The doors of the medical facility slid open with a low hum.
Cold air rushed over my skin.
I stepped outside.
And immediately, the world reminded me where I stood.
The street stretched wide and clean, paved with smooth stone that reflected the light above. Tall buildings lined both sides, sharp and imposing, their surfaces carved with glowing symbols similar to the ones inside the facility. People moved everywhere—but not evenly.
Women walked freely.
Men moved carefully.
The difference was impossible to miss.
Women occupied the center of the road, walking in groups or alone, their steps confident, unhurried. Some wore uniforms like the officer inside. Others dressed casually, but even then, their presence carried weight. Invisible pressure rolled off them in waves. Some strong. Some subtle. All dominant.
Men stayed to the edges.
I noticed it instantly.
They hugged the walls. Walked close to storefronts. Kept their heads low. Their steps were small, cautious, as if the ground itself might punish them for walking too boldly.
And when a woman approached—
They moved.
Not slowly.
Instinctively.
Two men ahead of me stiffened as a woman walked toward them. They didn't look up. They didn't hesitate. They stepped aside at the same time, backs pressed flat against the wall, eyes lowered.
The woman didn't even glance at them.
She passed as if they didn't exist.
My chest tightened.
In my old world, crowds moved around strength, wealth, influence. There was hierarchy, yes—but it was earned. Fought for. Challenged.
Here?
Submission was automatic.
I took a few steps forward.
My body still felt weak, but I forced my posture straight. My gaze stayed level.
People noticed.
Not openly—but subtly.
A few women glanced my way, eyes lingering longer than necessary. Not hostile. Curious. Assessing.
Like predators watching something unfamiliar.
I hated it.
A soft chime sounded near my wrist.
I froze.
A thin band of dark metal circled my arm. I hadn't noticed it earlier. Symbols flashed across its surface, then settled into a dull glow.
"What… is this?" I muttered.
A man walking nearby heard me.
He flinched.
Then he glanced around quickly, eyes darting before leaning closer. "Lower your voice," he whispered urgently. "You want attention?"
I looked at him.
He was older than this body looked—thin, tired eyes, posture bent slightly forward. His wrists bore the same band.
"This?" I asked quietly, lifting my arm.
His face tightened. "Control band."
The words sank in slowly.
"Every man has one," he continued. "Tracks location. Monitors compliance. Limits movement in restricted zones."
Limits movement?
I stared at the band.
"So… they know where we are. Always."
He gave a bitter smile. "They know more than that."
Before I could ask, a sharp sound cut through the street.
A crack.
Like thunder snapping too close.
People froze.
I turned my head.
Not far away, a young man knelt on the ground, hands pressed flat against the stone. His shoulders trembled violently.
A woman stood in front of him.
She was beautiful. Tall. Calm.
Her finger was raised casually, glowing faintly with light.
"I said move," she said, her voice bored. "Did I stutter?"
"I—I'm sorry," the man stammered, forehead lowering further. "I didn't see you, my lady. I'll move. I'll move now."
"Too late," she replied.
She flicked her finger.
The air snapped.
The man cried out as an invisible force slammed him into the ground, pressing him flat. His band flashed bright red.
Pain twisted his face. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
No one intervened.
No one reacted.
Women walked past without slowing. Men kept their eyes down.
This was normal.
The woman looked down at him for a moment, then turned away. "Watch where you walk next time."
The pressure vanished.
The man collapsed, gasping, shaking as if his body barely obeyed him.
I stood frozen.
Rage surged up my throat.
In my old world, this would have been murder—or at least assault. There would have been shouting. Crowds. Consequences.
Here?
It was a lesson.
I felt my fists clench.
The older man beside me grabbed my sleeve, panic flashing across his face. "Don't stare," he hissed. "You want to die?"
Die.
The word hit hard.
I forced myself to look away.
My heart pounded, not from fear—but from fury.
We kept walking.
The street grew more crowded as we moved deeper into the district. Markets lined the road. Stalls floated on hovering platforms. Women browsed freely, pointing, commanding, bargaining loudly.
Men stood behind counters.
Silent.
One man handed an item to a woman with both hands, head bowed low. She inspected it, frowned, then tossed it back at him.
"Too slow," she said. "You'll redo it."
"Yes, my lady," he replied instantly, bowing deeper.
She walked away.
He picked it up without complaint.
I swallowed.
"How do you live like this?" I muttered before I could stop myself.
The older man stiffened. "You don't," he said quietly. "You endure."
We passed a checkpoint.
Two women in uniform stood guard. Their eyes glowed faintly as they scanned passing bands. When one man hesitated for half a second, one of the guards snapped her fingers.
The man froze.
His band pulsed yellow.
"State your reason for delay," she said coldly.
"I—I was dizzy," he stammered.
She stepped closer. The pressure from her presence alone made him tremble. "Excuses are not permissions."
She tapped his band.
It flashed red.
The man cried out and dropped to his knees.
"Warning issued," she said calmly. "Next time, detention."
She waved him away.
He crawled aside.
I felt sick.
This wasn't order.
This was ownership.
We moved on.
The older man eventually peeled away, disappearing into a narrow side street without another word.
I was alone again.
As I walked, my thoughts churned violently.
Every rule here existed to strip men of choice.
Every custom trained them to submit before thinking.
The bands. The laws. The casual violence.
Resistance wasn't rebellion.
It was suicide.
I slowed my steps, eyes fixed forward.
Stay calm.
Stay invisible.
But inside me, something burned hotter with every step.
The memory of that man slammed into the ground replayed again and again.
If I stay weak…
I passed a reflective surface—a glass wall.
The face staring back was young. Pale. Fragile.
A man meant to kneel.
My jaw tightened.
I didn't come here to lose myself.
I didn't cross worlds to become livestock.
The pressure inside my chest stirred faintly, responding to my thoughts. Heavy. Restless.
I forced it down.
Not yet.
But the realization settled deep, undeniable and terrifying.
In this world, weakness wasn't just danger.
It was erasure.
And if I stayed like this—
I wouldn't just lose my life.
I'd lose my dignity.
My future.
Everything.
I stopped walking.
The city moved around me, uncaring.
My fingers curled slowly into fists.
I won't stay weak.
The thought echoed sharply.
And somewhere deep inside, something answered.
The band on my wrist flickered—just once.
Then went dark.
My heart skipped.
I looked down.
And the world seemed to hold its breath.