The Whip or the Dance of Shame?

[Infected Mushroom]

What does it say in the op?

These high schoolers are “stupid”

The OP doesn't mention stupid at any point. The word "stupid" doesn't even show up in the post.

You are a high school student living in a country governed by a psychotic government. The government has given the school’s administrators 100 percent power over the students.

On a normal day, the school is run like any typical North American public school. There is a lot of bullying and social ostracization. You are not one of the Popular Kids but your reputation is Intact and you are off radar. However, the students will seize every opportunity to bully those who are vulnerable.

However, one days things change. You unwisely decide to sell some recreational drugs to some of the students. The school itself has a zero tolerance policy towards drugs. You make a few sales but one of the students snitches on you and you are brought before the school’s administrators for disciplining.

At first, the school wanted to make a huge example out of you but upon examining your records they realize that until now you are a model student and have as far as they know, conducted your duties as student with honor. Because of this, they decide to give you a choice with respect to the punishment. You must choose within 5 mins or else BOTH sets of punishments will be administered on you. Whatever you choose will be administered immediately:

Choice 1: Dance of Shame

You will be required to wear a “servant’s outfit” (prepared by the school) and “forced” to dance non stop in front of the students for three consecutive classes (about three hours) ... as the classes are being taught. The teachers will control noise levels so they can teach but they will not interfere to protect you when the students throw things at you, take pictures/recordings, or quietly snigger/mock you.

If you somehow disrespect the teachers with the way that you dance (completely subjective to the teacher’s own call) you will be beaten in full view of your class. If you get tired or for whatever reason stop dancing, the teachers will beat you in full view of the class. If the teachers feel you’re not really “dancing” (again, subjective, but their call)... yes you get beaten in full view. You have to remain standing for 100 percent of the dance period. Except for these rules, you can dance however you want.

Never in the history of the school has this public shaming method been used.

Choice 2: the Whip

It’s just like it sounds. You get on all the floor in a designated position. Then a trained administrator of corporal punishment will give you 27 very hard lashes against your bare back. If you resist, the numbers will go up.

The difference though is that this is a “confidential” punishment. Your peers won’t see it happen and the school gives you its word that it won’t leak the details of your punishment to the class. Hence your reputation and honor remains more intact.

There is no mention of what the students are. The only stupid person here is the snitch. For obvious reasons.

The op says (I think second paragraph) that they will seize every opportunity to bully the vulnerable students. Also, the wording of the dance of Shame says that it’s factual (“when” not “if”) that the students will actively hurt/humiliate you.

Furthermore, the fact that you got snitched says a lot about your value to the class. Popular kids generally don’t get snitched on.

In fact, it’s not said in the op but when I came up with this, you’re not the only person supplying drugs. You’re just not popular enough to be immune from snitching and crowd bullying. The other dealer kids are far better connected.

[Cannot think of a name]

I suppose if I spent three hours dancing in front of the whole school they'd know exactly who to come to for the hook up.

"Look at those moves, his drugs must be awesome!"

"unce unce unce unce aa aa oo aa aa...you know what I'm talking 'bout, I got that good stuff...hey there berkenstocks...bunka un ka un ka bunka un ka un ka, I got you...heshers, I got you digitidigitidigitdigitdigitdigitdigiti...yeah, you know who gots what you need...

[Bombadil]

Will: He used to just put a belt, a stick, and a wrench on the kitchen table and say, "Choose."
Sean: Well, I gotta go with the belt there, Vanna.
Will: I used to go with the wrench.
Sean: Why?
Will: Cause fuck him, that' why.

Sounds to me like this choice is take the whip or dance for an indeterminate time before the psycho teacher whips you anyway for not meeting his psychotic standard.. so take the whip upfront and be done with it.

Anyway, I'm surprised the OP is so willing to give up his honour and dance like a monkey for three hours given previous threads where honour is all.. I'm sure I've seen them proscribe the death penalty because.. honour.. amazing his honour means so little that a bit of pain is all it takes for him to give it all up.. makes me question their judgment on others beyond the vast questions I had before.

[Washington Resistance Army]

I stab whoever tries to whip me.

[Scomagia]

I stab whoever tries to whip me.

Reminder: No one invite WRA to their BDSM party.

[Infected Mushroom]

I stab whoever tries to whip me.

You don’t want to know what they do to murderers in this dystopia

[Washington Resistance Army]

I stab whoever tries to whip me.

You don’t want to know what they do to murderers in this dystopia

Still worth it.

[Olthar]

Sounds like this school could use a shooting or two.

[The Two Jerseys]

I stab whoever tries to whip me.

You don’t want to know what they do to murderers in this dystopia

They'll have to catch me first.

Because in this universe, I'm John Rambo.

[Washington Resistance Army]

You don’t want to know what they do to murderers in this dystopia

They'll have to catch me first.

Because in this universe, I'm John Rambo.

Let it go

[The Two Jerseys]

They'll have to catch me first.

Because in this universe, I'm John Rambo.

Let it go

Do we get to win this time?

[Varayusha]

So apparently, in this scenario, everyone is against you. This means that, if you choose the dance, the teachers will beat you, for "disrespect" or "failing to dance properly", until you can no longer move. And then they will beat you to death for being unable to dance. Why is this even a choice.

[Datlofff]

IM you need some help fam.

Must be all the League of Legends guys. He's been grinding too hard to finally hit plat.

[Caracasus]

Well if nothing else this thread presents an interesting dystopia.

Twenty years later...

The clouds overhead threatened rain, the matte black armored police van parked just a street away promised violence. This cross section of sagging residential blocs and warehouses were technically under the jurisdiction of the Yellow Sun Enforcement Corp - one of the less competent and less brutal of the sixteen or so outfits that had purchased contracts to police the city.

The afternoon's shower had left puddles here and there. Kids threw pebbles into the deepest potholes, disrupting momentarily the frothy rainbow slick of oil runoff. I had watched at the corner for some five minutes or so, and almost like animals that had learned where the electric fence was they avoided approaching the police van, avoided even looking at it. It lurked. Not Yellow Sun, the hawk emblem on the side marked it as the Honor Guard. Some poor bastard would no doubt vanish tonight, never to be seen again.

I approached the pool hall. Posters plastered over the crumbling brick walls of the building told me that our enemies, both the hostile powers without and the terrorists within, were selling drugs. That being in possession of such substances was to be treated as an act of terrorism. Our enemies wanted us weak, apparently. I took in the city, briefly. The tired apartment blocks, the graffiti, the paid psychopaths in the police van. How much weaker could we possibly be?

His card was nestled on the pushpin board beside badly spelled fliers from one of a half dozen nationalist movements, each claiming in more lurid details exactly which ethnic group was responsible for our troubles, and exactly what should be done with them.

The logo was unmistakable. A stylized form adorned the little cellophane wraps his henchmen distributed across the city. Little chemical escape hatches from the hell around them. It was even carved into the pills that the tearaway teenage kids of the more affluent classes took in the officially sanctioned clubs in Azure district. A strange name for the man who controlled as much as a full third of the illicit drug trade across the country, something I'd wondered about on and off for almost half a decade now.

The rain started to fall in thick gobs, oily wet it spattered like birdshit across the pavements. I pulled my coat closer to and pressed the intercom.

I was led through the pool hall. Harsh fluorescent lights reflected the heavy wooden frames of the tables. Without the music, without the clack of cue against hard plastic and without the chatter the place seemed like a tomb. In a few hours, at the designated opening time, this place would be packed with people. For now, it rested. The ghost of stale beer and badly fitted toilets lingered.

He was strikingly ugly, this kingpin. He might, you could concede, have looked normal enough had it not been for the badly set nose, the broken jaw that had been wired wrong, giving him a noticeable overbite and the savage, ragged scar that cut through his cheek. Emaciated, his expensively tailored suit made a mockery of him, as if someone had draped it across a scarecrow. Only his eyes gave any indication as to how he had come to rule the underworld. They burned.

I slid the envelope across the desk.

"That's all of them. The last one. We kept our end of the deal...."

He waved a hand. "Of course. Your shipment comes in tonight. I'll let them know to be expecting you, shall I?"

I nodded, and paused. I had to ask. After nearly five years working together I had to know....

"Listen. I...."

He looked up. I continued. It was now or never.

"I wanted to know. When we started our.... arrangement our people thought it'd be police officers, you know? The ones your people couldn't bribe. Snitches, that sort of thing. But the list you gave us... the names... a retired headmaster, a chartered accountant, a dance instructor..."

He started coughing, a deep spluttering, mechanical sound like an engine stalling. A second or so later it registered. He was laughing.

Slowly, and with obvious discomfort he pulled himself to his feet. Planted his hands splayed across the table. A missing ring finger. Veins snaking over bone and sinew.

"Did... Did I ever tell you why they call me Dancer?"

[Infected Mushroom]

Well if nothing else this thread presents an interesting dystopia.

Twenty years later...

The clouds overhead threatened rain, the matte black armored police van parked just a street away promised violence. This cross section of sagging residential blocs and warehouses were technically under the jurisdiction of the Yellow Sun Enforcement Corp - one of the less competent and less brutal of the sixteen or so outfits that had purchased contracts to police the city.

The afternoon's shower had left puddles here and there. Kids threw pebbles into the deepest potholes, disrupting momentarily the frothy rainbow slick of oil runoff. I had watched at the corner for some five minutes or so, and almost like animals that had learned where the electric fence was they avoided approaching the police van, avoided even looking at it. It lurked. Not Yellow Sun, the hawk emblem on the side marked it as the Honor Guard. Some poor bastard would no doubt vanish tonight, never to be seen again.

I approached the pool hall. Posters plastered over the crumbling brick walls of the building told me that our enemies, both the hostile powers without and the terrorists within, were selling drugs. That being in possession of such substances was to be treated as an act of terrorism. Our enemies wanted us weak, apparently. I took in the city, briefly. The tired apartment blocks, the graffiti, the paid psychopaths in the police van. How much weaker could we possibly be?

His card was nestled on the pushpin board beside badly spelled fliers from one of a half dozen nationalist movements, each claiming in more lurid details exactly which ethnic group was responsible for our troubles, and exactly what should be done with them.

The logo was unmistakable. A stylized form adorned the little cellophane wraps his henchmen distributed across the city. Little chemical escape hatches from the hell around them. It was even carved into the pills that the tearaway teenage kids of the more affluent classes took in the officially sanctioned clubs in Azure district. A strange name for the man who controlled as much as a full third of the illicit drug trade across the country, something I'd wondered about on and off for almost half a decade now.

The rain started to fall in thick gobs, oily wet it spattered like birdshit across the pavements. I pulled my coat closer to and pressed the intercom.

I was led through the pool hall. Harsh fluorescent lights reflected the heavy wooden frames of the tables. Without the music, without the clack of cue against hard plastic and without the chatter the place seemed like a tomb. In a few hours, at the designated opening time, this place would be packed with people. For now, it rested. The ghost of stale beer and badly fitted toilets lingered.

He was strikingly ugly, this kingpin. He might, you could concede, have looked normal enough had it not been for the badly set nose, the broken jaw that had been wired wrong, giving him a noticeable overbite and the savage, ragged scar that cut through his cheek. Emaciated, his expensively tailored suit made a mockery of him, as if someone had draped it across a scarecrow. Only his eyes gave any indication as to how he had come to rule the underworld. They burned.

I slid the envelope across the desk.

"That's all of them. The last one. We kept our end of the deal...."

He waved a hand. "Of course. Your shipment comes in tonight. I'll let them know to be expecting you, shall I?"

I nodded, and paused. I had to ask. After nearly five years working together I had to know....

"Listen. I...."

He looked up. I continued. It was now or never.

"I wanted to know. When we started our.... arrangement our people thought it'd be police officers, you know? The ones your people couldn't bribe. Snitches, that sort of thing. But the list you gave us... the names... a retired headmaster, a chartered accountant, a dance instructor..."

He started coughing, a deep spluttering, mechanical sound like an engine stalling. A second or so later it registered. He was laughing.

Slowly, and with obvious discomfort he pulled himself to his feet. Planted his hands splayed across the table. A missing ring finger. Veins snaking over bone and sinew.

"Did... Did I ever tell you why they call me Dancer?"

[New haven america]

If they're living under a psychotic government then why would random civilians (Children, no less) be allowed to have photographic and recording devices? You are aware that generally in order to keep power authoritarian governments try to limit communication and information between people as much as humanly possible, right?

Also, how would other students or people outside of school not notice the fucking lash marks and a bloody open back? Whips aren't a clean weapon, they're meant to cause as much damage as possible.

This is stupid.

[Infected Mushroom]

If they're living under a psychotic government then why would random civilians (Children, no less) be allowed to have photographic and recording devices? You are aware that generally in order to keep power authoritarian governments try to limit communication and information between people as much as humanly possible, right?

Also, how would other students or people outside of school not notice the fucking lash marks and a bloody open back? Whips aren't a clean weapon, they're meant to cause as much damage as possible.

This is stupid.

People outside of the school might notice your lash marks. You can cover your back with a shirt for class purposes.

Its a psychotic government, not a totalitarian or traditionally authoritarian one. There is a difference.

[New haven america]

If they're living under a psychotic government then why would random civilians (Children, no less) be allowed to have photographic and recording devices? You are aware that generally in order to keep power authoritarian governments try to limit communication and information between people as much as humanly possible, right?

Also, how would other students or people outside of school not notice the fucking lash marks and a bloody open back? Whips aren't a clean weapon, they're meant to cause as much damage as possible.

This is stupid.

1.People outside of the school might notice your lash marks. You can cover your back with a shirt for class purposes.

2.Its a psychotic government, not a totalitarian or traditionally authoritarian one. There is a difference.

1. That's not how whip wounds work. How do you expect to cover the blood, the flayed skin, or the fact that the person can't stand or sit correctly due to the pain and damage to the back muscles? And if you say bandages, then here's a newflash, large coverings of wounds are pretty damn noticeable.

2. Nope. If you have a government where the state is giving 100% of power over students to their authorities and harsh corporal punishment like what you described in your OP, then you're living in an authoritarian government whether you want to admit it or not.

I repeat, this is stupid.

[Infected Mushroom]

1.People outside of the school might notice your lash marks. You can cover your back with a shirt for class purposes.

2.Its a psychotic government, not a totalitarian or traditionally authoritarian one. There is a difference.

1. That's not how whip wounds work. How do you expect to cover the blood, the flayed skin, or the fact that the person can't stand or sit correctly due to the pain and damage to the back muscles? And if you say bandages, then here's a newflash, large coverings of wounds are pretty damn noticeable.

2. Nope. If you have a government where the state is giving 100% of power over students to their authorities and harsh corporal punishment like what you described in your OP, then you're living in an authoritarian government whether you want to admit it or not.

I repeat, this is stupid.

No it makes sense.

There's no problem here. You can simply cover the wounds up. And there's no sense in assuming how a government would or wouldn't act because you aren't the government in the OP.

[New haven america]

1. That's not how whip wounds work. How do you expect to cover the blood, the flayed skin, or the fact that the person can't stand or sit correctly due to the pain and damage to the back muscles? And if you say bandages, then here's a newflash, large coverings of wounds are pretty damn noticeable.

2. Nope. If you have a government where the state is giving 100% of power over students to their authorities and harsh corporal punishment like what you described in your OP, then you're living in an authoritarian government whether you want to admit it or not.

I repeat, this is stupid.

No it makes sense.

There's no problem here. You can simply cover the wounds up. And there's no sense in assuming how a government would or wouldn't act because you aren't the government in the OP.

Did you actually read my post?

[Infected Mushroom]

No it makes sense.

There's no problem here. You can simply cover the wounds up. And there's no sense in assuming how a government would or wouldn't act because you aren't the government in the OP.

Did you actually read my post?

you can simply cover up the back

not necessarily easily done but it can be done

[New haven america]

Did you actually read my post?

you can simply cover up the back

not necessarily easily done but it can be done

"Just simply do X" vs "X isn't easy, but it might be able to be done."

Pick one.

[Infected Mushroom]

you can simply cover up the back

not necessarily easily done but it can be done

"Just simply do X" vs "X isn't easy, but it might be able to be done."

Pick one.

there's no reason why you can't just stop the bleeding and then cover up some wounds and then put a shirt back on

[Thermodolia]

Several things:

1. It says in the op the government has given the school 100 percent power over the students and that the government is psychotic, you’re not going to get their help here
2. The idea behind whipping your back is that you can wear clothes to cover the scars from your class
3. you can attend another school; doesn’t change the fact that as the op states, right now... you have five minutes to choose the punishment (which gets administered immediately. You have to choose or both get enforced on you.

It’s basically a horror scenario because you can’t immediately leave without the teachers immediately punishing. Also, as a student you obviously can’t physically overpower your overlords.

Do you know how scars and whips work?

Because they aren’t exactly things you just hide under a shirt or two. The shirts will stick to the wounds which assuming they aren’t bleeding profusely would be leaking plasma like crazy

[New haven america]

"Just simply do X" vs "X isn't easy, but it might be able to be done."

Pick one.

there's no reason why you can't just stop the bleeding and then cover up some wounds and then put a shirt back on

Except for the fact that as mentioned before, bandages covering large areas (Like the back) are pretty bloody noticeable (Even with shirts on), and that the person who was just whipped wouldn't be able to stand or sit properly due to the fact that they have a giant open wound on their back.