Outpoint - Gloves Up SmackDown Contest

A Strange New World - Round 1.3 Submission

A/N: It's done, and just in time! This took me way too long to post, but, in my defense, writer's block plus a super busy schedule does that to you. 

This is my next submission for the Gloves Up SmackDown contest, featuring a classic retelling involving zombies!
A quick note, the definition of zombies I have utilized in this story is 'a corpse said to be revived by witchcraft'. Except in this story, the explanation for the 'witchcraft' is given. So, there's no flesh-eating here, sorry if you were looking forward to that! Just undead people.
This story runs parallel to the plot of Brave New World. Hope you enjoy!
Word count: 1493

The two men stand, facing each other, by the second counter in the laboratory. They stand at almost the exact same height, and if one did not look at them closely, they may have assumed that these men are equals.

But they aren't. After all, an Alpha-minus and a World Controller could never be equals.

The Alpha-minus finally raises his eyes from the counter and the computer he was fiddling with. As he locks eyes with the World Controller, he lifts a syringe off the laboratory counter and shows it to him. "It is done." He announces solemnly.

Mustapha Mond's bright red lips curl up into a tiny smile. "Thank you, Alan." He plucks the liquefied, altered soma, stored in the syringe, from the Alpha-minus' hand with impossible grace. "Today, you have helped make history."

* * * * *

John trails behind Bernard as he leads them through the city, watching people go about their business with wide eyes. Bernard thinks the Savage can be excused this time - how difficult it must be, being born and living in the Savage Reservation for all of your years, without a proper hypnopædic education, without soma! Bernard shudders just thinking about it.

"What is this?" John's curious voice finally gets him to stop walking and turn around, although rather impatiently. After all, the Supervisor of Bokanovskification wants to meet the Savage, and he should not be kept waiting.

Bernard glances at what John is staring at and heaves a sigh. The sight of menial laborers, working robotically, dressed in drab browns, is not a new one. "They are working." Bernard tries not to let his impatience show in his voice, but he is sure he fails miserably. "Come, we must go."

But before he can take even a single step in the proper direction, The Savage speaks up again. "They look... dead."

Bernard lets out a long, irritated breath. Honestly, couldn't he have chosen a better time to question this? "They are dead."

John whips his head around to stare at Bernard, as though he has three heads. "What?"

Bernard sighs yet again, then launches into an explanation. "After one dies, their bodies are recycled. With the administration of a special kind of soma upon death, they can be assigned to different jobs, depending on their caste. The process is called zombification."

"Why?" Bernard is taken aback by the anger in the Savage's rising voice as he turns to face him. "Why would you all do this? Defile the dead like so? They're dead! Someone loved them once, and this is how you respect that?!"

Bernard can't help it; he laughs in John's face. "Love? What a ridiculous thought. Now, we must go, or we will be late."

"Let us be late!" The Savage cries, seemingly even more enraged by Bernard's words. "How does being on time matter when the dead cannot rest in peace?!"

Bernard huffs; the Savage seems to pull that reaction from him a lot. He really doesn't want to do this, but if they are to make it to the Supervisor's house, he must. He grabs John's wrist, enclosing it in a firm grip, then pulls him in the direction they must go. John struggles, yelling at Bernard, but the sound is white noise in his ears.