The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Xerxes returned his focus to the frequency-scanner’s dials again, and sought Tara’s frequency range. The first dial showed the co-ordinates which led to Tara’s mind— perfect. The second dial showed the co-ordinates which indicated he was further forward within it, but he was still fiddling with the third one when it seemed to jump of its own accord.

Tara was sitting in front of Natalie, in Natalie’s office, withdrawing her hand from her purse.

“I hope you appreciate the gift I’ve just given you,” Natalie was saying. “And I hope you go down and use it today, as I’ve instructed you to do. That’s an experience I really want you to have.”

Natalie settled back in her chair, delight dancing in her eyes. She folded her arms over her chest as she continued looking at Tara, and Tara felt a sense of elation, as she always did, at having Natalie’s positive regard.

“I don’t need toys like the one I just gave you— I wear lenses that let you do the same thing without taking up anywhere near the same amount of space. I particularly enjoy using them when I ride the subway. I’m in a secure enough financial position that I don’t need to ride the subway. But I like to. It provides a large sample-size of minds for me to peer into. When people use toys like the one I gave you, when they use them in public, everyone around puts their guard up. But when people can’t even tell you have lenses in— it gives you more of a head-start.”

Natalie sat up in her chair, and moved a folder aside that had been in the center of her desk. She took hold of a folder that had been off to her right side, and drew it in front of her.

She flipped it open and directed her attention to it. “That’s enough time together, for now. You know what your instructions are.”

Xerxes drew in a very measured breath. The next adjustment was going to be delicate work— he only wanted to jump a few minutes forward on the same day. This would be the worst possible time for his hand to jerk and manipulate the dial unintentionally. Those dials were finicky at the best of times; and he worried that if he lost this particular set of co-ordinates he might never be able to return to it again.

But he was also feeling a little superstitious in that moment, so he did not want to speak any of this aloud to Kalchek, lest he curse himself by naming it. A bit foolish for him to be superstitious at all when he dealt in a world of such concrete realities— but as far as he was concerned, that superstitious-ness was just an extension of his paranoia.

And as far as he was also concerned, his paranoia was almost always justified.

He raised his cigarette to his mouth and took a puff for good luck, then set it back in the ashtray on the small table beside him. He exhaled again, and then set his hand to hover over the dial.

He gave it the flick of one finger and it shifted forward only one degree.

He let out an even greater exhale, not caring that he couldn’t have pinpointed exactly when he had taken the corresponding inhale. He didn’t need to catalogue every shift in his body. He was seeing into Tara’s mind only slightly later on the same day— and that was what mattered.

After some walking, Tara had reached her designated location. She’d been told to descend from the skyscraper which housed the firm that she worked for, and so she had descended. Thinking of how she’d been instructed to act filled her with that warm sense of elation she’d felt earlier.

She’d also been told to walk around the building, and seek the open-air stone plaza which was behind it, centered between her skyscraper and the others in its vicinity. So she had gone around the building, and now she had reached the stone plaza.

It was quite a large plaza— she could have gone to sit somewhere on the stone itself, or she could have stood on the grass that led up to where the stone began, but her directions had been clear. She had not been instructed to do either of those two things: to stand on the lawn, or to sit down on stone. She didn’t need to be so close to the heart of the plaza; didn’t need to seat herself over the very center of it— wasn’t supposed to place herself in the way of everything.

This bench that she’d come to, at the very edge of the plaza’s boundary, seemed like the ideal placement to her, so she seated herself where she was, and then ed Natalie’s toy.

She next regarded her purse, which she had only started carrying at Natalie’s say-so— Natalie had also gifted that to her, and told her to carry it— and it was a broad bag. Every time Tara felt its presence, it reminded her that she did whatever Natalie told her, and made her feel what realizing that always made her feel. Lucky, but still desirous of having more.

Now that she was sitting, she set the bag beside her on the bench, opened it, and drew out the headset Natalie had given her to wear.

This gift was different from the purse, though— this was a loan from Natalie that was to be used at a specific time, in a specific way.

And that differed from the purse— because that was something to keep with her at all times. This headset wasn’t something to keep— she’d have to give it back later.

Once she had it on, it totally obscured her eyes; but it ended a little beyond the bridge of her nose— and the base of the headset conformed right to her cheeks, and the sides of her nose, to get up over the curve of it.

For a moment, she just experienced what it was like to have the thing resting against her face. It made her heart race a little— because she was very aware of the fact that Natalie had instructed her to wear it. That Natalie wanted her to wear it. And wearing it felt a bit like being Run— she was here, seeing what Natalie wanted her to see— or she was about to be— and she had shown up to the desired location and she was doing the desired thing. There had been no hesitation on her part— she’d just melted into that submissive puddle of greed, and rushed off to do as she’d been told as quickly as possible—

“Static’s overtaking the picture, Kalchek. You can see that— I don’t know why— something’s interfering! That looks like— those co-ordinates look like— I think the frequency-scanner’s jumping back to the killer. Were they there? Were they watching her?”

I feel such a rightness in my soul, they thought to themselves. My prey is so— delectable— and the way it feels to slip my power into their mind— they only take on a more delicious appearance when my influence casts shadows over them. And seeing them respond to that influence— it really makes me feel like myself. It’s so important— to seek the right prey— to capture them, and triumph over them. I wouldn’t know who I was if I stopped doing that. And this is the best target I’ve ever sought. I can taste the atmosphere of their mind at this moment— what a wonderful flavor. It really makes me feel… I’d like to lay hands on myself— if I can just go on tasting their mind— and have a hand on myself— that would be better than fantasy— I wouldn’t need anything else…

“The killer’s definitely watching her, Kalchek. That’s bad news for her— if their sense of gratification is as tied up with murder as it was when they made their first kill— then maybe they’ll want to gratify themselves the same way with her. Tara was thinking submissively— they saw it— and they almost seemed able to gratify over that alone. But maybe they’re as greedy as she thinks she is— seeing that submissive helplessness, feeling their own power— is a start, but maybe in their view murder is even better— the pinnacle of all that they could hope to experience.”

Tara’s mind was the thing causing interference now.

Tara soaked in the knowledge that she was following Natalie’s directions— being Run indirectly— and soaked in the knowledge that she was now blind to the plaza around her, and could only see into the headset. Just as she was almost blind to all the world around her, on a normal day, and could only see into it what Natalie told her to see. Natalie had become her mediator— she couldn’t access anything in a direct manner anymore. Maybe she couldn’t even access the experience of being Run consistently anymore...

“Interference,” Xerxes cursed.

So delicious when they think that way— yes— if I am going to keep sampling this— wonderful appetizer— and I think— I will— yes— I’ve got my hand there and— ugh— ugh— just need to see them think a little more— just the way I want them to—

The projection of Tara’s mind flickered back into focus on the projector.

I’ve sat here basking for long enough, Tara reprimanded herself.

She reached up with her hands, and found the three dials on the side of headset.

She had to be careful with it. She would be careful because Natalie had asked her to be. This had been an expensive purchase— and she had to return it to Natalie in pristine condition.

It was about to lunch-hour now, and though it felt strange to be spending her lunch-hour apart from Natalie, she knew that this was what Natalie really wanted for her.

Tara started fiddling with the dials in the way that Natalie had told her to, so that she was tuned to location, and not to any particular mind. This way, even if many people came, she wouldn’t have to know the specific co-ordinates to any of their minds— she could just broadly catch all frequencies, go mind to mind— and if she found something that might be useful, she could particularly note the co-ordinates of it so that she could tune specifically to that one frequency. Like seeking among myriad radio channels, and then upon finding one to your liking, staying tuned only to that one.

For now, though, she was the only person near the plaza, so all her headset showed her was empty static. Empty static, and the day’s date: May 18th.

She had time to bask for a moment again, and greedily she availed herself of that opportunity. She would see what Natalie wanted her to see— experience what Natalie wanted her to experience— and yet, this time, Natalie’s power was not directly in her mind. If Natalie had not telepathically entered her, then who was to say this was really an experience of being Run?

And yet, though in a more convoluted way— this did feel identical to the experience of being Run. Doing what Natalie wanted her to do— reinforcing herself into the belief that she wanted to do whatever Natalie wanted from her— Natalie had done something a little out of the ordinary, but it showed real imagination— real greed, too, greed to match Tara’s own— Tara always wanted more submission but Natalie always wanted to enact further domination— and she was able to do it so inventively. Nothing inhibited her approach or process— only her mind would have done that— but her mind had broad ideas, so it never hit up against any such limitations—

So good, the killer’s thoughts interfered. So good, so good— to think my own prey could find me transfixing even as I place them in danger— even as I line them up to be my meal—

“Sick fucker,” Xerxes cursed, and then spat on the floor. “Gets off on their own victims iring them… the ego… the self-absorption…”

Tara heard footsteps, and realized that someone was approaching. They were close enough already— the tuning was jumping to match their frequency, and then she was seeing into another mind.

She wanted to focus just on the mind of this person for a moment, so she fiddled with the dials again to lock herself onto the frequency she’d stumbled upon.

Bradley Spencer was walking briskly. He often liked coming down to the plaza on his lunch break. A good crowd of amateur Runners tended to congregate here, and they usually liked to do quick match-ups with each other.

None of them were as serious about it as certain other hobbyist Runners. This had not become as formalized a thing as what other Runners got up to— this was just a group of likeminded people who’d all, at one time or another, come to the conclusion that it would be fun to break up the day with a little Running. None of them went so far as to make this some kind of formal, ritualized thing.

Bradley thought with a shudder of the Running club he’d tried ing earlier in the year. They’d all been close to him in age, in their late-twenties and early-thirties, and yet he’d found he wasn’t compatible with them at all.

The memory of that one club meeting still crossed his mind sometimes, and it always left an unpleasant taste in his mouth when he thought of it. He wanted to taste something better— hoped he could taste something delicious soon—

But the memory was crossing his mind again, and leaving that sour taste.

“We state our first axiom as— we Run because it makes us better people. And our second axiom as— we keep the principles of Running top of mind because it makes it easier to Run and to be Run; it places us in the right state of mind. We state our third axiom as— at the end of any Running match we’ll always find that the correct person Ran and the correct person was Run.”

Bradley had tried going to that meeting of their club because he’d thought he ought to make Running a regular part of his schedule for the good of his soul— since he did think of himself as a Runner; viewing Running as fairly central to his identity. But that club really hadn’t been a match for him. He’d gotten into an argument with them.

“I know lots of Running clubs like to come up with club mottos; and that of those clubs start defining their identities by them. But do you really have to go so far as to act like all of this is a spiritual practice? When jogging groups get together, they hardly act like the act of jogging is prayer. Why should Running groups be any different?”

The cacophony that had resulted from this attack had led to Bradley being banned from the club for life and kicked out onto the street.

But as it had turned out, there’d been a more spontaneous method for incorporating Running into his regular routine. And Bradley liked this method much better— it required less commitment, and didn’t create many opportunities for personality-clash either, which was another thing he liked about it.

There were no commitments. The same group of amateurs simply came back to the plaza time and again because they found it fun— and new people were always showing up based on word-of-mouth and friendly recommendation. That was better than formalized hip, Bradley thought. This way, the whole thing kept an air of spontaneity. And fun!

Bradley glanced around; people of all different appearances, of multiple ethnicities, from all different levels of working-responsibility and from all different jobs were now converging on the plaza together.

Soon, one of this group would break into a stride. Then the rest of them would follow. And then they would all just keep circling the plaza, getting into one tussle after another.

Bradley heard a scuffle of feet, and then it was hard to see who had started things, because there was a blur— a blur and a wave, and then every approaching figure was in motion, starting forward to actually be standing in the plaza— and then everyone was breaking off from everyone else, weaving paths through that great number of people. He started doing the same— he was trying to keep his arms close to his chest, because the second your wrist was seized hold of, you were in a mental tumble— and any mental tumble he got involved with was going to be one he started on his own .

Tara was grateful that she’d locked herself to Bradley’s co-ordinates— it would have been disorienting to find herself buffeting her way across a sea of so many minds.

As people breezed past Bradley, hands sometimes scrambled at his upper-arms; those ing him weren’t ing quickly enough that he had his arms crossed towards each opposite shoulder. No one was in a full sprint— but this wasn’t a leisurely stroll, either. It was more like a jog— or a brisk-paced walk— but there were so many people and all of them were moving so quickly that still no one really had time to see who was coming at them next.

Finally, Bradley felt he had sufficiently gathered his bearings. He reached out and managed to grab the wrist of a woman approaching him— and they met between their minds, their bodies spinning off as if dancing, spinning across the center of the plaza, everyone else navigating around them— they themselves having to navigate around other pairs that spun.

He managed to push harder, in that in-between battle-space, and gain access to the woman’s mind. Then he was Running her for a while, until she dropped his hand— and the loss of control there stunned him enough for a moment that he didn’t have time to process it properly. And before he knew it, someone else— a different woman— had grasped onto his wrist, and because he’d still been bewildered, she’d easily pushed straight through the in-between battle-space, and gained access to his mind— and then everything was only the bliss of being Run— warm rays of illumination streaking through his being and a contented sigh that never became vocal— then she dropped his hand, and he was able to get the best of the next person after her— and have the pleasure of Running, feeling his victim succumb to him.

In doing that, he felt he was meeting himself again. He knew who he was, at times like these. Doing this was an integral part of his identity— and while his victim was pinned under his domination, it filled him with such pleasure he didn’t care that nothing was physically happening to his body. He could never restrain himself— cut back on these experiences— and now that he was actually getting to have the pleasure of Running someone, he just wanted to gorge himself… just wanted to indulge further…

But of course, it wasn’t possible for this to last forever.

“Alright,” Trewhitt said, scanning the background of the projected image. “I missed my chance when Tara was riding the subway. I’ve got to see how many background faces I can pick out. There’s a good chance the killer is there somewhere in the crowd— I might not recognize them yet, but if I have a record to refer to later— and if I see the same face turning up again and again— photos will be a help.”

He left the projector running and hunted through the clutter in his office for his regular camera— the one that had produced for him many an incriminating image. Then he returned to stand in front of the projector. “Kalchek, I’m going to snap a photo any time I can see a clear face— that way I have something to compare against if I think I recognize a face later. I can give you the photo-card along with the video-card, too.”

There was a face— there were many faces. A woman’s, a man’s, a woman’s, a man’s— two women, then two men, one woman then four men— as Bradley kept rushing through the crowd, Xerxes just carried on— snap snap snap snap—

Bradley’s next spinning-partner dominated him. The experience was unfolding perfectly, Running and being Run, back and forth, back and forth— then sometimes the pattern varying. He Ran two people in a row and then was Run three times in a row after that— sometimes Running or being Run according to a streak— then back to alternating— on it went.

Face after face, Xerxes was still going— snap snap snap snap—

Tara felt her mouth twist into a rueful scrunch. There were so many people out there Running right in front of her— who clearly liked Running— and they were all part of that same hobby-culture. As Bradley had been thinking about before— there were those formal clubs— and as she was witnessing right now, there were these informal meet-ups. Back when she’d been so curious about Running, she should have tried to track some of these resources down for herself— she could have had this experience of Running. Where the thrill of Running or being Run was in the dynamic, ever-shifting nature of the tumble.

Xerxes still had the camera to his face, was still pressing down to take picture after picture. “That’s what Running is supposed to be.” He wasn’t sure if he’d meant that as an aside to Kalchek— or if he felt so much sympathy for Tara that he was somehow trying to shout it into her mind through the projector, even though he knew things were never going to work like that.

There was just… constant motion to what was happening, Tara thought. Bradley got into a toss-up with one Runner, and then immediately got into a different toss-up with someone else. And maybe it was like that sometimes for other people, even people who didn’t go to meet-ups like this, informal things like this— one day they Ran someone and then the next day they were Run by someone else. Everyone else in society seemed to have integrated Running so well into their lives— and she herself had never managed to do that— and now she thought she never would.

Xerxes lowered the camera. That was probably enough background pictures for now.

He felt himself frowning. “She is very still— only sitting on that bench, while the rest of them are reeling about. Natalie told her to sit on that bench.”

It made Tara’s heart feel a little heavy, too. They all clearly loved Running for its own sake— it was never about the destination for any of them, just about the pure experience of feeling themselves Run; they didn’t Run to one location and station themselves there. But she had walked herself to this bench, and stationed herself here… and in another sense, she had walked her way into her entanglement with Natalie— might she be stationed at her forever?

Yes, the killer’s thoughts interfered. Oh, fuck, I’m cumming— yes— think— about— think about how trapped you are— that’s what I want to hear you say— you’re trapped you’re trapped you will be forever— you’re trapped and you liked to be trapped because you’ll do what I tell you— you’ll want to—

Bradley felt a deep sense of satisfaction settling over him. It was so nice to be among people who were all experiencing exactly what he was.

Tara reached for the dials on the side of the headset again, and adjusted them. She gave up being locked onto Bradley’s mind, and re-established the open-tuning which would capture all frequencies— the tuning Natalie had wanted her to use to begin with.

Then she was washing through one mind after another— it was a dizzying haze— whichever mind she watched was a mind currently Running or being Run— but it was always the mind of a person who, no matter which experience they were having, had just been having the opposite experience immediately before. And everyone here in the plaza, except for her, was equally well-versed and skilled in Running as they were in being Run.

They knew all the joys that Tara knew— all the joys of being Run. But they’d also been granted age to another world she’d never visited. The world of experience that accompanied actually doing the Running. She still didn’t know how to Run, only how to be Run— and whatever state a given mind was in at the time of her observation, it soon assumed the alternate state— they were all just so free— whereas every day, Tara was simply Run. That static sameness… she was not like the rest of them.

There was a feeling budding in her she didn’t quite recognize. A dissatisfaction. She wished she could be part of that dynamic world— wished she weren’t trapped in a world that was so small and still. In that other world, the one she was glimpsing, a person was victorious one moment and conquered the next. But that never mattered, because there was always another moment after that one— did she— was she wishing for her freedom? Wishing for freedom from Natalie?

That seemed disobedient to her. She wasn’t here to build up resistance. She was here to see what Natalie wanted her to see because seeing it showed Tara that she was different. Not a Runner, never a Runner. Someone always static and still, someone who could be Run even without telepathic intrusion.

But if she built up some kind of— capacity for resistance, fueled by her own dissatisfaction— that would just be something of value to barter away for a deeper experience of submission later. Wasn’t that the right way to think about it?

Or did that only show how addicted she was becoming to submission?

I’m not even going to stop touching myself, the killer’s thoughts interfered. I won’t be able to cum right away again. But it’s… too delicious… to stop… I must… yes, my beautiful prey— you feel my power over you even if you don’t recognize it— you must belong to me— allow yourself to be vanquished by me—

“Killer,” Xerxes spat again, in greater disgust this time even than before.

Tara had stumbled into a new mind, now. The mind of a woman named Isadora. On instinct, she locked the headset’s co-ordinates onto the woman’s mind— she wanted a break from crossing through so many minds at once, and Isadora seemed like a decent place to set up camp for a moment.

Isadora seemed particularly confident of herself, in comparison to some of the other minds that Tara had zipped through. Isadora stood out to her particularly because of her confidence, so Tara was glad that she had locked onto her co-ordinates, after all.

Isadora was moving quickly through the crowd, her eyes sharp for someone who would be an easy target— most of the others here, she was sure, had been Run about as often as they’d Run someone else, but she’d yet to be Run even once so far. She was looking to continue her streak of victory. She didn’t think anyone else in the plaza could make a similar boast, so she was feeling pretty happy with herself.

Tara felt another pang. Clearly, Isadora was the kind of person who had great natural talent for Running— the kind of natural talent Tara had always secretly hoped she herself would turn out to have— if she did have any such talent in fact, then it had been wasted on her, and was likely to remain dormant in her forever. But if she could have Run with the group in front of her, she might have turned out to be more average, like most of them— if there were others of Isadora’s skill-level, she hadn’t ed through their minds yet or stayed in any one mind long enough to find that out. Or else others at that level, above it or just slightly shy of it, didn’t come to informal meetings like this.

Or they did, but none of them had happened to come today…

My prey, the killer interfered possessively. You’ll be my prey and you won’t be anyone else’s… that makes my hand feel so good against me…

Isadora saw a young woman approaching her out of the midst of the crowd. She really didn’t look as though she belonged— she was shrinking into herself; she had probably taken a few inches off her natural height just by slumping the way she was slumping— she looked a little grey-faced, and her hair was thin.

Isadora herself was in her late-thirties, so she felt quite secure in who she was. But this woman looked like a wilting flower— she’d dressed in a way that was clearly meant to camouflage her, wearing only earth-tones that she seemed to disappear into— and wearing a kind of boxy dress which seemed to drown her. Yes, she would be weak. So she should be Isadora’s next target. She would be Isadora’s next target, Isadora decided. And in targeting her, Isadora would find that she’d easily extended her winning-streak.

When the woman came in reach, Isadora reached out and caught her by the wrist.

She gained access to her mind almost immediately.

This was yet another time that Tara had seen that in-between battleground between two minds, where one Runner conquered and then pushed forward into the mind of the loser. She’d never even realized there was an in-between battleground. But if she had understood— if she’d ever taken up Running as a hobby before this— then the first time Natalie had Run her, she could have done something— could have pushed back against her, conquered her on the battlefield and then pushed on and taken her mind. Natalie might not have expected that from her— if only she’d known to do it— she hadn’t even known there was a battleground.

And now she was out of the race… probably forever… Natalie would make her sit to the side of it and watch forever— or Natalie would make her be the course she Ran on— but Tara would have to remain motionless. When Natalie dominated her it felt like she would dominate her forever— and in that eternity she would keep Tara still— she regretted that as much as she longed for it. Natalie wasn’t like these others, either. She had a different method of operation— she didn’t want temporary victories of the kind all these Runners enjoyed. She wanted eternal victories… and the more Tara understood her, the more she wanted to let her take those victories…

Xerxes just shook his head, and folded his arms. “It’s wrong. It makes me burn to think about it. The only kind of victories associated with Running should be temporary victories. That’s the whole point! That way you can Run again later!”

He knew Kalchek would forgive him his ranting. Kalchek always did.

Isadora was looking into the woman’s mind, now that she’d steamrolled across the battlefield and managed to enter it.

I am weak, the woman thought sadly. You can take a look around and see— isn’t it enticing to see such vulnerability? Look and see—

It was enticing, Isadora realized. The woman was such a shrinking flower, the kind of victim it felt so satisfying to dominate, because Isadora just knew she’d give herself to it so prettily… and she was already caught up in the idea of getting to see that beauty— they were spinning out sideways as they held onto each other, their feet shuffling over stone, and Isadora wanted to see the look in the woman’s eyes.

You’ve done badly this whole time, haven’t you? Isadora put as much warmth into that thought as she could, then pushed it to the woman.

The woman looked up becomingly from beneath the slanted curtain of her hair.

You’ve just been Run time and again. You’re a meek thing, aren’t you? But you look so beautiful when you can’t hold out any longer, I bet… easy thing to overcome but you’re so beautiful when it happens that it still feels earned—

I let them all into my mind, the woman agreed, thinking back to Isadora where they both were, inside the woman’s head.

Isadora felt herself relax slightly. Yes, the poor thing didn’t have any defenses to speak of. She let them all into her mind, and then—

I let them all into my mind, the woman thought again. But then I did this!

There was a sudden shoving sensation— only in ephemeral impression, but it was there. A great wave had risen up from somewhere unseen— now forced Isadora out, back across the battlefield, and into her own head.

And then the wave was swamping her. As she felt bliss overtaking her, she only had time to curse. You tricked me!

I used all my skills of cunning, that’s true. There was amusement to the thought. It makes it easier to win. And I didn’t want to lose my streak. No one else has Run me yet today— I didn’t want you to be the first.

Then Isadora wasn’t all that annoyed anymore. Because being Run just felt so glorious—

Tara wondered at what she had seen. It turned out there had been at least two people at this meet-up who were of a similar skill-level. And somehow they had fallen into tussling with each other— but such different strategies— Isadora relied on overpowering, but that other woman relied on cunning. Her strategy had been a little more effective, though not by much, because the statistics for each one after the day’s many Running matches were almost identical.

Tara longed for that world again— there were so many ways to approach Running— so many different strategies, ways of navigating it. For a moment she could see beyond Natalie’s power over her. Yes, Natalie had imagination, yes, Natalie was greedy for her goals— but every Runner was probably like that— Tara had seen plenty of imagination and greed both, among the minds she’d visited. The only difference between Natalie and these others— was that she wanted to win permanently and keep her things forever. Tara would only be a trophy for her— and she could almost— resent Natalie for that.

And then she couldn’t. She’d been brought to the point of craving further submission— multiple times— and just as Natalie had intended for her, each time she’d experienced that, she’d become more convinced that her place in life was the correct place for her— she’d embraced Natalie’s intentions more and more— enjoyed her submission more deeply with each successive taste she’d had of it.

She’d seen enough. She took the headset off. She needed to celebrate the deeper level she’d arrived at. She thought she’d go into a hair-salon and have her hair deep-conditioned; only as a one-off thing— this would be the first time all month and all year. But it seemed a fitting celebration, so she went off to have it done.

There was nothing more for Tara’s mind to show him on that particular day, so Xerxes reached for the frequency-scanner’s dials again. He’d seen into the killer’s mind before, sporadically— and as had happened the other time, it had been the crucial context from Tara’s mind which had allowed him to link the two sets of thoughts, as there were no images in the killer’s mind. Xerxes wanted the chance to get back in there and look around, even if the connection was going to drop after only a minute or two. Each of those brief stolen glimpses helped— the last time he’d properly entered the killer’s mind, he’d been given evidence of a murder.

He wasn’t necessarily expecting a revelation of that type a second time— in fact he was hoping he wouldn’t get one. One death by murder was already one death too many.

But even if he wasn’t about to uncover something of similar importance, he was still going to get some crucial context which would help him understand the overall picture of what he was looking at.

He got the first dial set where he wanted it— so he was within the number range that would show him the killer’s mind. But as he was trying to turn the second dial, which would determine whether he was within the recesses of it, or the forefront, the dial spun away from him, and the third one spun after it— when he looked to see where both had ended up, he saw that he was in fact in the forefront of the killer’s mind, and he was so focused on that that he did not the numbers showing on the third dial.

The killer was thinking to themselves.

The First Law of Running is as follows, they thought. All humans have the ability to control the minds of other humans, but not all mind control is the same.

Xerxes frowned at what was being projected on the wall.

Things were always obscured inside the killer’s mind, but something about the killer reciting that statement— Xerxes was thinking too quickly. He needed to get his thoughts out— he needed to imagine that Kalchek was here in the room with him— he needed to speak to him through the video-camera again.

“It’s always difficult to see anything inside the killer’s mind.” He’d repeated that thought aloud, for Kalchek’s benefit. “But there was something different about that. There was an intention in the way they thought that— like they laid the thought out as a blanket, and swaddled everything even more than usual. Even if I were trying to look around this area of the killer’s mind right now, I don’t think I’d be able to. I might have been able to before— but while they’re thinking with this kind of intention— I don’t think it’s possible. It’s like— they’re putting up a forcefield, or something— or a cage— where, if you’re inside it, it’s the only thing you can see.”

The First Law of Running is as follows, the thought came again. All humans have the ability to control the minds of other humans, but not all mind control is the same.

“I’m thinking of something else,” Xerxes frowned. “Bradley Spencer— when Tara was looking into his mind— when Tara was looking into his mind!” Xerxes exclaimed, completely abandoning his first point. “Kalchek, when Tara was looking into his mind!” It was probably just as well that Kalchek was not in the room with him at that moment, because he probably would have grabbed him by his jacket and shaken him.

“Tara had a frequency-scanner headset on, just like I have a frequency-scanner projector running. And she was looking through the headset into all those various minds because Natalie told her to, but because she saw them, the memory of seeing them became a part of Tara’s mind. And those mental snapshots which still exist in her mind were perfect captures of what was happening in those other minds—”

He got out a toothpick, and started shifting it along between each finger and then back.

“The killer— thinking this way— it’s not at all similar to the way that other person thinks. That predator that’s been watching Tara and lusting after her— that wasn’t the killer’s mind that was interfering when I was projecting outwards from the range of Tara’s mental frequencies, before. It was that other person— and then that predator, whoever they are— it’s someone that the killer’s mind took a mental snapshot of. Which explains why one set of memories is located in the recesses of the killer’s mind—! Those aren’t their memories, they’re the memories of someone else whose mind they viewed, and their mind filed them away after the fact because they were less important than their own thoughts.”

Xerxes set the toothpick between his teeth, widened his stance a little, and wrapped his arms around himself.

“So maybe the killer wasn’t really there that day, in the stone plaza. But then— if the killer could just be looking out through the eyes of anyone at any time, how would I ever manage to spot their face, let alone take a picture of it? And if they were looking through many minds at once, and quickly— and cataloguing what they saw just like I was doing when I was taking photos before— then how are they doing that? They’re not doing it with a frequency-scanner projector, because those things run too slowly. And headsets are a little faster, but still too slow. They must either have a set of frequency-scanner lenses— or the frequency-scanner brain-chip.

“But if they were using a set of frequency-scanner lenses, why would they need to obscure things within their own mind so much? Never thinking or ing images of any kind, even going so far sometimes as to swaddle things up with recitations so they’re the only thing that can be seen… that seems like someone who’s gotten used to having a brain-chip in their head, someone who’s gotten used to having people try to step into their minds constantly.

“Those are clever strategies to use— they seem like they’re skilled at using them— but they must only fall back on reciting those laws, whatever they are— when someone is actively trying to access their mind. So someone must have been trying to do that that day. And those brain-chips are more dangerous then lenses— they basically open up a different level of telepathic connection that anyone can use at any time, a connection that can be accessed almost continuously without pause. It would take someone with a very substantial amount of skill to compensate for that, and clearly our killer has learned how to do it.”

Trewhitt groaned and dragged his hands down over his face. “But if the killer is not the predator who’s been watching Tara— I was wrong in what was I thinking before, when I thought it made sense the predator was so desperate to claim her, given that they were also willing to kill. The predator probably isn’t a killer at all, and they certainly aren’t our killer. At a certain point, our killer probably just had a look around their mind. And so I wasn’t wrong about that— that both frequencies were present in the same mind. They are, but one is a mental capture and one isn’t.

“And— if the predator who’s been watching Tara isn’t the killer— then who are they? There’s at least two or three mysteries going on at the same time, and they’re all tripping over each other. I have no idea how to untangle them from each other. How am I supposed to keep this straight?” He groaned, dragged his hands down his face again. “I thought for sure when I saw Tara being watched on the subway—”

Xerxes dropped his hands from his face. His toothpick fell out of his mouth.

“On the subway.” He snapped the fingers of his right hand. “Natalie said something— she said that she liked to ride the subway with her frequency-scanner lenses in, so that she could look around through everyone’s minds without them knowing it, even though she’s so well-off she’d never need to ride the subway again otherwise. She must have been the one who was on the subway that day, watching Tara. And she can’t be the killer, she definitely can’t, because if she had a brain-chip she wouldn’t need to use lenses.”

Xerxes exhaled. “So Natalie must be the predator that’s been watching Tara— that makes sense— given the way that predator was reacting to Tara’s deepening submission. But that doesn’t explain who the killer is. That Bradley guy… maybe he’s a person of interest… after all, he was reciting a mental code of his own when he was ing going to that Running club, and that wasn’t that different than whatever this ‘laws of Running’ business is in the killer’s head. Or that woman Isadora— just because she had such a long streak of conquests during that informal meet-up— or the woman who defeated her—”

Xerxes just shook his head. “I’m grasping at straws here, Kalchek. I need to see more— Natalie is the predator, but I have no idea who the fuck the killer is.”

He sighed. “Shit, I need a cigarette.”

He took the burning one out of the ashtray and drew from it deeply.

Then he turned his wrist to see his watch-face.

“And I’d better start getting some ideas about the killer’s identity soon,” he cursed. “It’s gotten to be 10:48, somehow.”