The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The time was still 10:36. And Xerxes still puffed at his cigarette, staring at the static of the projector. The camera was still recording.

He hadn’t hesitated, when he’d come rushing in here seven minutes before. He’d been in stride when he’d re-entered his office from the street, and he’d remained in stride until he’d reached his projector. Although he had run in the street, he had not run once inside his office, because running in such a cramped space was not as practical as running on the open street.

He’d been in such a rush before he would have run if it had been practical; though. He’d settled for getting himself to his projector as efficiently as possible.

He could still hear the ambient noise now that he’d heard then. It was the same ambient noise which typically surrounded him at his place of work: the sounds of cars and other vehicles of transport, sometimes the sound of a backfire. Sometimes in the distance the odd gunshot or two. That was never unexpected in the only part of town he could afford to pay an office-lease in, and of practical value to him sometimes. Some people lost a loved-one and wanted the killer tracked down “unofficially,” so they could take their retribution out of them personally.

The same ambient sounds were there as ever— they’d been there seven minutes ago too. He hadn’t paid attention to them, and he was barely paying attention to them now. When he’d strode in here, his mind had been occupied with the last thing he’d heard someone say to him— and now his mind was focused on the mystery ahead of him.

His cigarette was helping. Helping to focus his concentration, and helping to give him a moment of respite, at least.

If he looked around the room now, he would see the same things he always saw: his office was as he’d left when he’d stepped out about twenty-five minutes ago. And it was as it had been when he’d returned to it seven minutes ago. At least, that was his assumption, as he hadn’t checked things over very closely then, either.

If he looked around now, he would see his dark-wood desk. He would not see his ashtray there, because he’d moved it to the table near the projector, and the cigarette which otherwise would have been smoldering in it was against his mouth. He was still puffing on it pensively, and looking at static.

But if he looked around now, he would see the crooked blinds on his windows that the neon-lights of the district seeped in through, in their reds and blues and yellows.

And he would see the cracked mirror on the wall parallel to him, which hung a few feet past where he stood, along the way to the door. He sometimes stood in front of it when he expected an appointment and wanted to see about doing something to fix his appearance as best he could.

If he stood in front of it now, he’d see the same thing he’d glimpsed twenty-five minutes ago when he’d stepped out to grab a coffee to go from the diner down the way: a forty-five-year-old blonde man with shaggy hair and a weathered face, wearing a rumpled dress-shirt because the suit-jacket he usually wore over it was really more of a permanent installation on the back of his desk-chair than anything else. And in looking at his reflection, he might have lamented the fact that the coffee he’d gone out in search of hadn’t made it back to his office with him— that it had instead, in the rush, been dropped in the gutter and run away from.

But just as he hadn’t interrupted his concentration to regard his desk or blinds or anything else, he didn’t interrupt it now to go and stand in front of the mirror and regard himself. And he didn’t think of the to-go coffee that had become so much litter on the street. Xerxes was still concentrating.

He knew he ought to fiddle with the dials on the frequency-scanner again, and seek the right tuning; but he had turned now, and he was staring at the video-camera on the tripod which was still recording the wall the projector was projecting onto. It had simultaneously captured all that he’d seen so far; it would capture what he went on to see next. What it recorded would come in handy as evidence after the fact— that was why he’d promised Kalchek he’d give him its video-card. Kalchek and the others at the department would be able to follow from the work he did tonight.

He thought of Kalchek again. Xerxes Trewhitt had never been a man who worked with a partner, but in moments like these, he saw the appeal; breaking down his thoughts aloud helped him to organize them, and it would have been useful to have a sounding-board for that reason. If only he could have gotten Officer Kalchek to this end of town earlier, if only he could have him in his office right now. But Kalchek was all the way on the other side of town, so 11:30 at the diner, in— Xerxes glanced again at his watch— 53 minutes had been the best Kalchek could do.

Xerxes did think of the coffee then, and lamented that it had been a casualty of his speed. It would have been perfection at this moment. But at least when he met with Kalchek in 53 minutes at the same diner he’d gotten the to-go coffee from, he could order a new cup and actually drink it this time. And though the mystery he was considering seemed very tangled to him in this moment, he still felt sure that by the time he saw Kalchek he would have solved it for him.

Trewhitt didn’t have a partner, but liaising with the city’s police department through Kalchek almost made him feel like he did, at times. And he was making this record for Kalchek— so even though Kalchek was not in the room, he could use him as a sounding-board by speaking aloud to him through secondary-record. When he’d started recording, doing that had helped— and even now, he could picture Kalchek clearly in the room, with his grizzled gray facial hair; still his sounding-board, if only in imagination.

These two minutes of cigarette-puffing had organized Xerxes’ thoughts within his head.

“I didn’t have any time to prepare before coming back here to crack this case,” he spoke again, letting his cigarette dangle from his fingers for a minute. “I bet you could have guessed that, Kalchek. I won’t lie and say that isn’t frustrating. It is. But that pattern— that pattern I’ve been obsessed about for years, that you’ve listened to me complain about at one friendly late-night dinner after another— I think I can finally pin it to the responsible party. You saw what I just saw. Whatever second mind the frequency-scanner jumped to— that’s our perpetrator. I wasn’t sure they really existed— all this time I thought it might just be coincidence.

“But I’ve kept an eye on it for years, just in case. There are a lot of people who aren’t proper Runners. Who are just stagnant and stuck in place, with others Running them. It always seemed just possible there might be one figure connecting them all. Or at least connecting some of them.

And that if someone were responsible— that person must have something wrong with them. I mean, think about it— everyone else Runs and they keep it dynamic. So that makes you wonder how malevolent someone would have to be to make people stop Running and hold still for them. There’d really be something wrong with a person doing that; there’d really be true evil going on with a person like that. ‘What’s your problem that Running dynamically the way everyone else does it isn’t enough for you? What’s your problem that you have to take it so much further?’

“I always knew if there really were someone behind that pattern, I’d want to stop them and bring them to justice. That impulse to stop other Runners Running forever defies the organization of our society. And you saw what I just saw— there’s now a plausible suspect attached to this pattern of activity. So that means there really might be someone I can bring to justice. And when I see you in 52 minutes, I’ll be able to give you their name.

“So far though, I’ve only had one chance to look into the mind of that suspect; and obviously that target is careful in how they think— I can’t deduce their identity on thoughts alone. I’ll need all elements to crack this. And I’ll just have to keep solving along here— I’ve only got 52 minutes to crack this.”

Xerxes tuned the appropriate dials on the frequency scanner again until he was looking at what he’d searched for.

As Tara made her way into the office, she walked past a calendar which was hanging on the wall, and cast it a glance only fleetingly. It was still February— it had been February for a while— February was seeming to drag on and on. She was still enjoying her paid internship— but it was only now that she felt she was starting to get the hang of being in the set of circumstances she found herself in, doing the kinds of that had become routine for her.

When she reached the office-door, she knocked on it, and then a tuneful woman’s voice called to her from the other side of it. “Come in.”

Tara turned the knob of the office-door, and still gripping it, pushed the office-door open. She stepped into the office, and looked at the woman who was sitting behind the desk.

She was a woman in her late-30s, and she had black hair.

“Do you see her, Kalchek?” Trewhitt spoke to Kalchek through the recording camera. “Her hair looks different than Tara’s; Tara’s hair is just clean— but that woman’s hair is sleek and shiny. I’ll bet she has a deep-conditioning treatment done on it a few times a month. Not every day by any means— but two or three times a month, and then that treatment has a lingering effect so her hair always looks sleek like that.”

Xerxes took a moment to puff on his cigarette again. Then he blew its smoke out in one continuous stream.

“I don’t know what that means— but it’s always wise to make a note of anything that stands out from its surroundings. And I never thought all that time I spent following after unfaithful wives would yield me any transferrable knowledge. But we can thank those ladies for going in and beautifying themselves for their affair partners after all— I’d bet any money that’s a conditioning-treatment she’s put her hair through.”

“Ms. Vaughan?” Tara asked hesitantly as she stood in Ms. Vaughan’s doorway. “Someone left a note on my desk saying you wanted to see me.”

Ms. Vaughan nodded her head behind her desk. She was wearing purple lipstick and a crimson suit skirt combo.

“Yes, I asked one of the other interns to leave that note on your desk. I know you’ve all been quite busy in the last few weeks, so I didn’t want to interrupt you, and I didn’t need to see you urgently, just whenever you had a bit of time to spare. You started in your internship position on the 17th of November, correct?”

Tara nodded. “That’s right.”

“It’s the 15th of February now, so that makes it almost three months since you did start with us. And as the attorney who oversees all the interns, I’ve been remiss in not calling you into my office for a one-on-one meeting until now.”

“She’s her direct superior,” Xerxes grumbled. He’d traded his cigarette for a toothpick momentarily, which he was now chewing on. “She’s her direct superior and she let three months go by without meeting her?” He shook his head. “Suspicious.”

“But I’ve seen you from afar,” Ms. Vaughan said. “It’s become quite clear in watching you that you’re a very smart young woman. Smart, ambitious— and you leave one with the impression that you’re fundamentally good, right to the core, good and in of your principles. And you present yourself very nicely to the world as far as appearance goes, too.”

Tara flushed at receiving this praise. “Well, thank you Ms. Vaughan! That means everything, coming from you.”

“Going out of her way to win her over, and dispensing compliments when she’s never even spoken to her before.” Xerxes flung his toothpick away. “I don’t trust it.”

“You do know, Tara, that all our paid internship positions are only temporary. The contracts for them range from six to twelve months. That’s so we can always bring in fresh batches of interns, keep new talent moving through. And there’s only so many junior assistant positions we can offer to people. So I wanted to call you in here to tell you to stay on the same track you’re on. If you maintain your current performance, you shouldn’t be surprised to have a junior assistant position offered to you within three months.”

Tara’s mood brightened, and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling at Ms. Vaughan. “Thank you so much,” she said. “But there was a second thing you wanted to tell me?”

Ms. Vaughan nodded again, drumming her purple fingernails against the surface of her desk.

“I’ve been impressed with you professionally,” Ms. Vaughan said. “But as I said, you also strike me as fundamentally a good person. And so I hoped that you would call me ‘Natalie,’ instead of Ms. Vaughan, since that is my given name— and I was hoping that, despite the fact that I’m your superior, the two of us could become personal friends.”

As soon as Tara heard… Natalie… say this, the cogs started turning in her mind. If I’m personal friends with her, then that gives me an even better chance of snagging a junior assistant position!

She checked her feelings over to see if there was anything there that unsettled her— but no, nothing Natalie had said made her feel she was contravening her morals in any particular way.

“I’ll call you Natalie if you call me Tara,” Tara said quickly. “And I’d be pleased to be your friend!”

“But what does Natalie get out of this?” Xerxes grumbled again. He drew another inhale from his cigarette, and exhaled it.

“How delightful,” Natalie said, with a bright smile.

“What does that look like in practice, though?” Tara wondered.

“Well, to get to know each other better, we could start taking our lunch-hours in here together. Plenty of time for conversation that way, and once I shut my door it’s pretty soundproof, so we’ll have privacy too. In case we have any pressing confessions we’d like to make to one another.”

“Odd thing to say,” noted Xerxes.

“I’d love that,” Tara assured her.

Xerxes reached over, and spun the last of the three dials— he was getting the next number of days in a condensed manner, but Tara’s emotional pattern was clearly the same, even when Xerxes didn’t stop to note any of its particulars. She was happy to be making a new friend, and occasionally a thought slipped through Xerxes’ skipping. My friend Natalie…

They clearly ate their lunches together every day— and those encounters were clearly friendly, welcoming affairs.

“Doesn’t make me trust Natalie any better, though.”

It wasn’t until about midway through March that Tara’s emotional state clearly changed.

“I said, what do you think about Running?” Natalie repeated.

“Why do you want to talk to me about that?”

“I’d like to know that, too,” remarked Xerxes.

Tara took another thoughtful bite of her sandwich. This was shaping up to be one of the strangest lunch-hours the two of them had ever spent together.

“Why don’t you answer my question and then I’ll explain myself,” Natalie answered, a bit snappishly.

Tara hadn’t seen this side of her before, and it made her feel a little concerned.

“I know most other people do it; that people have varying skill-levels for it; that some people get up to some very innovative stuff with it, and that, at a certain point, those people who have a penchant for it start to depend on doing it— it becomes part of how they see themselves. And I think they enjoy it as much as the people they Run do. I’ve never done any Running myself, though. I always secretly hoped I’d turn out to have some great talent for it. But I’ve never yet found the opportunity to prove myself.”

Natalie set down the dish she had been eating her salad out of. Today, she was wearing blue and her nails were painted silver. “That’s your complete answer?”

“Everyone gets around to it sooner or later,” Tara shrugged. “What else is there to say? Everybody knows it goes on— I’m almost the odd-one-out, considering I’ve never tried it personally. Everyone else has usually tried it at least once— and there are lots of people who enjoy doing it sporadically as a hobby, even if they don’t go as far as those who show true dedication. I’ve always felt a bit ashamed at being behind everyone else, to tell you the truth.”

“Well,” Natalie said decisively. “The best way to learn Running is to learn it in reverse. To learn from the perspective of the one being Run. You learn a lot of crucial lessons that make you a better Runner yourself. So I think the best way for you to learn would be to let me Run you, and draw your lessons from that. Then later on you can try out Running for yourself.”

Tara felt herself flushing in embarrassment, and set her sandwich down in the container she’d left on Natalie’s desk. “I don’t know, Natalie. I’ve never Run before, but I’ve never been Run, either.”

“I’ll ease you into it,” Natalie purred.

“Her eyes are gleaming, there,” Xerxes pointed out.

Tara watched as Natalie stood, and walked across the carpet to her office light-switch. She flicked it down, dimming the room, then came back to where Tara was sitting. She gestured for Tara to sit on the carpet, and then took the chair she had been sitting in.

Natalie was leaning over her, her face large in Tara’s vision— her eyes seemed to be the largest thing of all.

“I’ll ease you into it.”

Tara wanted to find comfort in those words— imagined that Natalie had spoken them to her so that she would be comforted by them. But maybe to Natalie “easing her in” meant leaving her full of the feelings she’d had to begin with— maybe it meant leaving her in the same base state which begat all of her various responses to the world. Because she still feeling uncomfortable— and she was also feeling anxious. Running was a commonplace thing— but since Tara had never been involved with any part of its experience, she’d never really gotten into any in-depth conversations with anyone about it. There’d never been any chance for someone to tell her what she should expect from either Running or being Run. So part of her nerves now came from the fact that she was facing a completely unknown experience. The rest of her nerves came from the fact that Natalie was about to do something strange, something which would perhaps warp the budding friendship that had been developing between them.

But what would it actually feel like to be Run? What was Natalie actually going to do? Tara’s anxieties chased themselves around and around inside Tara’s head, growing louder and more fearsome. It was all going to be terrible— it was all going to be so bad— everything was going to be ruined.

Natalie smiled down on Tara, and to Tara this smile did feel very benevolent. Perhaps Natalie had those -lenses that acted as telepathic receivers— or maybe she’d gone further and gotten the brain-chip— maybe she literally did know what Tara’s thoughts had been. Or maybe Tara’s facial expressions were just that obvious.

Natalie’s smile seemed to turn cryptic. “I’ll ease you into it,” she repeated for the third time, and this time Tara’s mind really anchored itself in the sound of Natalie’s voice. She was speaking in a murmur, so that her voice was soft, but with more fullness of tone than it would have had if she’d whispered. That was a comforting sound— like a rustling wind— it touched some of Tara’s fears. Maybe Natalie really would be careful with her— gentle with her— maybe she would respect the fact that this was Tara’s first time being Run, and be tender with that knowledge.

Tara’s mind had caught on the sound of Natalie’s voice. But suddenly, now, it seemed to catch on the sight of Natalie’s eyes. They were glittering above her in the dimness. They looked so pretty surrounded in shadows like that— it didn’t matter that Tara couldn’t make out their color, they still looked pretty— Natalie really had made it dark— so that only that sparkle of her eyes could be seen. She’d set her blinds to shut out the sun almost completely— and then once she’d turned the switch off, darkness had been assured.

But Tara had not watched Natalie turn the blinds to shut out the sun— she probably just liked blocking the sun out as a general preference.

“Or she planned on Running you before you entered her office today,” Xerxes muttered.

Now Tara was watching herself react— starting to feel distant from herself, and so only able to observe her own behavior as if she were external to herself, deducing the motivations of a stranger through their behavior alone. Deducing as people had to when they had no telepathic shortcuts— she seemed to be dazing on the sight of Natalie’s eyes— that experience stretched out and happened a little more… then a little more…

Now something else was happening too. She’d never had in-depth conversations on Running— so she’d never been warned— had only wondered what it would be like as an experience with nothing to base her theories on— but now she was starting to have some idea. Natalie’s power was not an abstract thing. It was a tangible thing. Tara felt the first brush of it, and immediately thought to herself, that was real.

It was real. Not imagination— and feeling it brush her mind seemed to electrify her mind, and force it into a state of focus that burned. She couldn’t tell what the rest of her body was feeling— what her emotions were doing— she just felt that burning in her mind. Natalie’s invisible, tangible touch, seizing her. It was a thing that crept— it had crowned Tara’s entire head— and seemed to have gathered into equidistant points which rested against her skull in dozens of different places. Then each of those points pushed in, moving through barrier of bone— and those shoots of Natalie’s power unfurled themselves in Tara’s head.

Tara’s state of focus did not burn her anymore. Having Natalie’s power-shoots spreading through her brain seemed to soothe that burning sensation out— and as those power-shoots spread, Tara felt more and more like Natalie’s power was anchoring— finding points it would , would be able to find again, and grab back onto.

And now, as Natalie’s power seemed to become a steadier, more fixed thing in Tara’s head, it was spreading with it a kind of glow. It was spreading with it a sense of cloudy-headedness.

The glow Natalie’s power had left trailing behind it— glowed so pleasantly. It was light that Tara could feel. It was the feeling of that light flickering in time with the pounding of her own heartbeat. She was completely attuned to her body in this moment, feeling everything it was doing, even down to the smallest detail. And she was completely attuned to Natalie. The glow seemed to escape her head and cast on Natalie. It made her look like the most perfect person who had ever existed— wonderful, wonderful Natalie giving her wonderful, wonderful feelings to feel. Tara would hold onto them forever if she could— would do whatever Natalie wanted done if Natalie would give her this experience in exchange— she wanted this— and she wanted it to go on for as long as it possibly could.

More than experience entered her head now, and more than sensation too.

There was a thought now, as well— a thought which had come directly from Natalie’s own mind. You’re being Run, Natalie pushed to her. You’re being Run.

I’m being Run, Tara thought back in echo. That thought became the new glow. Each time the glow flickered, that sounded like I’m being Run, I’m being Run. And each time that sensation pulsed alongside her heart, that sounded like I’m being Run, I’m being Run. That thought in itself was becoming the soundtrack to Tara’s world, and how could she contest that? It was complete and total truth.

And she was feeling a new feeling now. The glow had spread all through her body, but now it seemed to warm her. It wasn’t like the glow off of a lamp, it was like the glow off of a fire. And the feeling it prompted in her felt so like arousal. Like being this well-behaved for someone else… for someone like Natalie… just made her drip and drip.

It was another reason to love the experience that she was having. It was another reason she never wanted this experience to stop. She was enjoying herself so much that she was already craving the experience that would follow this one. Was already thinking ahead and hoping she would be given another opportunity— hoping that Natalie would give her another opportunity. This experience wasn’t even over yet and she was already planning its follow-up. She’d only just been given the taste of this for the first time, and she was already wondering where she could sample other delights identical to this one.

But she thought she saw the lesson Natalie intended for her to glean from this: because from the hungry look in Natalie’s eyes, it was clear that Natalie was enjoying this as much as, or maybe even slightly more, than Tara was. She was shifting her hips, like Running Tara was making her pour arousal from her vagina. So Tara wasn’t the only one dripping.

But Natalie had some measure of control over her own behavior. She was not trying to touch herself. Though, in a warped way, it seemed to Tara that Natalie moving her power through Tara’s mind was probably the most masturbatory thing Natalie could have done at that moment.

And Tara just submitted herself to what Natalie wanted her to experience. As she’d been doing all along. The experience had assumed greater significance for her now. It wasn’t just that she’d been lucky, and Natalie had bestowed a gift on her. That was one understanding of what had gone on here— and it was funny now to think of how afraid she’d been to begin with.

But the new understanding that blossomed now was this: Tara was meeting her new self. Or maybe not even her new self, but her truer self. The self that had maybe been hiding in the background all along. She felt now that she’d only been waiting for an outlet— that she’d been waiting all her life to give service to somebody— to simply submit and submit and submit to them. And Natalie was giving her this outlet— Natalie deserved this kind of submission because she was so wonderful— and Tara needed to give this kind of submission, because that was who she was.

Tara’s submissiveness seemed like the most important part of her identity now— and recognizing that in herself made her so happy. Of course she wanted to have this experience again and again. It simply put her in touch with who she truly was.

Xerxes set his hand to the third dial again, and started turning it to the following day. Once things were set up and showing that, it was obvious that Tara was displaying the same emotional palette as the previous day, which made Xerxes wonder if this would be Tara’s new emotional palette going forward. Made him wonder if she’d feel the same things day after day. If she would, from this point on, be filled with that sense of submissive wonder and eagerness to please, if that would fill her alongside that craving for further domination which filled her also. Wondered if those two things would be forever mixing themselves together inside of her.

Xerxes was viewing the following day, viewing their shared lunch-hour, and so far, it seemed that things were trending in that direction of permanent submissiveness, for Tara.

Tara was once again sitting on the floor in Natalie’s office, but this time Natalie was in the chair that was behind her desk, and so Tara was sitting on the floor behind Natalie’s desk, and not in front of it.

Tara was quite aware of herself, even as she stayed sitting in place. She was quite aware of herself, even with Natalie’s power moving through her mind.

And Natalie’s power was moving through her mind. Through it, Natalie pushed a new thought into her head. Grow your hair longer for me, Tara.

Xerxes went back to tuning the dial, and days and weeks were starting to streak past on the wall. He ed when he had done this earlier. The pattern then had been of a budding friendship, and Tara’s happiness in response to that. But now the pattern was more sinister: as Xerxes had partly predicated, Tara kept the new emotional palette— all her memories were now infused with that same sense of submissiveness mixed with craving.

And Tara’s lunches with Natalie dropped their pretext and became Running sessions. For the first while, Natalie was back to repeating what she’d done the first day, and didn’t make any reference to the specific request she’d made of Tara. She just seemed to open Tara’s mind up, and let Tara go through the experience that was being set out for her.

But in the third week of April, Natalie broke from this pattern.

Tara was in Natalie’s office again— Natalie had her standing in front of the hanging mirror she kept on one wall— and from looking into it she could see— her hair had grown out a slight bit— by a quarter-inch only, or a half-inch at most. But that difference was there because of what Natalie had told her to do— it had only been one month of foregoing her usual hair-trims, but even so, her hair was already growing out. And that was how Natalie wanted things to be… that was how Natalie wanted things to be, and so that was how Tara would make things be. She would conform to what Natalie wanted of her. She would be what Natalie wanted her to be. The thought of doing so made her happy— made her feel lucky she’d been given the chance to prove herself to Natalie in this way.

She was still learning about Running by doing this, she told herself. She could truly understand how those subservient to Runners felt when they were being Run, now. No spoken explanation could have shown her like Natalie was showing her through experience. And she could really understand how enjoyable Running was for Runners. Watching Natalie when she looked at her laid that lesson out clearly enough— so did Natalie’s behavior— so did the things Natalie said.

Natalie kept her standing there. And Tara shuddered when she felt Natalie thrust a new thought into her head. Part your hair in the middle, instead of to the right side, Tara.

And then Natalie had a comb in her hand and she was ing it into Tara’s grasp. Tara raised the comb to her head, and started re-parting her hair. It felt like her entire body was tingling as she did it. And she knew that feeling came from the fact that she was doing it— doing it only because Natalie had told her to— she was being good and submissive for Natalie— from now on when she looked in the mirror she would that— she would see her true self reflected back to her— her good and submissive self.

Xerxes tuned the dial again. The next day, Tara was in front of the mirror again. Her hair was now parted from the middle of her head outwards.

Get blonde highlights, Tara. Tara twitched as her mind received Natalie’s thrust-in thought.

The next day, the Tara reflected in the mirror had blonde highlights. Her hair was still clearly that same tawny brown— but the highlights Natalie had pushed her to get were now there.

“Natalie is acting more suspiciously than ever,” Xerxes said, shaking his head. “In my opinion, she’s definitely become a person of interest. Almost everything of note that she’s done has defied expectation and been out of place. So something’s definitely going on with her, even if I don’t know what she’s involved with yet. I’m not even entirely sure what I’m looking at yet— but Natalie’s involved somehow for sure.”

The frequency-scanner whirred. The projector showed static for a moment, but the dials were turning themselves now. When they stilled, Trewhitt felt certain of what he was looking at. It had been like this when he’d entered the suspect’s mind before— their mind was not like Tara’s. Tara’s memories were completely unguarded, so viewing them was like looking out through her eyes, seeing everything in full clarity and full color.

But this was just what entering the suspect’s mind had been like, the last time. Xerxes had only been able to link the suspect’s memory to Tara’s because they’d been in proximity to her, and they had noted details which had been identical to those Tara had observed in her own reflection.

But entering such a guarded, shadowed mind was an adjustment after the openness and clarity of Tara’s recollection. There was nothing visual here— no sense of looking out through a person’s eyes— if there were shapes, they were blurred. And what primarily came through was the emotional impression of any given memory— if said impression was clear enough, then necessary information from the memory itself might be perfectly laid out all the same. But this was not image-based observation.

They were watching their prey. And oh, their prey was irresistibly innocent and pure— no other controller had ever Run them, and no other Runners were currently anywhere to be seen around them.

“I regretted not taking note of every single person in the subway car on the day Tara started her new internship,” Xerxes reflected. “At least there isn’t a whole crowd to keep track of here. That narrows things down.”

They were watching their beautifully innocent prey— and it was so clear just in looking at this prey animal that they had no capacity for Running themselves. And they seemed unmarked— no other Runner had ever tried to claim them, or singled them out for targeting.

Their prey was, truly, irresistible to them. And it would be so much more delicious— if they could subjugate their prey to them forever— they were thinking about dominating their prey now— dominating them so fully that they completely cast themselves over their mind, forcing them to take it, to just experience it, no matter what this prey animal would have thought about that. They wanted to dominate their target so much that if they’d been doing this sexually it would have looked like sexual violation— but even if they did this only mentally— that would be sexual violation made mental… and as they thought more about exerting this kind of total domination over their target, they could feel an orgasm spreading through them…

To conquer that target really would be like eating the sweetest dessert.

Xerxes leaned onto his back foot, and frowned at the projector. “Why am I seeing what I just saw? I saw this, ten or so minutes ago. Goddamn malfunctioning technology. I KNOW who this is. This is the main suspect, viewing Tara for the first time on the subway. I just listened to their train of thought a little longer this time. But that was the exact same thought— about her being their dessert. It’s the same person as before, and it’s the same moment as before. Why did the frequency-scanner do this?”

For a moment, Trewhitt again imagined that Kalchek was in the room with him.

“You’d tell me to retrace my steps— and that’s right! When the scanner jumped from my suspect back to static I did try to redial the same co-ordinates once. And this is an old-projector. It seems just possible— the scanner has only just now ed that one re-try; which is why it put me back to the same moment. It’s just kicked back in. In a way, this is almost useful. I wanted back into my suspect’s mind— and I was able to get a longer look this time. Maybe I shouldn’t be too quick to curse this old piece of junk.”

But almost as soon as he’d said that, the frequency-scanner started whirring again— and the dials started shifting. Now the suspect was cornered— though it was hard to make any definite images out, that sense came through clearly. They were cornered, and it was a Runner who had cornered them.

Xerxes looked back to the dials.

“Yes,” he exclaimed, for Kalchek’s benefit. “That proves I was right. We’re still in the same mind— we were viewing the suspect’s memory of seeing Tara, and now we’re viewing a different memory of theirs. The number on the first dial stayed the same— the third dial changed, to show the age of time, but— oh, the second dial changed too. When the number on it was low— the memory was further away, had receded more into the mind— and now the number on it is high— this memory is close to the forefront of the mind. I don’t know why our suspect’s memory of seeing Tara for the first time should be back almost in the recesses of their subconscious but— this is the same mind. Just a different part of the same mind. This is the same mind. Otherwise the first number would have changed, like it does when we go back to viewing Tara’s memories.”

Xerxes had been inside his suspect’s mind for a minute or two now, but he still felt he hadn’t entirely adjusted to how claustrophobic things were in there— it was because of how blind the experience was. It was just plain jarring to have gone from such an open mind as Tara’s to this hemmed-in place. And Tara’s mind was not the most recent point of reference anymore, because he’d been in the middle of watching the suspect’s mind at work, again for one or two minutes— but having seen fully what Tara saw within recent memory simply made the lack of visual information seem very aberrant by contrast, even if that openness in Tara’a mind was now only a memory from several minutes before.

Still, Xerxes could get most of the information he wanted from the emotional palette of the suspect. He just couldn’t see what they were seeing.

They’d been cornered by a Runner. And now, the Runner literally ran at them, tackling them to the ground. Sexual desperation seemed to be radiating off of this Runner.

The Runner’s tackled me, but their power is forcing its way into my mind, they thought, aghast. There was a lot of force behind that push coming from the Runner.

I’m not going to take that. They reached inside for something, anything to help them.

They could feel things— they could feel out the truth just by noting what the Runner was trying to do to them. And it sickened them when they realized. They’ve slipped their power into my mind before, only I didn’t notice!

They’d always thought they might turn out to have a talent for Running themselves, someday, but they hadn’t done much of it— now, though, the Runner had put them in such a dire situation that it almost wasn’t a choice at all. They’d do anything now to prevent this Runner from doing what they were trying to do. Their own power surged forth, wrapping around that of the Runner’s and forcing it back into their own head— turning it against them—

The Runner reared back, slipping off of them, howling— from their facial-expression, it was clear their mind had been practically blasted out of their head. And they were twitching violently in orgasm— twitching— twitching—

I should stand up now, they thought to themselves, and did so— standing over the Runner, looking down at where they still twitched.

The Runner’s eyes were darkening— they had retaliated powerfully, blasted the Runner’s mind fully and hollowed it out so much it could no longer life— this was their first time really practicing Running themselves— but they’d made a powerful start forwards from the starting-line.

It was obvious, when the Runner on the ground died.

I’ve got to flee now, they thought, some of their numbed-out shock fading and giving way to a sense of dread. They fled, leaving the Runner’s body behind them. They still felt a lingering sense of shock— they’d wondered what their own powers would be like— but their powers had been more potent than even they had been prepared for. And yet— though they had killed for the first time— there had been something undeniably erotic— about so totally dominating the mind of another that it couldn’t function anymore, and instead lapsed… into death…

The cigarette fell from Xerxes’ lips, and instinctively he ground it out under the heel of his shoe, where it lay on the floor— but he still stared at the projector, even though it was now lapsing back to static.

The suspect had been shocked too, in that memory— but Xerxes now felt that his own shock was greater— he imagined Kalchek watching this same footage later on, staring at it equally dumbfounded.

So when he made himself speak, he was making himself speak for him.

“There have never been any deaths associated with this pattern of stagnation— not in all the time I’ve been tracking it. And now— it’s obvious that our suspect murdered someone. That breaks this case open even more— who knows if they’ve killed anyone else. And that murder must have been the first thing that happened— they didn’t know their powers until then— so that murder happened sometime before they ever crossed paths with Tara. By the time they’d crossed paths with her, they were already a seasoned Runner; only in that murder did they really acquire the taste for Running, and more specifically for domination.”

Xerxes shook his head, absently chased a hand back through his unkempt hair.

“But look who we’re dealing with,” he lamented. “That wasn’t manslaughter. This is a malevolent killer we’re face to face with here— someone who enjoys dominating so much that they don’t even draw the line at killing to dominate. They killed that other Runner— and gratified in doing so. They obviously don’t care how much damage they do when they’re trying to control someone— they don’t even care if they end the life of their target. When that happens, it just makes them feel more gratified in their domination. No wonder they were looking at Tara and wanting their domination of her mind to be as extreme as sexual violation by force— clearly they don’t hesitate when domination of any mind is as extreme as murder.”

Xerxes shook his head again, got his cigarette packet out of his pants-pocket, and fumbled for a new one. “When I thought that I was dealing with someone who wanted to pause Runners, I was dedicated to uncovering their identity and bringing them to justice. But now that they’ve killed— I’m more certain than ever. I am going to catch them. I am going to make them pay for what they’ve done.”

He frowned for a moment, rolling his cigarette between his fingers, not lighting it yet. “Only… it is strange— why should a more recent memory, seeing Tara on the subway, be so far back into the recesses of their subconscious, while a more distant memory— their first murder— be right at the front of their mind…?”

He looked down at his watch again.

“It’s already 10:42. I’d better get on with things.”