“Pitiful.”

The woman scoffed as she flipped through the report. Another so-called “resistance cell” a handful of bitter men clinging to a dead past. They’d hijacked a local broadcast network, shrieked their manifesto into the airwaves, and then scurried back into whatever gutter they’d crawled from.

“It’s largely the same rhetoric as before,” her assistant said carefully. “Male ‘empowerment,’ demands for equal representation, appeals to ‘natural order.’”

The woman exhaled slowly, the sound sharp in the silent chamber.

“When I accepted the Directorship of SIREN (State Intelligence for Regulation, Enforcement, and Neutralization) I’d hoped the last of these delusional men would have learned their place.” She closed the report with a decisive snap. “It seems old myths die harder than expected.”

Through the panoramic window behind her, the skyline of New Alexandria shimmered. Towers of ivory and glass, their façades emblazoned with the sigil of the High Matriarchy. The world was cleaner now. Quieter. More rational. Since women had assumed stewardship of civilization, famine had dwindled, wars had ceased, and the chaos of male ambition had finally been subdued. Men still lived, of course, working, serving, providing but most importantly, grateful for the structure and purpose their betters had granted them.

“The last uprising, the Sons of Ares, lasted twelve hours,” the assistant reminded her. “Our agents intercepted their transmissions before they even left the capital.”

“And these new rebels will fare no better.” *The Director’s lips curled into a faint, cold smile. “*Let them dream of their lost dominion. It gives our agents something to hunt.”

She turned back to the window, watching the disciplined flow of citizens below, women in sleek uniforms, men, some in their muted service garb, others in the nude. Order. Harmony. A perfect world, preserved only through constant vigilance.

“Prepare the directive,” she said softly. “SIREN cleans the rot before it spreads.”

So dear reader. What is the directive? When writing this prompt I was torn between two different scenes. I love the idea of a single woman appearing to the rebel group. Promising them aid and help but ultimately leading to their doom, yet it would be equally fun to play out scenes of torturing and converting one of these rebels to turn on their brothers. Along with your idea towards what the directive might be, I’d love to also who you’d like to be playing. Give your character a short backstory so I have a sample of your writing.

My kinks are edging, orgasm denial, hypnosis, manipulation, blackmail, femdom (if it wasn’t obvious), latex, corruption, and plenty others.

My only limits are blood, vore, underage and gore.