We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from The Felicity Complicated, a dystopian SF satire by august clarke, out from Erewhon Books on July twenty eighth.
Welcome to the Felicity Complicated! Constructed in the course of the top of the Chilly Warfare, our distinctive lodge is ready to guard you, the billionaire class, from nuclear annihilation! Shielded from radiation and supplemented with closed air programs and hydroponic gardens, this resort bunker presents a chief existence underground: full gymnasium and spa, gourmand meals, top-tier medical care, and the very best in leisure.
Meet Hallelujah! Grown in a lab and educated within the methods of concierge hospitality, she believes in her obligation to consolation the Lord-anointed refugees of the apocalypse. (Even when her lover Anastasia disagrees. Even when her creator Dr. Younghusband is disenchanted in her.) Don’t fear—everyone seems to be protected from communists within the Felicity Complicated!
Look, Hallelujah, company have lastly arrived! Hallelujah and her sister specimens have waited ages for you. By no means thoughts the secrets and techniques different wealthy survivalists could also be hiding. Simply be sure that they don’t discover the violent intentions behind our employees’s huge, huge smiles…
A sendup of conventional womanhood and lampooning the paranoias of the elite, The Felicity Complicated questions the ambitions behind the entitled few who plan for the top instances—and who really survives them.
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Earlier than
The specimen resembles a lady. It has tits. It has no idea of id past its murky understanding of itself as Specimen 679-b, which isn’t precisely a reputation or title. The tubes down its throat and wrists are hooked as much as some unseen show. It drifts in any other case untethered within the slender confines of a glass vat, submerged in milky fluid, and stares instantly on the fluorescent lamps overhead. The lamps buzz. A fly buzzes too, and bounces suicidally off the lengthy, skinny bulbs. That is the one motion within the room.
The specimen is taking part in a sport.
The sport is a race. Staring instantly on the gentle hurts, which is the purpose. It fries its eyes with the lamplight, then counts by means of the length of the itchy, fizzy, therapeutic feeling that follows. How briskly can the specimen restore its retinas?
So quick! The specimen’s private greatest is twenty Mississippis. It’s attempting to get its time right down to fifteen.
This can be a dangerous run. Its eyes are nonetheless fizzing at thirty.
Across the specimen, advanced white containers blink and hum, nevertheless it has develop into fully desensitized to the varied field sounds. Its world is manufactured from beige management panels with brown knobs, racks of blue wires, towering metal implements, and different glass vats.
This specimen doesn’t know if there are different specimens in these vats. Different specimens most likely existed sooner or later, as an illustration Specimen 1 by means of Specimen 679-a. Typically issues fail on this laboratory and that pisses the scientists off. They curse and smoke cigarettes inside when that occurs. The inciting incident may very well be the dying and dissolution of different specimens.
Who’s to say? The specimen has restricted imaginative and prescient past the lamp above it. It could’t examine.
The lamp sport is getting boring.
The specimen considers bashing its head towards the glass. It looks like one thing to do. A busted face could be extra sophisticated to heal, so may make for a higher-stakes sport. The thought good points momentum for the specimen. It thinks about what would occur to the milky fluid and the tubes in its face. It thinks concerning the potential skull-glass sounds. Glass is breakable! If it breaks the glass, maybe any person will present up and provides the specimen consideration. The specimen likes consideration. It’s so thrilling when any person comes by to speak to it.
Possibly Physician Younghusband would go to. Now that’s a thought. Possibly he’d make an observation on his clipboard. Possibly he’d study the wound and personally chart its progress. Possibly he’d say, That’s fascinating.
Thirty-one Mississippi, thirty-two Mississippi, thirty-three Mississippi. The purple splotches fade from their imaginative and prescient. Embarrassing stuff.
The specimen experiments with a headbutt.
Thunk. The glass doesn’t break. Uninteresting thud of ache, then one thing new: fear. The tube tugs in the back of its throat, which is irritating, then scary. It gags, tries to swallow, and immediately the glass vat shrinks. The specimen is trapped. It could’t lengthen its arms. It kicks and twists its hips, the milky fluid sloshes towards the partitions of the vat, and the tubes in its wrists scrape towards the within of its pores and skin. Medicine and acclimation solely final so lengthy. It correctly notices the tubes for the primary time shortly. It hates the tubes. The tubes really feel separate from the specimen, invasive. It appears to be like at its wrists, and its physique rising across the tubes implanted there. Scorching-pink meat twines up the plastic like ribbons on a ballerina’s shoe. The specimen was proven an image of a ballerina not too long ago. It was on a slideshow. The specimen bites down laborious on the tube in its mouth and screams.
A machine above the specimen beeps like loopy. The laboratory door groans open and is shortly adopted by the comforting squeak of loafers on vinyl. The scientists are right here! The specimen prays that they’ll reserve it.
“Jiminy Christmas,” says Physician Slagle. He’s a scrawny man with shiny hair and a thick mustache. He wears a necktie with blue and brown stripes and his lab coat is just too massive for him. He has different qualities the specimen can not parse in the course of its panic assault. He appears to be like like a weasel. He has tiny pointy weasel enamel. He fumbles his rubber-gloved arms over the vat’s latch and opens it. Chilly air on the specimen’s face. Its nostril and forehead float simply above the fluid’s floor. Milky liquid clings to its eyelashes in massive, shiny dewdrops.
Physician Slagle lifts the specimen’s wrist out of the fluid. He feels for its pulse, measures it towards the knowledge on the monitor. He mutters one thing. Subsequent, he measures the brand new progress of the specimen’s errant flesh across the tubes, then pinches the flesh ribbons and unwinds them. It hurts when he pinches. His eyebrows scrunch up. He produces a scalpel from someplace and slices off the flesh ribbons. Ouch. He nabs the severed flesh with tweezers and stashes it in somewhat vial. The flesh ribbons writhe round within the vial, then go slack.
He grimaces. He blinks on the reduce he made. Not sufficient Mississippis have handed but. It’s bleeding rather a lot. The milky fluid within the vat is popping pink. He friends on the specimen’s face. Contorted in terror. It’s trembling throughout. The specimen can’t communicate whereas intubated, and the screams come out mangled and slurred.
He says, “Okay. Tranquilizers, Pye.”
The specimen doesn’t know what number of scientists are within the room with it. It tries to rely. It must know what’s happening.
Physician Pye grunts. He’s been wanting on the monitor, the specimen can see him now from its vantage within the vat. He twists some knobs, then turns his again on the specimen. He fills a needle, flicks it. He masses up the specimen with a potent translucent liquid.
The tranquilizer hits. Smoothness rolls by means of the specimen. Every part feels good. It now not cares concerning the tubes or what number of docs are watching it. It chews on the plastic, dazed.
The cuts on its wrists seal shut across the tubes. Itchy, humorous. The water continues to be pink.
“Now that we’re finished freaking out,” says Physician Slagle, addressing the specimen. It’s clear when he’s speaking to the specimen as a result of he overenunciates his consonants. “It’s a giant day for Mission Materia Prima. We bought a brand new funding lead. Smile!”
It smiles across the tube.
“Identical to that. Now, Physician Younghusband is giving Mister Pink a tour of the laboratory right this moment. Mister Pink is a really wealthy man. His cash is Mission Materia Prima’s solely shot. If he likes you, we will afford to maintain you alive. That is make or break, vat child.” Physician Slagle’s eyes flash. His pupils are enormous, and the specimen can see itself mirrored in them. He leans nearer. He smells like sweat and bubble gum. His stripy tie dangles over the specimen’s face. The material brushes the tip of its nostril.
He says, “You’ve gotta do your easiest impression of a traditional human lady. You’ve bought to promote it, Specimen 679-b. It’s life or dying. Continuation or destruction. If we will’t promote you, that’s curtains. I’m going to take the tube out. Don’t chunk me. Don’t chunk me. Perceive?”
The specimen appears to be like on the curls in his hair. It tries to rely the curls, however the curls are a maze, and the specimen is misplaced inside it. Wandering spirals endlessly. The curls haven’t any starting and no finish and are due to this fact innumerable. They churn like waves within the ocean. Cresting, breaking, flowing. The specimen was not too long ago proven footage of a number of pure landscapes, and the ocean was simply the very best one. Very vat-like.
Physician Pye presses down on the specimen’s brow, pushes it below the milky floor. As he tilts the specimen’s head again, its mouth opens, and Physician Slagle reaches inside. There’s something pleasurable and revolting about the way it feels when he drags the tube out of its throat. The specimen likes how discomfort offers technique to satisfaction. Liking issues is straightforward proper now.
Physician Pye places the throat tubes away. No luck for the wrist ones, these keep attached. The specimen forgets the annoyance as quickly because it thinks to be irritated. Wavy and clean.
Its throat is clearly empty now. Respiratory feels hilarious. The specimen coughs. The milky fluid will get in its mouth. It takes a swallow of blood-pink creamy brine. Mistake. Nausea rakes its insides, and the specimen retches and yucks.
“Cease that. Be cool,” says Physician Slagle. “It’s showtime.”
“Physician Younghusband. Mister Pink,” says Physician Pye.
“Boys!” booms a stranger.
A molten, embarrassing specialness creeps up the specimen’s stomach. It cranes its neck to see its maker.
Physician Younghusband stands completely nonetheless within the doorway. He’s shorter, thinner, and older than anybody else within the lab. He’s nearly colorless. His tie is grey, and so are his slacks. He wears his necktie with a elaborate knot. The specimen wonders who knots his ties for him. It desires to kill whoever that individual is. Elegantly, Physician Younghusband doesn’t say something. That’s regular. Sustaining knowledgeable thriller is a part of his appeal. The specimen has heard him communicate 3 times, ever. He doesn’t greet his subordinates, doesn’t examine the massively costly inscrutable tools within the room, and doesn’t come greet the specimen. He stares unblinking on the fly on the fluorescent lamps. The specimen loves him so. The enormity of the specimen’s love for Physician Younghusband momentarily obscures the stranger. Then it blinks, and all of sudden, Mister Pink fills the room.
Mister Pink is an immense individual in a white linen swimsuit. His yellow hair wafts off his head like his cranium is on hearth. Apple-red cheeks, vivid blue eyes, lovable little snub nostril, and a large, curving mouth. The specimen has by no means seen anyone so tall earlier than. On tiptoe, this man may chunk the ceiling lamp in half.
Mister Pink takes enormous, cartoonish strides into the laboratory. He runs his bejeweled arms over all of the knobs and levers. Each time he brushes up towards one thing that makes Physician Slagle or Physician Pye cringe, he lingers there and tweaks the fiddly bits. He grins from temple to temple and whistles a jolly tune. He flips just a few switches.
Physician Slagle tries, “That’s—”
However Physician Younghusband silences him with a look.
Mister Pink takes his time wandering round. He appears to be like at every thing, touches every thing. He traces a stubby finger alongside a vivid blue cable and says in a chesty voice: “Mighty wonderful place you boys have right here. What’s this one do?”
Physician Slagle says, “That one—”
Mister Pink pulls the wire. A droning sound cuts out.
Physician Pye says, “Specimen 679-b, sir.”
“Do you thoughts if I smoke?” Mister Pink stands over the specimen. He plucks a cigarillo from skinny air and pops it between his enormous, sq., gleaming white enamel. He lights it earlier than the scientists can say something. He takes a drag. The smoke cloud swirls across the specimen. Then, he drags up a chair. He sits down beside the vat.
“You poor, candy creature, moldering in plastic Eden. Don’t fear, sugar. I’m right here.” He rolls up his sleeve, plunges his thick forearm into the milky vat fluid. He takes the specimen’s wrist simply above the tube and props it on the vat’s edge. Its hand dangles over the facet.
Mister Pink pulls a lacy handkerchief from his pocket. He gently dries the specimen’s hand. Then he shakes out the handkerchief, tucks it beneath the specimen’s wrist, and fishes round in one more pocket. This time he produces a bottle that the specimen acknowledges from magazines. It’s nail polish. Summery purple.
A scent fills the air. Acrid, sharp. Mister Pink swishes a moist, purple brush down the size of the specimen’s index fingernail. Center subsequent, and so forth.
As he paints the specimen’s nails, Mister Pink says, “This one’s uglier than the final one, Stephen. What number of extra choices do you could have for me?”
“That is the sixth and final specimen that’s internally coherent, moderately sexually dimorphic, non-contagious, and verbal. The remaining fall brief. You gained’t need them,” says Physician Younghusband.
It’s so thrilling to listen to Physician Younghusband communicate that the specimen doesn’t glean something from what he says. His voice is crisp and exact. It feels clear.
“You’ll make extra ultimately. For now, I’ll take the lot,” says Mister Pink. He paints the specimen’s thumbnail, then leans again, examines it once more. He twists up his mouth. “That’s higher. Darling, I’m taking you away from this dreadful place. The world exterior is harmful and does evil issues to stunning folks, however I’m in hospitality. I’m constructing a fortress. You’re invited. You’ll work for room and board within the Felicity Complicated, my luxurious bunker, and also you’ll have a tendency the fashionable kings and geniuses of the free world. If the Communists drop bombs on us to destroy the world, you’ll be the final champion of happiness. Image the world smashed flat, and also you finished up in a frilly maid costume ensuring civilization persists till tomorrow. Just like the sound of that?”
The specimen, her now, appears to be like at her purple painted nails. She wiggles her fingertips. She footage it. In her thoughts, she sees some vague metropolis crushed to powder. The orange sky is empty, and the land is gouged and silvery, just like the face of the moon. Loud, sizzling breezes sprinkle toxic confetti on the rubble. The air itself is evil. There isn’t a life in any respect. Then, an open gulch. There’s a bed room on the backside, like those within the motion pictures. Glamorous, stately. Massive wood headboards, feather pillows, velvet throws, marble statues within the corners, candles flickering. Self-billowing curtains that open to nowhere. In the midst of the gulch bed room stands the specimen as a frilly maid. She imagines her purple nails curled round a feather duster. A flick of the wrist and the gloom is gone together with the cobwebs. Champion of happiness! No tubes.
Physician Younghusband jots one thing down on his clipboard.
“Oh, sure,” says the specimen. “I’d like that very a lot.”
Excerpted from The Felicity Complicated, copyright © 2026 by august clarke.
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