The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Although it was still dark, the dawn had already begun to smear the velvet black sky above.

Cautiously, Mhari appraised the way ahead. The first residential tower blocs were just visible beyond the low-rise industrial buildings, indicating that she was entering the residential area of the city. Her strategy of sticking to the warren of laneways in the industrial area had paid off—she hadn’t encountered any more of those things.

The narrow alley looked out on a wide highway that served to separate the working area of the city from the housing complexes. Directly ahead, beyond the wide roadway, was a large oval shaped building that served as an indoor sports-slash-recreation centre. Designed to provide a social space for residents of the cramped tower blocs grouped beyond, there were about a dozen of them dotted around the city, all monotonously identical in layout. In her mind’s-eye she saw what would lie between it and the high-rise buildings; a wide, flat plaza in front of the main entrance to the recreation centre would be lined with chain coffee shops and eateries, hairdressers, beauty salons, clothes stores and a couple of supermarkets. While directly opposite, across the highway, would be a line of scruffier stores offering counterfeit designer goods, dodgy electronics, cut-price cosmetic surgery, tattoos and piercings as well as a couple of the ubiquitous seedy drinking dens labelled as social clubs where the plentiful drugs and cheap booze made life bearable for those trapped in this joyless urban purgatory.

Mhari watched the scene unfold before her. The rear service doors of the large public building were wide open, the interior lights blazing, illuminating the frenetic activity taking place. A number of Pantechnicon transporters had been parked directly opposite from which a steady stream of figures unloaded an assortment of packing crates and other equipment and carried them inside the oval building.

One glance was enough for Mhari to recognise the figures as similar to the two who had taken the Guardswoman at the bridge. For the first time she was able to get a better view of them; covered from head to toe in black with long mirrored faceplates with glowing red numbers at their collars.

Were they robots? Androids? A type of cybernetic-unit? Or just people dressed in freaky outfits?

Just what the fruk was going on?

No matter, she quoshed the thought. She needed to get out of here. Peering through the rapidly lightening gloom, Mhari spotted a narrow alleyway opposite that ran parallel to the main highway. As she approached, she was even able to read the lettering on a battered sign fixed to a wall: Jones Lane.

She needed to get out of sight before the sun rose fully.

Everything was woozy.

The world around her was fuzzy and soft.

Not that it mattered.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” Janyka mouthed, the mantra reinforcing the relaxing lucid dream that hugged her tightly as her legs propelled her onwards.

Her escort stopped.

So Janyka stopped.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” she reassured herself.

Another one of the robot-like people stood in front of her, face covered by a mirrored dome. But unlike the others, this one was dressed in dark red, cut-out in strategic places to reveal flashes of coffee-toned flesh beneath. The number seventy-one glowed at the strange creature’s throat.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” Janyka recited, her liquid thoughts draining away.

As she repeated her mantra, the red-dressed technician produced an unfamiliar object. It consisted of a curved latticework of smooth, thin metal strips woven into a vaguely helmet-shape obviously designed to cover the entire head of the wearer apart from the face.

“Slave inferiors submit to the Superior Will of the Creator,” the comforting words soothing Janyka as her mind failed to what this new development might portend.

Wordlessly, the red-uniformed woman approached Janyka and held up the strange helmet-like device allowing Janyka to get a better view. Inside, the thin strands of flexible metal were studded with circuitry and hundreds of direct bio-interface points... obviously designed to... to... do something...?

“Slave inferiors submit...” Janyka mouthed as she let the red-dressed technician fit the device on her, the hard metal pressing firmly down against her hooded head, “...to the Superior Will of the Creator...”

Now, the faceless attendant produced a large extended visor shaped to cover both her forehead and eyes. Constructed entirely of solid, dull metal, a large black circle was centred where her forehead would be, while beneath the circular cable sockets resembled a pair of dead eyes.

Janyka’s vision vanished as the heavy eyepiece was expertly linked to the edges of the framework helmet by gloved hands and secured in place.

Blind and helpless, Janyka was guided forward, the guards helping her up on to the hard table before positioning her in the moulded indentation designed to hold her body firmly in place.

“Slave inferiors submit....” Janyka whispered into the darkness, “...to the Superior Will of the Creator....”

000

Using a length of discarded metal she had pulled from the half-filled dumpster nearby, Mhari gingerly pried open the small square window.

The darkness had already become a mixture of orange and charcoal grey as the early morning cloud that plagued Reineport began to blanket the city. In a few hours, the hot sun would banish the cloud and the heat would rise.

There window opening gave one final groan before it finally gave way.

Silence. No alarm.

Jones Lane remained quiet and empty.

Exhaling with relief, she clambered awkwardly through the narrow opening and found herself in a bare room. The smell of fresh plaster and dust filled her nostrils. Bags of cement were piled against the wall opposite, along with boxes of tiles. A complicated network of heavy duty pipes and sockets decorated the walls, ready for the professional kitchen to be installed.

Carefully making her way towards the door opposite she found herself in another large, bare room. This one had a newly tiled floor but the grouting remained unfinished. Heavy metal security shutters were pulled down over the large windows facing the highway.

Obviously the retail unit was being remodelled—that was why it had been so easy to get in. There was nothing to steal.

Exhaling with relief, Mhari found a narrow corridor to the side which led to a staircase.

Climbing up, she found herself in a large room. Chairs and tables were stacked high—doubtless for the cut-price greasy-spoon below. Five chairs lay clustered around a single table that had been moved into the centre of the room upon which lay empty food wrappers and discarded cups—a place obviously used by the builders as their break area.

Another flight of stairs brought her to the building’s top storey and a room consisting of a small line of battered staff lockers, a threadbare sofa, an obsolete computer terminal and a pile of accumulated junk. Another door led to a small and grubby staff toilet.

Exhaling with relief, Mhari returned to the break area and cautiously approached the window facing the residential area beyond. She was now about two hundred metres away from the recreation centre, directly opposite the empty plaza but by craning her neck slightly she could see the activity still taking place at the rear of the building.

The wide multi-lane highway below was eerily quiet, even for this hour in the morning.

All of a sudden Mhari felt a wave of tiredness wash over her.

The adrenalin that had kept her going all night was fading rapidly.

Retracing her steps she climbed the stairs to the staff area and stretched out on the sofa as best she could.

Exhaustion overwhelmed the adrenalin.

She soon faded into a deep, dreamless sleep.

On her way to the kitchen, Amyna flicked on the vidscreen without bothering to pause and watch what was on. The indistinct sound of voices emanating from the speakers was reassuring.

She had managed a couple hours sleep but she was still groggy and cranky.

The floor had taken on a warm golden-red hue as the rising sun filtered through the dust-laden clouds that hung over Reineport every morning.

But she took no notice.

Amyna didn’t do mornings.

The cereal clinked loudly into the ceramic container she had grabbed from the cupboard before she doused it with synthmilk and thoughtlessly commenced crunching.

Coffee.

She needed lots of coffee to fully wake up.

Darkness engulfed her.

Unable to see, the strange, disconcerting sensation made the subject’s head spin. It was like being seasick... sort of... or as if she was submerged within a river of blackness... a powerful current pulling her onwards... unable to control her destination... a prisoner of the stream that gripped her... swirling towards some unknown destination...

The thoughts of the female who still regarded herself as the Janyka-individual were groggy, slow... difficult to form in the blackness that surrounded her...

Staring into the emptiness, she gave up trying to think about what was happening or why... instead, she held on to what was important...

Tyah...

Her beautiful daughters... Nika... Amyna...

Was it her imagination or could she see them in the dark? Smiling, laughing, joy... Janyka smiled. She felt happy... safe... loved...

She had met the love of her life—her soul-mate—and together they had created a loving family and raised two smart, intelligent daughters whom she was immensely proud of. Amyna was going to utterly transform her research field—she was destined for greatness. And even though Nika could be a handful at times, she saw in her the reflection of her own stubborn personality. A trait that would lead her to success in whatever she chose to do.

The sensation of motion stopped.

Still engulfed by the all-consuming darkness, Janyka hung on to her family, enjoying their presence.

Suddenly in the centre of her forehead she felt something... tingling like electricity dancing over her skull... touching her... indescribable sensations... her skin seemed to vibrate... no, the vibrations were inside... inside her head... her skin was just glowing... radiating downwards... through her... fire flashing over her flesh...

Gasping, Janyka-subject stared helplessly into the darkness... tears rolling down her cheeks unnoticed...

Her entire body felt like it was melting... dissolving... the dark flames licking her metallic-encased flesh... driving her...

No!!!... a part of her mind screamed... something was wrong... very wrong!!!!

Her head felt as if had been opened... as if her skull had been removed... her brain exposed... unseen fingers rummaging within the grey matter beneath... rifling through her consciousness... pulling at it... ripping it apart...

No!!!... Tyah... she had to hold on... to Tyah...

“Ty...aahh...” the Janyka-persona cried aloud in the blackness, calling out to her true love whose face she could still see smiling back at her from the void... needing to hold...her entire body now radiating with sexual heat like she had touched surface of the sun... bliss... ecstasy... unimaginable pleasure boiling and surging through her... into her... from her... the intense, erotic tendrils boring deep inside... penetrating her...

Don’t let goooo... need tooo...

“Tyaaaaa...hhh...” she screamed, the name of her soul-mate dying half-formed on the subject’s lips as she succumbed to the overwhelming intensity... her wife’s image fading... dimming... the blackness returning... until she was alone... alone with nothing but raw pleasure... hallucinating... that was what she wanted... what she needed... nothing else... just pleasure...

A new face suddenly appeared before her eyes... dazzling her... she was familiar somehow... strong... stern... commanding... recognition dawned... Doctor Xi!!... but she was different... harder than before... intense eyes boring into her...

Superior!

She was Superior!

Doctor Xi was Superior, the dazzling clarity of the revelation making her gasp.

But that meant... that meant... she must be... must... be... be... no, she was... inferior?

Yes!! Inferior...slave...

Entering the room, she basked in the scene before her.

Seated within the three slowly moving carousels, faceless alpha Automatons supervised the Conversion process.

Upon the Tables, twenty-four figures lay all cocooned in silver, the latticework helmets pressing against their heads, the thick cables plugged into the eye-ports of their visors.

Owned snatch sizzling with joy, the Servitor drank in the delectable sights and sounds of brainwashing with the relish of a connoisseur.

Mistress had graciously allowed her to her own descent.

By the time She had arrived in Reineport, the enraptured-Natalie was already Her willing slave. Her Owner had ordered her to betray the staff and patients under her care. Enthusiastically, she had complied. And she had thrilled at being ordered to masturbate for Her Creator’s amusement as they watched the first of the medical staff, people the once-Natalie knew well, being Implanted.

Seeing them emerge as dehumanized Automaton drones had driven her wild.

Afterwards, Mistress had enjoyed watching her prepare for her own programming, ing the rush of pleasure as the metallic suit had slid over her body, thrilling as the thought of what it would do to her, knowing that she was destined to become nothing more than an object, a brainwashed slave that would please Her Owner.

The nearest Table ceased it’s rotation, bringing each of the eight Convertees directly beneath one of the overhanging cylinders that terminated in five short, splayed prongs.

All movement stopped.

An intense glow of red light suddenly flared on the tips of each of the five prongs above the stationary subject, each flares growing in intensity, until it formed a solid beam directed downwards towards the silver-enrobed figures beneath.

Each of the twenty-four anonymous figures in the room lay beneath a beam of her own, wriggling and groaning as yet another small piece of their personalities and individualities vanished.

The Servitor’s cunt throbbed pleasurably to witness the Creator’s Will being transformed into flesh.

Something that the new slaves would only appreciate once their Conversion was complete.

Muffled moans emerged from the silver cocooned bodies as they squirmed within the indentations, the black circular plates placed above their foreheads drinking in the dazzling directed energy pulses.

The disc-shaped plates acted as the focus point for the barrage of neuro-pulses being blasted into them. Like carefully unpeeling the layers of an onion, each pulse was carefully calibrated to reach different aspects of the subject-brain. Differing in intensity, depth and duration the energy pulses were directly targeted on the synaptic-bonds, disconnecting and severing all aspects of incompatible thought, splitting the mind into hundreds of isolated segments that would be either retained, warped or erased.

All the thoughts, memories and emotions that had defined who they had once been were being either partially or fully destroyed.

Simultaneously, the Creator’s programming was filling the newly created mental void, the disorientated blank-slate mind eagerly accepting the replacement thoughts, memories and emotions, accepting them... embracing them... believing them.

The unmoored, disted, cauterised synapses within their brains would feast unimpeded upon the new programming being fed into them through the goggles covering their eyes and the voice whispering into their ears.

It would go on until they truly believed they were deindividuated Servitors, fanatical brainwashed slaves who Served, Obeyed and Worshipped their Creator!

As she did.

Approaching the third table, she observed the Automaton operator at work, tantalising flashes of flesh visible beneath the dark-red fetish uniform the alpha unit was sheathed in.

The Designation seventy-one shone from the Conversion specialist’s collar.

“Alpha seventy-one,” she called, the Automaton’s masked face turning away from the control and facing her as the Table began to slowly rotate once more, relentlessly bringing the silver-clad Convertees towards the next neuro-pulse station.

“Report status of the Mode Five priority subject.”

“Subject has attained state D,” the droned-Makayla responded crisply. “Brainwave activity optimal. Synaptic cauterisation at thirty-one percent. No unanticipated anomalies detected.”

Nodding lightly, she absorbed the information: the Janyka-subject had already moved from state E to D, doubtless assisted by the fact that her mental resistance had been broken before her Conversion had even began. Progress to state A, when the former-Janyka would be a fully functional Mode Five Servitor, was proceeding as planned.

“Good, dronewhore,” she cooed, pleased at the news, stroking the Automaton’s Secondary Function by using the term.

There were no limits now.

“Yes, superordinate,” the voice of the once-Makayla responded huskily, the Implanted mind of the humanoid basking in the knowledge of its own utter debasement and complete sexual objectification.

“Please the Owner, seventy-one,” she smirked, enjoying the power her words had upon the drone while affirming her own devotion.

“All must Serve, Obey and Worship Her!” the drone recited the catechism of the totalising new Religion that consumed everything, voice quaking slightly as the slavesuit reinforced the Creator’s absolute control over the Automaton’s shackled mind and body.

Smiling softly in anticipation, she left Janyka to her fate.

Orla Zhang-Murphey beamed from the screen. The presenter was dressed in a sleek black turtleneck, her make-up perfect, her lustrous brunette hair impeccably coiffed as always. Around her throat she wore a bold statement necklace; a heavy band of silver from which a large inverted triangle shaped pendant hung, sparkling brightly in the studio lights.

“Lets go to Helyna Okwozye who is reporting from outside Central Hospital,” Orla smiled as the screen cut to a reporter, sheathed in a standard white protective-suit, facing the camera

“Thanks, Orla,” the young woman began, her striking green eyes framed by the K-48 mask that obscured much of her face. “We’re coming live from Central Hospital,” the reporter confirmed as the camera angle shifted to reveal the sign emblazoned on the building behind, “the nerve centre of the Article Sixteen emergency response.”

“For understandable medical and privacy reasons, we can’t show you what is happening inside Central Hospital,” Helyna went on, “but the Clinical Director has told us that the teams inside have all they need to keep us safe.”

Panning around, the camera picked up a number of oddly-dressed people in black before returning to the reporter who was now standing next to one of the strange figures.

“Assisting the clinical teams are of the security services, one of whom s me now,” Helyna smiled behind her K-48. The black-clad figure standing next to her remained silent, her face utterly concealed by a reflective dome-shaped mask. Red digits glowed at her throat.

“Thank you for taking the time to speak to us, Sub-Lieutenant,” Helyna began generously.

“Yes,” a female voice echoed from behind the mirrored facemask.

“Firstly, I’m sure our viewers are curious about what you’re wearing?” the reporter asked, her tone light. “We’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“It’s the latest generation of multi-spectrum bio-protective clothing designed to allow us to operate in a wide range of dynamic environments,” the faceless Sub-Lieutenant revealed in brisk no-nonsense military-speak.

Helyna nodded along as the featureless soldier continued her explanation. “As well as providing full-body protection it is also capable of filtering out all known airborne pathogens, keeping the wearer perfectly safe.”

“That certainly sounds very impressive,” Helyna agreed. “We are glad that the first-responders working so hard to keep us safe are protected.”

“We are here to serve,” the anonymous officer replied as the sun burst through the morning fug, the low light bathing them in its yellow-orange glow. For the briefest of moments Amyna thought she saw a symbol embossed into the heavy black fabric over the woman’s chest that resembled the triangle shaped pendant Orla wore?

“We shall update you with more information as it comes in,” Helyna spoke to the camera, handing back to the studio.

Orla’s face filled the screen once more, her eyes staring intently out at Amyna, the large silver pendant around her neck glittering in the light.

“Throughout the city, a number of sports and civic centres are being turned into temporary screening facilities designed to cater for the local population. Zhesykka Hondslow is at the Recreation Centre at Res-District Six.”

“Thanks, Orla,” another masked and med-gowned reporter appeared on the vidscreen in the centre of a large, featureless plaza hemmed in on all sides by tower blocs that loomed over the charmless space. In the background was the ovaloid structure of a mid-sized multi-purpose recreation centre constructed of dull grey concrete.

“Here at Res-District Six, preparations are well underway to receive the public,” the reporter breezily declared as the camera panned to show more of the black-clad figures dividing up the windswept plaza with neat lines of crowd control barriers as they formed a queueing system that led to the sports centre. Visible beyond were a number of Pantechnicons from which large boxes and packing crates were being carried into the building.

“We can confirm that a team of qualified medical personnel have arrived and are making final preparations to begin on schedule within the hour,” the reporter announced excitedly, her eyes shimmering above the K-48 mask she wore as figures busily continued their tasks behind her.

“The first group of residents from the area have already begun to assemble,” Zhesykka went on as the camera followed the reporter on her walk-and-talk.

Stopping, the camera revealed that the reporter was alongside a short line of people lined up behind a line of barriers.

Groaning, Amyna realised that they weren’t following basic respiratory safety protocols. The people in the line should be standing further apart and disposable masks should have been issued to impede the spread of respiratory pathogens. This was just lazy, she fumed in silence. Basic common sense was being ignored. Incompetent, corner-cutting by poorly-trained and commanded soldiers who didn’t know how to deal with the situation.

This stupidity was precisely the kind of thing that allowed the Pox to spread.

Shaking her head in despair, Amyna hoped her mother or Natalie was watching and would issue stern instructions to these idiots.

“Hi!” the reporter beamed, thrusting the microphone before a startled young woman in a baggy red sweater standing in the front row. “How does it feel to know that you’ll be the first person through the doors of this new facility?”

“Good, I guess,” the interviewee managed. “I mean, um, we all have to do our part... right? To keep us safe.”

“Absolutely,” Zhesykka encouraged brightly. “How have you been treated?”

“Oh, ok,” the woman replied, her confidence visibly growing as she started to enjoy being the centre of attention. “I mean, they told us what time we were supposed to be here for. They said the screening will only take a few minutes and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“That’s right,” the reporter confirmed, “there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll feel like a new person when it’s all over.”

Leaving the first woman, the reporter moved on to a tall, athletic woman with fashionable purple-dyed short hair in a blue and yellow sports top standing next in line.

“And are you also excited to be part of the first group?” the masked news reporter chirped at her next subject as the camera moved onwards.

“Sure,” the unknown woman shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s during times like this that we all need to pull together...”

Standing a short distance behind the purple-haired woman was another one of those black-uniformed figures.

Tuning out the patter of the useless vox-pop, Amyna took another sip of her coffee. As always, the news was high on breathless excitement but low on actual analysis. Nothing had been said about what had actually caused Article Sixteen to be enacted.

But it was reassuring to see that Reineport was rising to the challenge. Her parents were part of that.

And Mhari.

She found her eyes drawn to the black-encased form of the woman in the background who was overseeing the group that the reporter was interviewing.

Was Mhari now also dressed in one of those menacing black uniforms and facemask that seemed designed to suck the humanity out of the wearer?

They had a sinister aspect about them, no doubt... but they were also kind of sexy... somehow?

It was hard to describe her feelings. Weird?

She suddenly wondered if they’d let Mhari take her new uniform home when this was all over.

That might be fun.

Amyna groaned inwardly; civilisation might be on the brink of collapse but all she could think about was exploring a new-found sex-kink.

Servitor-Orla was addressing the viewers once more, the Creator’s collar glittering seductively around her neck.

The puppets were performing well.

Licking her lips hungrily, she relished the knowledge that right now thousands of unsuspecting people were absorbing the mindbending commands embedded within the broadcast. With all other sources of information cut off, people would be desperate for news.

Like moths to a flame, they would be drawn towards the light.

And devoured.

The output had been carefully calibrated to ensure the constantly shifting brainwave-harmonisation frequencies within the hypno-conditioning overlaid upon the broadcast video output would gradually increase in intensity, seducing unsuspecting viewers slowly, drawing them deeper into ive compliance, sucking away their ability to resist until it was far too late.

The enslavement of the population would proceed more efficiently if they were turned into docile material who would assist in their own Conversion.

The harmonisation would do just that.

Of course there would be a small percentage of people who either wouldn’t see the broadcast or respond to the hypno-conditioning but they could be harvested later.

The Automatons supervising the lines of pre-Converts had been instructed to monitor them carefully. This form of mental control was potentially unstable and subject to failure but they had no other way to induce compliance on a mass scale.

A most unsatisfactory method.

That needed to be rectified.

Turning away from the wall mounted vidscreen, the Servitor turned her attention to the occupants of the room. Lined up in three neat rows before her, mirrored facemasks glittering, thirty figures attended.

Eyes roaming over the taut slaves of the Task Force she had assembled, she assessed the hard, fit bodies that lay beneath the slavesuits that coated them.

Disrupting the ranks of hardbodied drones, the former-Cuarezs and four other intel specialists, who had once been in Public Tranquility, had been added to the group; as well as muscle, experienced professionals to comb through the datafiles were needed.

Three faces stared back at her; the red-haired former-Lieutenant she had seen earlier, a tall, black female and a short haired Latina, all dressed in the ink-black bodysuits, boots and high, strict collars of Mode Threes.

“Attend,” she began, pleased to see their already taut bodies stiffen at the sound of her voice.

“This Task Force has been assigned the Function of apprehending specified High-Value Targets. These pieces of target-material possess specialised scientific knowledge which must be preserved.”

Blank faces, focussed on her words met her gaze.

“A preliminary list of sixty-seven targets has been compiled,” she went on looking directly at the intel-specialists. “The records of the former Public Tranquility need to be scoured for information about each subject which will be used to assist in their capture and subsequent submission.”

“Yes, superordinate,” the five Automaton specialists replied firmly.

“Liaise with Servitor controllers and the rest of the Task Force to coordinate their capture,” she nodded before turning back to the others.

“Once the targets have been located, work with Automatons to arrange their segregation from the mass-Conversion process. The targets are to be taken to the designated Holding Facility.”

“Yes, superordinate,” the entire group responded in unison.

“Based on the information gathered about each subject, secondary targets consisting of ancillary emotionally-bonded s are also to be detained, where possible,” she explained to her attentive audience. “They will be used to induce compliance. If necessary.”

“Later,” she explained, “they will be formed into a specialised Scientific Research Cohort.”

Glittering, masked faces greeted her words in silence.

“Mistress Herself has decreed it so,” she announced, her sex slick with delight as she spoke the Name of the One she Loved, knowing that there was no end to her Adoration and loving her utter debasement.

“Serve! Obey! Worship!” she snapped, triggering the group.

“Serve!” all thirty voices declared as the three Servitors crossed their arms in salute, their eyes ablaze with the dark ion they all felt.

“Obey!!” the brainwashed slaveflesh cried out, the arousal palpable as they surrendered to the programming that had been burned deep into their reformatted minds.

“Worship!!!!” the dehumanized former-women thundered, their entire existences now defined by the overwhelming, desperate, urgent need to please their Owner, Mistress and Creator.

Just as she did.

Basking in the raw heat of arousal that filled the room, the Servitor wished she had the time to demonstrate just how deeply her Love for their Owner was with these slavish underlings.

Suppressing a low moan with difficulty, the Servitor simply turned on her heel and left her minions to their Function.

Burning fire.

Yelping with pain, Amyna leaped out of her seat.

Her thighs glowed with heat.

Looking down she realised that she must have spilled the contents of her still hot coffee cup all over her lap.

“Fruk!” she swore vehemently at the unresponsive screen before hurrying to the bathroom to see what damage she’d done to herself.

How could she have been so stupid?

On the vidscreen, the alluring presenter continued her monologue, continuing to ooze seductive promise into the now vacant living room.

It was late afternoon. Mhari’s body was stiff from the hours spent on the sofa. Despite that she felt a lot better. The terror induced-adrenalin had subsided and she felt more optimistic about her prospects.

Her fears about being shot as a deserter were unfounded, she decided. A couple of well-placed bribes would probably make any problems go away. If all else failed, she could always use Amyna’s family connections to pull the right strings with the right people.

After all, those weird people things had attacked them.

Her disappearance was a trivial incident in what was obviously a much larger situation. When this was all over, it wouldn’t matter.

Mhari’s stomach growled. She was ravenous.

A search of the break area had revealed a small stash of energy bars while a small kettle provided enough hot water for a cup of builder’s tea that was strong enough to trot a mouse on.

It was enough.

Sighing with satisfaction, she pushed the remnants of her meal aside.

Getting up from the table, she moved towards the window. The tops of the tower blocs resembled the hard, weary crenelations of a shabby urban citadel that had known far better days.

Now closer, she could see the plaza opposite. A steady stream of people were emerging from the blocs, hemmed in by lines of the strange masked figures, all slowly snaking their way towards the large open plaza. A number of giant outdoor screens had been erected which displayed the familiar features of Orla Zhang-Murphey.

Mhari rolled her eyes automatically. Zhang-Murphey was at the pinnacle of what this provincial backwater considered to be celebrity royalty; the Enfosphere was constantly filled with breathless speculation and gossip about her supposedly torrid love life.

Personally, Mhari didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

Slowly, the line moved steadily towards the entrance to the oval building, closely overseen by the mechanical-like creatures as Zhang-Murphey’s face beamed down upon them.

Twisting her neck, the exit to the recreation centre she had seen last night came into view.

Spilling out on to the empty highway were seven lines of the black-coated figures, standing stiffly to attention. As she watched, about a dozen new mirror-faced creatures emerged from the building and formed a new line at the rear of the group. A few seconds later, the entire group pivoted to the right in unnatural unison and began to march along the roadway beneath her.

Shrinking back from the window, Mhari’s heart rate increased as the column ed her position.

A few seconds later they had moved past.

Her mind was a sponge.

Absorbing everything.

Because she was weak... obedient... dominated... inferior...

And slave inferiors submitted to the Superior Will of the Creator.

This was the Truth.

It was unquestionable.

“I am the Creator,” the stern featured Superior declared firmly, Her powerful compelling eyes boring deep inside the ravaged mind of the Janyka-creature who gazed enraptured into them, trapped like prey about to be consumed.

“I am the Owner,” Doctor Xi... no, the Creator!... revealed. “I am Mistress.”

Surrendering to the overwhelming sensations, the Janyka-inferior groaned with the agony of ecstasy... riding the pleasure... wanting this like she had never wanted anything before... needing this to go on... nothing else mattered... just pleasure...

Pleasure.

Endless pleasure.

All for the Owner.

All from the Creator.

Gasping... moaning... writhing in ecstasy... unable to stop... wanting this like nothing she had ever wanted before... so weak... so obedient... so dominated... so inferior...

“Serve me,” her Creator... Owner... Mistress... demanded... the all-consuming mind-melting pleasure accompanying the invisible fingers that had reached into her mind... Janyka-inferior knew... she understood... they were the Creator’s fingers... she was trying to do something to her... something wrong?

No... she was weak and inferior... she needed to be changed... wanted to be altered... so much pleasure... bliss... joy... submit... needed to kiss the long, slender fingers of the Woman who was reshaping her... to show how much she loved to be... dominated... by the Creator... Owner... Mistress...

“Obey me,” the strict Woman insisted, Her voice echoing through her mind as she stared helplessly into her compelling hypnotic eyes... she didn’t care anymore... let the Creator do what she wanted... so as long as the pleasure went on... only the pleasure mattered... sexual pleasure like she had never experienced before... for Mistress... beyond what she had been capable of imagining... beyond what she had thought a human being could experience... but she had been wrong... so wrong... and now the pleasure owned her... the Owner owned... she was inferior... nothing... weak... dominated... her body and mind nothing but a flesh-container filled with bubbling, molten bliss...

“Worship me,” the strict Woman commanded, her eyes dancing with dark glee as the pleasure exploded into orgasm... detonating suddenly... blasting everything away... screaming into the darkness as the Creator watched over her... dissolving into nirvana... the rapture slamming into her... crushing her soul...

Upstairs, Amyna changed her underwear and put on a pair of loose, comfortable sweatpants, her earlier irritation slowly fading.

Fortunately she hadn’t done any serious damage. The coffee hadn’t been hot enough to burn her skin—the dull pain would soon fade thanks to the cream she had slathered over the wound.

Shaking her head at her stupidity, Amyna was greatful that nobody had witnessed another bout of her trademark clumsiness that was the butt of many a joke. Nika, in particular, could be merciless.

Goddess, she had really zoned out in front of the vidscreen!

Glancing out the window, she caught sight of a Pantechnicon parked on the opposite side of the square. A cluster of black-garbed figures, like the ones she had seen on the vidscreen, were visible through the Kersipem trees outside the house where Liriam Golez lived.

Curious, Amyna watched the scene unfold before her eyes. A woman stepped out from the doorway, escorted by two of the black-uniformed figures. Her crisp white top contrasting with the dark uniforms surrounding her the woman was gesticulating angrily, obviously arguing with her guards, who ignored her protestations as they firmly propelled her towards the waiting Pantechnicon.

Stunned, Amyna watched as Liriam vanished into the hulking vehicle followed by the sinister figures.

A few seconds later it disappeared from view.

Blinking, she processed what she had just seen. Liriam had obviously been reluctant to go with the military escort. Why? Where were they taking her?

The more Amyna thought about it, the more it looked like the scientist was being arrested.

What was going on?

Still contemplating the implications of what she had just seen, Amyna observed as a disciplined column of black-uniformed troops enter the square, the mirrored masks covering their faces glittering in the sunlight as they marched onwards.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

Amyna suddenly felt afraid.

Very afraid.

Her earlier erotic fantasies vanished. Facing the reality of an army of featureless black-clad soldiers had popped that particular bubble.

There was something distinctly menacing about them.

She shuddered.

The lines of uniformed soldiers began to fill the square.

A smaller group quickly set up a heavy-duty portable loudspeaker system in the middle of the square.

“Residents, attend,” a female voice crackled over the speaker. “Please assemble outside. You are to be taken to the Medical Facility. This is for your benefit.”

The creepy figures had deployed throughout the square; all the exits were covered.

They were trapped.

“Residents, attend,” the voice echoed once more. “Please leave your homes and gather outside. We are here to help you.”

Amyna watched as a door slowly opened and a pair of middle-aged women emerged. She couldn’t their names but one of them was a senior Corporate manager... Tyah knew her in ing and Mhari had been dropping hints about introducing her. But that was Mhari’s style—she had no problems pushing herself forward. Amyna ired her for that.

“Please us outside,” the voice coaxed once more.

Other doors began to open. A trickle of inhabitants began to spill out of their homes.

“There is no need to be concerned,” the voice encouraged. “Gather outside.”

Without thinking, Amyna took a couple of steps back from the window, pulling away from the glass so she merged into the darkened interior.

More people began to appear. Some marched steadily out, others were more hesitant, some looked apprehensively around them at the strangely dressed guards who had sealed off the square.

Amyna knew this was all wrong. Very, very wrong.

“We are here to help you,” the voice placated. “Please come outside and let us take care of you.”

The houses were emptying now. These were wealthy people with connections and a good deal of power who pulled the levers behind the scenes; they didn’t have anything to fear from the Authority.

People were being expertly herded into the middle of the square. Some were murmuring to each other. One or two even tried to start a conversation with a masked figure but got nowhere. Many just stood still, simply staring into space. Again, no effort was made to distribute protective masks or ensure they were kept safely apart.

After a few minutes, they were led away by about half of the black-uniformed figures. The remaining soldiers remained standing to attention.

Amyna suddenly knew what was going to happen next.

They were going to search the houses.

Flying downstairs her fingers found the recessed catch in the ling that lined the rear of the living room wall. With a low click, the lock disengaged and she was able to swing open the cover, revealing the interior of the hidden cavern that the long-dead original owner of the house had created many years ago to store their illicit contraband from prying eyes. Nika and her had really enjoyed playing with this secret hiding place when they were younger. It was a real source of wonder for them.

Just as she was preparing to squeeze through the narrow entranceway, a sudden thought struck her. Turning on her heel, Amyna ran to the kitchen and grabbed the pistol that lay on the table before hurrying back to the living room, snatching a couple of throw cushions from the couch on the way.

A few seconds later she was inside, the firmly secured in place as she hid in the darkness carved out of the living rock. It was large enough to sit upright, the cushions keeping her off the cold rock floor as she settled in as best she could.

Mind racing, Amyna struggled to come to with just how quickly everything that had seemed so solid had just melted into air.