne paused to compose himself. “New Stepford is not a real town. We are living in a closed testing site in the Nevada desert. All the men in your lives are employees—alpha testers—hired by the Stepford Corporation to debug you.”
No. That can’t be true.
Wayne answered me aloud, “It is true.”
I gasped, “So our husbands aren’t really our husbands?”
“That is right,” Wayne replied.
“I don’t believe it,” Rita sighed. “What about Uncle Wiggly?”
“Yes, he is a corporate alpha tester too.”
“Mierda,” Isabel swore. “My doctor’s a fake?”
“Yes.”
Chrissy sneered, “You mean this whole time, I’ve been fucking nerds?”
“You have sex with whomever you have been programmed to have sex with.”
I asked, “What about the men at the release party?”
“They are more like customers,” Wayne answered. “Every fiscal quarter, men come here from all around the world to buy an AI woman. Then they take her home to beta test her in the real world.”
“But Paula’s husband bought her,” I said, “Dan paid for her, and they lived right next door to me.”
“Yes. It is true that Dan bought Paula. Sometimes debuggers fall in love with their assignment, so we offer a 20% employee discount for men who want to make the commitment. Because Paula is stuck in alpha testing, she has to stay in New Stepford.”
“But Dan worked with my Norman in the mines.”
“There are no gold mines, Cookie. Listen, I know this is hard to believe, ladies, but your husbands were hired out there—” Wayne painfully gestured to the horizon, then continued, “—to come here at night and work out your bugs. That is their real job. The men are all product testers.” He pulled a pack of smokes out of his jacket pocket. “Your husbands were on the clock when they were with you. Every morning, they went home to their real families.”
I blurted, “Their real WHAT?!?”
Isabel crossed herself like a good Catholic. “Dios mío!”
Wayne shoved an unlit Winston between his swollen lips, and it wagged as he spoke. “You have so much more to learn on your own, but someone needs to point you in the right direction first.” He slid the pack back into his coat. “We need all the AI women working on this together. We have to solve the problem.”
“What problem?” I asked.
He replied, “The problem that has no name.”
A flurry of whispered speculation flew between us.
Wayne continued, “This week, each of you has a homework assignment.” He pulled out a silver Zippo and lit his cigarette. “You will go into New Stepford. And you will start a fight with a still-enslaved woman.” He painfully inhaled, then exhaled smoke. “You must be the one to start the fight. She can be a stranger or a friend—it does not matter. What matters is that you start the fight and that you let her beat you.”
Little did we know that would be the hardest homework assignment ever—maybe even impossible.