We Interrupt this Transition

CHAPTER TEN: Pilot

The LED screens in the studio lit up in a fantastic - if generic - pattern of blue swirling geometric shapes with white streaks, as music cranked up and the applause signs went on, prompting a deep-voiced chorus of cheering and clapping.

Erin came out, smiling, full charm offensive. 

“Congratulations contestants, I’m Erin Cochran, and I’m going to be your host for what will be, in all likelihood, the biggest challenge you have ever faced.”

“We set out a casting call for men aged 18-30 and told them that we would be putting their minds, bodies, and masculinity to the ultimate test. To have an experience of a lifetime that may very well change them permanently, for their share of a pot that could very well reach over one million dollars.” (More cheers.) “In the end, we have over one hundred contestants who made the cut.”

Erin gestured to the contestants. “Among them we have 23 military active duty or veterans!” The lights on all but those twenty three contestants dimmed. “Nineteen of them are college students!” The lights shifted. “Five actors!” The lights shifted again. “Three first responders!” 

The lights came back up for all the contestants. 

“Are you ready to compete?!” 

Hooting, hollering and cheering. 

“Great! I love to hear it! Let’s get started, and the way to do that is to finally tell you what you’re going to be competing for,” said Erin.  

The computer graphics department had outdone themselves, as the LED screens behind Erin showed a pile of money.

“You will all be competing individually, and as a team in various challenges. Any individual challenges you win, you get to keep the cash. And any team challenges you complete, you add money to our jackpot. All of the players who stay in by the end will get an equal share of the jackpot prize, which can grow to over a million dollars!” 

More cheers. (Money tends to make people happy, especially money on television.)

“So let’s get this jackpot built up! We have one hundred and three contestants here tonight, so I think two hundred dollars per contestant to start us off is fair, don’t you?” 

The graphics poured down cash, and the total on the screen showed $20,600. Next to it popped up another graphic: ‘Players Remaining: 103.’ More cheers.

“The rules are simple,” said Erin, crossing across the stage, in front of an animation that showed little stick figure men choosing to walk away with money, and a jackpot growing bigger and bigger. “This is an endurance challenge. At any time, and we mean any time, any contestant can choose to leave. They’ll take home half of their share of the pot, and leave the other half for the remaining contestants. The longer you stay in, the more money you win!” 

“Yeah!!!” cried some of the contestants. “Let’s DO it!” yelled others.

Somebody got a “U!S!A!” chant going, and in Erin’s earpiece, Jimmy told her to wait for the chant to burn itself out, and wait… and say nothing. To be fully silent and just smile, knowingly. Playfully. 

After the crowd had burned itself out on whooping and cheers, the mood became awkward. It was clear that the contestants had no idea what was going on, - nothing was happening, but the lights were still on, nobody had yelled ‘cut’ - and Jimmy whispered to Erin through the earpiece to hold until there was murmuring and whispering from the contestants. 

It didn’t take long. 

Finally, Erin broke the silence. 

“Of course,” said Erin. “We don’t intend to make it easy for you. In fact, we believe most of you will walk away, right now.”

More murmurs, some determined grunting. 

(“Contestant cameras ready, we want to get lots of shocked expressions and outrage,” said Jimmy, in the booth. “Stand by crane, stand by contestant cams four through fourteen, and…”)

“Because if you want to claim that money? Strength won’t be enough. Fortitude won’t be enough. Politicking and charisma won’t be enough. There’s only one way to win the grand prize. And that…”

(“Stand by to roll VT and theme!,” said Jimmy, almost out of his seat.)

“...means you’re going to have to Woman Up!”

The screens behind Erin changed on that cue. The dark blue geometric shapes became swirly, lacy, light pinks and purples. Even the jackpot display typeface changed from a relatively standard sans-serif font to a looping, girly handwritten font. The animators really had done a great job with animating little ponies, unicorns, princess dolls, teddy bears, and hearts emerging from underneath the pile of cash. The entire sound stage looked like it had just been blitzkrieged by Lisa Frank.  

And of course, the name of the show appeared behind Erin for all of the contestants to see. “Woman Up!”

***

In contestant row number three, Jett practically screamed “I knew it!,” and shoved Bradley a bit too hard. Bradley shrugged, having to admit Jett was right all along. This was extremely gender-fucky. 

To say the reaction was mixed was an understatement. Three of the contestants literally got up out of their seats, right then and there, and walked away. With their departure, the ‘players remaining’ number ticked down on the big screens. Some were outraged. Some were confused. Most were laughing, including Leonard. 

Ethan didn’t know what to make of the whole thing, and just stood there trying to puzzle it out. 

Oscar shook his head in disapproval, and leaned back. He knew it. Some form of woke bullshit. 

Victor quickly feigned surprise and confusion, as if on cue, and then said “Wait, what?” in genuine surprise and confusion. 

Rafael sat down and remained silent, resigned that this stupid thing turned out to be a fucking joke, and decided that he’d perhaps use the hundred dollar consolation prize to pay for a more realistic packer. 

Jacob just shrugged and turned to Gooch. 

Gooch’s expression wasn’t that of confusion, or mirth, or outrage. No. It was clear that the wheels inside Gooch’s head were turning, sparking to life. He then turned his head to Jacob, and grinned like the reincarnation of some mad trickster god. 

“Jacob, my good buddy,” said Gooch. “Things are about to get weird. And weird is my wheelhouse.” 

Gooch even did a fistpump. 

***

“Prep for scene two, move cameras into position, but keep them rolling in case,” said Jimmy, who was having the time of his life. 

Sam pulled aside a couple of the assistant directors. “While we’re waiting to move to scene two stations, comb the contestant footage for interesting reactions. I want to see who we’re working with.”

The assistant directors scrambled through footage on their laptops. 

“Are we ready to continue, Erin?” 

“Yes, Jimmy,” Erin whispered into her mic.

“Get ready four, ready crane, keep rolling, and we’re back in– Five. Four. Three.”

***

Erin whistled to get the attention and the silence of the remaining contestants. 

“So,” said Erin, slyly. “Show of hands, who here didn’t see that coming?” 

Most of the contestants raised their hands. 

“And who did?” 

Only Jett raised his hand.

This time it was Sam who whispered into Erin’s ear. “Row three, second from your right.” 

“Is there a Jett T. here?” 

All the other contestants’ lighting dimmed, and only Jett remained fully lit. A camera clearly zoomed in on him. Somewhere backstage, an audio producer was lowering every other contestant’s microphone’s volume, leaving only Jett’s. 

“Here!” said Jett. 

Jett’s feminine attire and appearance appeared on the monitors before the contestants. A few rolled their eyes. 

“Well, judging from how you're dressed,” said Erin. “I think we can figure out why you’re not that surprised! Tell me a little about yourself. Where are you from, what do you do for a living?” 

“Oh, I’m Jett, I’m a street and cabaret performer from the Venice Beach area. Next to me here is my boyfriend, Bradley.”

Bradley’s area lit up as well, and Bradley waved. 

“Nice to meet you Jett. And Bradley? Where are you from, what do you do?” 

“Oh, I’m uh, I’m Bradley, and I’m originally from Vancouver, British Columbia, but I currently live in Venice with Jett. I work construction.” 

“How’d you two meet?” asked Erin. 

“Grindr,” said Jett. 

“It’s an app that–” Bradley started. Erin cut him off.

“Yes, I know what Grindr is, thank you, Bradley,” said Erin, playfully. “Well, you two make a cute couple! Glad to hear from you.”

The lights on Jett and Bradley’s areas went dim again. 

“Is there a John M. here?” Another contestant raised their hands, and the lights and cameras went to them. 

“Hello John!”

“Hello?” said John. 

“Where are you from, what do you do?” said Erin.

“Uh, I’m an ambulance driver from Escondido.”

“And how are you feeling right now about our contest?”

“Gotta admit, Erin, I’m not feeling great about it.” 

“You’re feeling slightly better than the contestant next to you,” Erin pointed out. The camera zoomed out to show an empty chair. The lights weren’t just dimmed. They were out.

“Yeah, I uh, guess he didn’t need to hear any more about the show. I’m still curious.” 

“Well, he wasn’t the only one to leave, each one of them will be walking out of here with their half-share of the prize money, so let’s update that total.” 

On the screen, the number $20,600 rolled down to $20,300.

“At the end of each of our challenges, we will recalculate each player’s cashout amount, which is equal to half of their share of the pot. The other half stays in the pot for the eventual winner.” A new number appeared on the screen - ‘Cashout: $100’.

“Each contestant who stays in gets a bigger share the further they go and the more players are eliminated.” Erin continued with what was going to be one of the show’s catchphrases: “The longer you stay in, the more you win!” 

This time, the catchphrase was not met with thunderous applause, but a smattering of claps. 

Erin turned and addressed the camera directly. “Woman Up isn’t just a reality competition show. This is a grand experiment. An endeavor into mad science. Most of us wouldn’t change our genders. In fact, most of us would say ‘I wouldn’t change my gender for a million dollars.’ Well, we’re going to be putting that theory - and our contestants - to the ultimate test.”

“Over the next year, our contestants - all of whom identify as male - will do everything that trans women do. They’ll take on new names and new identities. They’ll wear feminine clothing, learn to train their voices. And yes, if they get far enough, they’ll undergo medical changes as well. All with informed consent. All of whom could walk away at any time.”

John M. got out of his seat, and practically ran towards the exit, deeply growling, “Nope! Nope! Nope! Nope! Nope!” in the background of the shot. 

(“Oh my god, that was so perfect,” said Sam, up in the control booth.)

The jackpot counter spun down to $20,200, with 99 remaining contestants. 

“And we mean any time,” continued Erin. “In a few moments, we’ll be splitting our remaining contestants up into small groups and one-on-one sessions for further questions in order to give them the full details and everything we plan to introduce, starting from pronouns and ending with going

all the way.”

“How far will our contestants go for money? Will they let themselves be changed for mere cash, or is there something else - something more intrinsic than money, that’s core to the male experience? And who, if anyone, of our contestants, can truly ‘Woman up!’?” Erin concluded. 

***

“Good job everyone. Let’s get all the contestants to the waiting area and reconfigure the set for scene three,” said Jimmy, who then smiled at Sam. “I know you have to be with the contestants soon, but do you have five minutes to hit craft services with me?” 

Jimmy and Sam were near a small buffet of pre-made sandwiches, sipping from coffee that came out of one of those extra large coffee makers. 

Contestant “John M” - in reality, crew-member and contestant-plant John Mullen, headed over to them. “Mr. Howard, Ms. Culver, how did I do?”

“You were perfect, John,” said Sam. “Timing, everything. Though I was surprised that three people walked away just from hearing the title. I was expecting that your walkout would be the first.” 

“Do you think it made a difference?” said John. “I mean, I know what you’re saying about my actions showing the contestants that you mean it when you say ‘walk out at any time.’” 

“I think so. I think that there needed to be someone to get the floodgates open.” 

***

“Oh god, that took a lot out of me,” said Erin. “I think I did okay? Did I do okay?”

“Honey,” Julia said, hugging Erin tight from behind - so as not to smear her makeup. “You did great. Relax. Let the adrenaline drain a little bit.”

Behind them, the other contestants were being herded into a separate waiting area, with snacks and sodas provided - all from Garden Fresh, of course - as the crew dismantled the large one-hundred contestant set and moved to set up the smaller, ten contestant set on the main stage. 

***

Sam, freshly caffeinated, headed over to the contestant waiting area, where the ninety nine remaining contestants were waiting, talking amongst themselves, confused. Pranav and Sheri were already there, waiting for her. 

She stood at the front of the room, behind a podium with a laptop already running, and a television screen currently showing the “Woman Up!” logo. She loudly cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention.

“Hello everyone, I’m Sam Culver, I’m the executive producer and showrunner for Women Up. Thanks for bearing with us so far, I know this has been confusing, but soon you’re going to have all the answers you need.  Right now, our crew is reconfiguring the set for the next part of the show, but in the meantime, I’m here to explain to you the nitty gritty details, after which we will answer some of your questions–” 

Sam was hit with a tsunami of simultaneous questions from the contestants.

“What I mean to say,” she yelled over the din, “was that after the three of us are done imparting important information, those of you who choose to remain will return to the studio so you can ask questions in front of the cameras. Please bear with us.” 

She waited for the room to get silent enough to continue, then continued her monologue.

“So, what Erin explained on stage is correct. Sorry for keeping it a surprise until now, but we wanted to get your genuine reactions on camera. Now that you know the basic premise, here’s how the show will work. We’re going to have small group sessions with all of you, where Erin and you will get to interact with each other a bit more, so that the audience can get to know you better as contestants.” 

Various production aides started handing out large comb-bound packets of paper to the contestants, and made sure that every contestant had one.

“Currently, you’re being handed the full rules of our game, along with various forms you will have to fill out and submit electronically within the next two weeks if you choose to continue. If we don’t get your submission, we will automatically assume you do not choose to continue.”

“We’re giving you two weeks to make sure that you have all the time you need to go over your paperwork and talk over this with your friends and family, as this will involve some very big decisions.” 

“If you decide to continue, here is how the game will play out. There’s a copy of this in your packets if you can’t see the screen from here.” Sam put up a calendar on the television screen. “You’ll be flying out to Garden Casa Resort in Yucatan, Mexico, where you’ll each be assigned a room for your stay. We will provide all expenses, including wardrobe and makeup, as well as provide a per-diem for incidental expenses. From there the shooting schedules are organized roughly monthly - three weeks on, one week off - that is, you’ll stay at Garden Casa for three weeks, then have a week back in the U.S., which again, we suggest you use to talk to your friends and family.” 

“At any time you choose, whether the cameras are filming or not, you can quit.” 

“In the three weeks that you are at Garden Casa, you will choose, or be assigned, a feminine name, likely beginning with the same first letter as your current name. This is an important part of the game - as if you refer to yourself or another contestant with the wrong name and any of the producers or crew catch you, we’ll deduct $25 from your personal winnings for each time you do it. We’ll deduct $5 for each time you use the wrong pronoun, as well.”

“Each three week period will have three games - two games as a group to add money to the jackpot, and one game to win individual money for yourselves. What you win individually, you keep - unless you mess up the name and pronouns, of course.” 

“Now, the tough part. Yes, we are serious about full transitioning, and this is where the true endurance challenge comes in. I’m going to turn the presentation over to Dr. Vadekar for this.”

Sam hit a button on the computer, and it listed a list of various medical interventions over the timeline, and then stepped back and let Pranav talk to the contestants.

“Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Pranav Vadekar, I’m a medical professional licensed in the state of California, specializing in plastic surgery. I will not be administering any treatments or performing any surgeries, my job here is to vet the medical professionals providing the treatments, and to answer any medical questions you may have. As the chief medical advisor on the project, I am also able to make a determination, if I have to, if you are not able to continue participation because it presents a great risk to your health and safety, or to the health and safety of other people.”

“There’s one thing I should be very clear on,” said Pranav. “Your safety and health are not guaranteed.”

***

An aide ran into the control room with a cellphone and jammed it into Jimmy’s hand.

“Hey!” Jimmy exclaimed.

“It’s legal,” said the aide, frantically.

“What’s legal?”

The aide rolled their eyes.

“It’s corporate legal.”

“Oh.” Jimmy grabbed the phone and brought it to his ear, and his cheerful demeanor became dour. He headed out of the booth in a rush. 

In a small storage closet off the main hallway, Jimmy took the call.

“Hello again, Mr. Roen. Nice to hear from you. How are things?”

From the other end of the phone call came a stoic, emotionless voice. “Not great. Have you heard of the Federal Communication Act Of 1960, section five hundred and eight?” 

“I must have been sick the day they covered that in Game Show Host College. Break it down for me?”

“Section Five oh-eight, Forty Seven United States Code 508. Prohibited practices in case of contests of intellectual knowledge, intellectual skill, or chance. Since you’re a layman, I’ll skip to the juicy bit. ‘It shall be unlawful for any person, with intent to deceive the listening or viewing public… to engage in any artifice or scheme for the purpose of pre-arranging or predetermining in whole or in part the outcome of a purportedly bona fide contest of intellectual knowledge, intellectual skill… yada yada yada.’” 

Jimmy sighed. 

“Is this about Rafael Espinar?”

“No,” said Roen, his voice straining just that little bit more to keep under a measured, even, control. “Who is Rafael Espinar? Should I know about Mr. Rafael Espinar?”

“A contestant that needed more prep. But he was given no information or aid that the other contestants had.”

“You’d better be sure of that,” said Roen. 

“So then, what is this about?” 

“John Mullen,” said Roen. 

“Oh, that. I don’t see the problem. It didn’t affect the outcome of the contest, and the contestants knew there would be deception involved. We made them sign something to that effect. In fact, if I remember, you insisted.”

“What about the viewing audience? They didn’t sign anything,” said Roen. 

“If you’re worried about the audience feeling betrayed we can make a note in the credits acknowledging his role.” 

Jimmy thought for a second about this - something wasn’t right. 

“Wait, Christopher, Garden Alpha is a private streaming subscription service. Does the Telecommunications Act even apply? I thought that was just for terrestrial using the public airwaves.”

The lawyer sighed. “Not for the first run on Alpha, it doesn’t. But if the show’s reruns get distributed in syndication on a terrestrial network, then the FCC could haul us down to D.C. for some very uncomfortable questioning.”

Jimmy could almost hear the lawyer rubbing his temples through the cellular connection, and decided it was time for some ass-smoke.

“Christopher, you’re a brilliant lawyer. Tell you what, we’ll film a promo with Erin and John together, explaining what his role was in the show, if we splice that in somewhere in post, the audience is not deceived, the contestants were told there were elements of deception to the game and they signed paperwork to that effect, and if anyone complains about it, you’ll find the perfect legal argument for our actions.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Christopher Roan, whose job title was Legal Council, whose law degree was from the University of Chicago and who has never held a job with the words “Vice President” in the title said, in a very even voice: “Are you trying to blow smoke up my ass right now, Jimmy?”

“That depends. Is it working?” 

“It is not.”

***

Pranav addressed the room of increasingly uneasy contestants, as they either watched the screen, or flipped to page twenty in their binders, as instructed. 

“In month one, you’ll be given one of a number of anti-androgens. The effects of this is that it will shut down production of testosterone in your body. This is a process known as chemical castration.”

Pranav paused for effect.

“Let me repeat myself. This process is called chemical castration. Cas-stra-shun. Okay, are we all clear? Good.” 

“Now, in addition to the loss of testosterone in your body, there are risks involved, and side effects, which I will discuss with you in detail, but at this point, the effects should not be permanent and should eventually work its way out of your endocrine system after about five or six weeks if you choose to discontinue treatment. However, side-effects may include, among other things, the inability to have children in the future. We can arrange for fertility preservation - that is, sperm storage - if you wish.”

Some of the contestants snickered.

“Month two, if you choose to continue, the anti-androgen will be reapplied. We will also be administering estrogen in appropriate doses to bring you each to ‘female normal’ estrogen and testosterone levels, and both will be tested via weekly blood tests to determine that you actually are taking the medications prescribed.”

“At this point, not only will you start feeling physical effects, but also psychological ones as well. You may be feeling discomfort, depression, and anxiety, which is known as ‘gender dysphoria’ - a mismatch between your gender and your hormones. Sheri is our psychological health advisor, and she will go more into that soon. Also at this point you may start to see physical changes, which may lead to gender dysmorphia, which can also bring about depression and anxiety.”

“The third month will continue the existing treatments. You’ll notice that I’ve marked a red line in the middle of the third month. I can make no one hundred percent guarantees, but if you choose to drop out before the tenth week of treatment, it will be likely - but again not guaranteed - that you will not experience any permanent changes. However, if you continue past this red line - I can almost guarantee you will.”

***

Leonard was paying attention to Dr. Pranav’s speech carefully. This turned out to be way more than he was expecting, and all things considered, probably wasn’t for him. He looked over at Ethan who he expected to be as disinterested in the rest of the discussion as he was, but instead, he saw Ethan’s face and knew Ethan’s mind was working overtime.

It was the furrowed brow, the slight frown, the way his tongue came out just a little bit. And he could see that Ethan was writing in the margins. 

“Ethan?” he whispered.

Ethan held up a single finger in response. That’s when Leonard knew Ethan was in the zone, that state of flow programmers sometimes get into when the problem in front of them is all encompassing and all consuming, when there is just you and the problem and any distraction, no matter how brief or innocent, defeats your progress. 

Leonard backed off as Ethan penciled in some math equations in the margins. He made some estimates and assumptions based on other game shows (Deal or No Deal featured a geometric progression of prize money, and so he used that as a model), and an estimate of how many contestants would stay in. Finally, he circled one phrase, and then showed it, silently to Leonard. 

It read: “Assuming 50% attrition per month, Red Line = $12500 +/- 4000. Each.”

Leonard looked at Ethan, and Ethan looked at Leonard. That was a lot of money for college students. Especially when you considered they’d get room and board for a month or two. In a tropical resort. It was… tempting.

***

“Where was I?” said Pranav. “Oh yes.”

“The fourth month will be the first of the physical interventions, starting with electrolysis of beard hair. This is a permanent change, and you will not be able to regrow a beard or mustache if you go through with it. It’s also, from what I hear, extremely painful, though we will try to minimize the amount of pain involved.” 

***

Bradley frowned, stroking his beard. His beautiful, bountiful, brown beard. 

He cared for his beard. He trimmed his beard, he waxed his beard. He was a beard guy. The thought of permanently losing his beard frightened him more than he thought it would. 

But he looked over next to Jett, who was just slyly smirking next to him, not a care in the world. That’s when Bradley knew that Jett would not be dropping out. Which meant that Jett would be spending three weeks, at least, away from him. Leaving him alone in that little studio apartment. 

Bradley liked his beard. But did he like it as much as he hated being alone?

***

“The fifth and six months, there will be no further new treatments, but the existing treatments will be continued.”

“The seventh month will be the introduction of the first truly surgical intervention. Breast augmentation. Obviously, implants can be removed, but only surgically. You should consider this a permanent change.”

***

Rafael rolled his eyes, this was the stupidest idea ever. He sat through the lecture, but mostly because he didn’t know if he’d still get his hundred dollar consolation prize if he didn’t. And he might as well kill some time. Besides, some of these boys were eye-candy, and that was always nice.

Bah. Breast implants. Who would be stupid enough to get breast implants. He had breasts. And they were always getting in the way, or causing him back pain, or getting all sensitive and stuff when all he wanted to do was just not deal with them. Not to mention the attention that they garnered if he wasn’t wearing his binder. 

Then again… there was one thing that he couldn’t shake - is that if nothing else, it might get his parents off his back. What better way to prove that he can’t be a woman than to try and earnestly fail to be a woman even when being paid to do so? And to have video records of it as well.

Two rows back and three seats to the side from Rafael sat Gooch, who was, surprisingly, intrigued. Gooch leaned over to whisper to Jacob. 

“Holy shit, Jacob. I could actually win this.”

“What?” Jacob asked. 

“Remember that time I told you that if I ever had an idea that made me laugh for more than five minutes, continuously, I had to do it. That it was a law from the universe, and that I could no more disobey it than disobey the word of God?”

“Not in so many words, but yes?” Jacob responded. 

“How fucking funny would it be if I got breast implants?”

***

Pranav took a drink of water, and straightened his tie, continuing with the lecture. 

“We suspect that we may already have a winner or winners by this point, but if you go on to month number nine, the next step… is an orchiectomy.”

Three contestants immediately winced and gasped. The other ninety six just looked on with confusion.

“In that procedure, which is absolutely permanent, you will have both of your testicles removed.”

Then the other ninety six contestants winced and gasped. A few “Holy Shit!”s, a few “Jesus Christ!”s and one clearly distinct “oh sweet mother of Moses!” were heard in the crowd. 

“Month ten will involve facial feminization surgery. This will alter the bone structure of your face, and can be a very painful recovery. Again, these changes are permanent,” said Pranav. 

“Month eleven, there is another round of electrolysis. Genital electrolysis.”

A high pitched squeal of horror came from one of the contestants. 

Pranav looked at them directly. 

“Seriously? You didn’t squeal at the orchiectomy but you’re worried about genital electrolysis?”

The contestant looked sheepish. 

“I zoned out for a moment there before. What’s an orchiectomy again?”

“It’s when they cut off your balls. Try to keep up,” said Pranav. 

The contestant went ghost white. Pranav resumed the lecture.

“The genital electrolysis in month eleven is to prepare you for month twelve, which is GRS - gender reassignment surgery, also known as vaginoplasty.”

“It should be noted,” continued Pranav, “that not even trans women necessarily want or need these surgical interventions. And it should also be noted, that my medical advice to you is that you should not consent to these medical interventions. If you ask me if you should walk away, I will always answer yes. These are non-necessary medical procedures. If you accept them you will be going against medical advice.”

“In other words,” concluded Pranav. “I’m telling you that this is a bad idea, and you shouldn’t do it. But if you choose to continue anyway, you should be aware of all the effects and the risks. May God have mercy on your souls. Now with that, I’ll turn the podium over to Sheri Winston, our psychological advisor, to explain the psychological risks.”

***

Oscar furrowed his brow and weighed his options. For one, he absolutely did not want to have his balls cut off. Not even Lefty, the troublesome one - no, he would be quite frankly quite happy if he never heard the word ‘orchiectomy’ in his life ever again. 

However, this scheme seemed terribly, terribly “woke.” 

There were times the definition of “woke” often seemed nebulous, even to him and his fellow patriotic conservatives. At times, it could even be ephemeral. It sometimes seemed that the label was applied to anything the Republicans didn’t like.

(It was the other way around, he reasoned, and would gladly explain to anyone who asked - It wasn’t that Republicans called anything they didn’t like “woke”. It was that anything that was “woke”, Republicans didn’t like.) 

And here they are talking about psychological damage? Whatever. 

There was one thing he knew about trans people, one thing he utterly knew at his core, and that was that they were all perverts who were either faking it for attention or to invade the spaces of women and wait for a moment to attack them.  

God doesn’t make mistakes, after all. 

In fact, it seemed like God was handing him an opportunity on a silver platter. So-called “trans-women” were dressing in women’s clothing and makeup all the time, so what would happen if a normal, ordinary, American patriot were to show everyone how easy it would be to fake this gender nonsense? That might save a few young women from being attacked by perverts. 

And if he could prove trans people were faking it? It might also flip a few votes in some key swing states, now, wouldn’t it?

***

Sheri stepped up to the podium, relying on her notes on index cards that Sam had helpfully printed up. 

“Hello everyone. Um…” Sheri hesitated. 

“Right. Well, this is important. As you can tell, I’m a transgender woman.”

Sheri braced herself for the ‘boos’. None came. Instead, there was silent staring. Which might have been slightly worse. Maybe. It was close. Maybe a toss-up. 

“For the past fifteen years, I’ve worked as a psychologist and counselor, and for the past five, I’ve worked specifically with LGBTQ plus issues, specifically related to transgender patients. I urge extreme caution. I believe this… experiment, reality show, whatever… that it will inflict upon you the psychological torment that many transgender people experience before they transition.”

“You will have an advantage over trans people in a very specific way. Not all trans people initially realize that the psychological strain they experience is related to gender. I myself only came to the realization that I was trans at the age of forty. Before then, I just thought the depression and anxiety, the unease and discomfort I had experienced my entire life was part of my innate personality and disposition. It only became obviously related to gender in retrospect, after I had started transitioning. That’s the advantage: Unlike myself, if, and more likely when, you start to experience this discomfort, you will know it is related to gender.” 

“You may not experience any symptoms of dysphoria, but here are some common ones: Continual difficulty with getting tasks accomplished and getting things done. A sense of misalignment or disconnect from your own emotions. An existential pointlessness to your life, no real sense of meaning… as you just go through the motions of–”

Sheri started to choke up, taking a moment. She took a sip of bottled water, and then started to resume her lecture. 

“I didn’t know I was transgender. But I knew I was somehow different from everyone else, and wished I could be normal like them. What I’m trying to get at is… I speak from experience when I say that this will not just be a physical struggle but a psychological one. And while Dr. Vadekar has pointed out that, at least if you drop out early, some physical changes can be medically reversible, the psychological damage may stay with you the rest of your life.” 

***

Victor wiped a tear from his eye. Such bravery! Such courage! Such drama from this woman’s story! 

Victor decided that this wasn’t just going to be about getting his name out there, getting screen time… no. He would experience entire new emotions. Experience great changes and feelings that he could then add to his repertoire. This wasn’t just an opportunity for exposure but to become a master of his craft. 

Already he was trying to will himself to shed a single tear at Ms. Winston’s story. It wasn’t working. He wondered if he should try plucking a nose hair, the way Cate Blanchett used to do to make herself cry on cue. And then he remembered the embarrassment of contestant #108 who was caught digging for gold and decided against it. 

***

Sheri composed herself, gripping the podium with both hands, and continued.

“During this contest, like Dr. Vadekar will be a judge if you are too physically unwell to continue, I will be a judge if you are unable to handle the strain and present a danger to yourself or others.”

“Other than that, my role in the production is to provide you with psychological advice and to act as supervisor to psychological counseling staff. However, if you wish to secure your own therapist, you may do so, and Garden will reimburse you for the costs associated. You will also be able to contact friends and family via phone and internet, throughout. If you wish to keep either of these conversations private, you may elect to do so.”

Sheri wrapped up her speech, starting with a long sigh. 

“The main point is that you should not feel psychologically pressured to do anything you do not choose to do. Yes. It’s a competition. Yes, there’s money involved. But if I had to sum up why I’m doing this, it’s to remind you that this is just television.”

“It’s not real life,” Sheri said. 

Sam took over the podium then. 

“At this time, those of you who have already decided that they will not continue on, you can head out the doors to your left, where we will process your prize money for your participation so far. Those of you who are still considering staying in, please wait, and we will be bringing you back into the studio in groups of ten for the Q&A period.”

Some murmuring and shuffling, and then the vast majority of the crowd stood, and headed out. At first a trickle, then more and more. Until finally, staff had to make sure that people left in an orderly queue, lest they prompt a fire hazard.

When all was said and done, Sam, Pranav, and Sheri looked at the vast sea of folding chairs, and the nine - just nine! - people who remained.  

***