The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

After the rather harrowing experience on his previous job, Zeb decided to take a break from mercenary hypnotist work for a while.

The next several days were relatively uneventful for Zeb. He settled into a nice comfortable routine, going to his ‘day job’, massaging clients, entrancing and seducing the more wealthy and attractive ones, and restructuring and reshaping the job hierarchy at the Lotus. He was now, officially, the boss, with Tricia serving as the manager and supervisor of the spa’s day-to-day activities. Heidi had been demoted to office secretary, which she’d balked at briefly until Zeb had had a nice ‘heart-to-heart’ with her. Afterward, she was much happier in her new position, which, considering the great shape her body was sporting these days, she seemed perfect for. Best of all, her desk had been revamped with a wide-open expanse at the bottom, allowing a clear view of her long slender shapely legs, and her perfectly pedicured feet.

His afternoons were spent mostly in training, in showing his new apprentice the ropes, or his own private training, still trying to increase his own strength and power. He’d begun teaching Patty lessons taken directly from the Book, though he had not yet shared it with her. At this stage, he was mostly secure in his friendship with the young brunette... but there was still a part of her that he wasn’t quite sure of. Patricia was still very new, and still finding her balance. And until he knew that she had gotten a handle on her own darker urges, that she was fully in control of herself, he was wary of placing that much power directly into her hands.

He sighed softly, poking idly at his breakfast of fish and rice, considering. He’d heard rumors in the community about the rivalry between two powerful but relatively new hypnodommes, Domina Peggy and Goddess Donna. Both women were incredibly powerful and talented, demonstrated in their performances at the Spiral Club’s opening tournament. Both women also apparently hated each other’s guts with a burning fiery passion. And, amidst the various speculations running rampant, one such rumor had been that both women owed their meteoric rise to discovering a copy of the fabled ‘Art of True Hypnosis’ and had become enemies over ownership of the book.

If the rumor was true... it certainly explained a few things. Zeb suspected that that book, and several other of Gram Gram’s treasures, were why she’d had to fend off so many attempts on her life over the years. She had cautioned him when she’d bequeathed it to him to guard it with his life. Do not let anyone even suspect that you have it, she’d snapped in her usual harsh tone. There are many within this world who would stop at nothing to obtain it, to which even the most unspeakable acts would be a small price to pay to have it in their possession. Never forget this!

It was a sentiment that Zeb shared... to a point. Yes, there were many, many, evil and wretched people within the world. Many True Hypnotists, male and female, were, for lack of a better definition, garbage human beings. And the idea of increasing their powers, teaching them forbidden techniques such as the Five Gazes, and setting them loose in the world gave him actual nightmares. At the same time... there were others in the community, those that were able to balance their darker desires with their own morality, those capable of mastering the ancient forgotten techniques and increasing their knowledge and power. And it seemed like a shame to keep such knowledge hidden away, instead of sharing it with those more responsible.

Ugh. Then again, who am I to decide who is ‘responsible enough’ to handle such knowledge? he mused to himself. I myself am as selfish and self-centered as the next person. I am hardly qualified to make such a distinction. Sighing to himself, he resolved to simply follow his intuition on the matter... to just ‘go with his gut’. When he felt it was time, he would share the book with Patty... and hope that she was mature enough to handle it.

“Aaaaahahhh! Dammit!”

Of course, that is, if she can survive her current lesson, Zeb thought with amusement.

Patty Jamison grunted, picking herself up slowly from the ground. Her lovely face and dark hair were currently covered up, hidden behind a light concealing facemask. Growling, hands placed out in front of her, she tried awkwardly to maneuver herself across the living room back to the sofa, wincing again as she banged her knee against an end table... then flat out screaming as she stumped her toes against the edge of the sofa a minute later.

“Aawwwww! Fuck! Shit!” she cursed loudly, clutching her injured bare foot, glaring in Zeb’s general direction as he laughed. “That’s SO not funny, Zeb!” she growled. “That fuckin’ hurt! And this is... it’s goddamn impossible!” she complained.

“Only because you think it is impossible,” he told her gently, walking over to pluck the mask from her face. “And as I have explained before, opening your third eye for the first time is difficult, if only because it depends on your mind for a frame of reference in interpreting what you are sensing. But once it opens... once you learn the ability to see the unseen, then a wealth of other abilities will come into play as well. It will also help you to learn and understand your powers much easier if you can sense them working.” He donned the mask, cutting off his vision. “Now, spin me around a few times to disorient me, and I will demonstrate how it works.”

“Tch... okay, fine,” Patty replied, doing as she was bidden, smirking. “But I tell you, there is NO WAY you can do this. I wore that thing, and it is pitch fucking black with it on!” Zeb merely chuckled.

“Okay... I would say I am properly disoriented,” he said, wobbling slightly in place as she stepped back away from him. “First of all... you are here,” he said pointing directly at her, smirking as her jaw visibly dropped. “The kitchen is there,” he said, pointing behind him, “no doubt from the stove and fridge drawing power but not currently active. The TV is there,” he said, pointing to his right, “on but muted, so I can feel its energy even if I can’t hear it.” He turned back to Patty. “Shall I go on?”

“Okay, okay... you made your point,” she conceded. “So... how do you do it, then? How can you convince your brain to see what is invisible?”

Zeb considered. “Your mind is indeed the issue, Patricia. And, as you now know, as a True Hypnotist, you can make a person do almost anything imaginable if you can convince their mind it is true. And your eyes ARE capable of seeing other kinds of light, such as infrared and ultraviolet, the so-called invisible light... your brain just doesn’t know how to interpret it. The trick is to teach your mind how to recognize it.” He pondered briefly, before nodding to himself. “My Gram Gram had a friend visit once... a mentalist. Franz, I think. The most amazing person I have ever met in my life!”

“A mentalist?” she asked, frowning. “You mean, like a psychic?”

Zeb nodded. “Basically, yes. Mentalism is separate from being a True Hypnotist, just like being a Witch or Warlock. Although all three do have areas where they overlap a little.” He shook his head. “That is a lesson for another time! My point is Franz... he was a mentalist, a true Master, and over the years had honed the mastery of his mind and body to the point that he could make himself invulnerable. One time, he took a sharp kitchen knife and plunged it straight into his chest.”

Patty blinked. “He what? Why... was he trying to kill himself? Was he okay?”

Chuckling, Zeb nodded. “Indeed. He was calmly talking to us as he did this. As he plunged the knife in, he told my Gram Gram that he’d gotten his focus so honed that he could control the very integrity of his cellular walls to keep them from rupturing. He then pulled the blade back out and held it up. Not only was there not a single drop of blood but the wound that he’d pulled it from closed up and healed completely seconds later.”

“You... you have GOT to be shitting me!” Patty exclaimed. “There’s no way!”

But Zeb merely shrugged. “It happened. I witnessed it myself. And if you think about it logically, it makes a kind of sense. A mentalist specializes in controlling their mind and body, in being able to interact with the world around them with the power of their minds. If you can lift a rock just by thinking at it, can make it move up and down in space... then certainly you can move your own body’s cells out of the way of a foreign object, hold them together, then put them back in place when the object is removed. Harder and more involved, yes... but it is the same principle.”

Patty sat there, stunned, trying to wrap her head around that. Her mentor had already demonstrated some of the magical abilities he possessed, stressing again and again, that they were not hypnotic illusions or psychic tricks, but actual magic. It was hard for her to accept, which frustrated her more than her inability to master opening her third eye had. Back when she was younger, when she’d held onto dreams of becoming a hypnotist when she was older, things like mentalism and magic would have been easy to accept. Learning that “hypnotism” wasn’t real, that the idols she had looked up to had turned out to me here shams pretending, had destroyed her sense of wonder.

It turned me into a cynical skeptic, she thought ruefully. Somehow I changed from Mulder into Skully and never noticed. She sighed inwardly. Well, it’s about time I embraced my inner Mulder again and became a believer. Zeb says this Inner Eye thing is real... that it’s just mind over matter. Taking the mask from Zeb she placed it back over her face. “Okay, Sensei,” she said resigned, “let’s take this from the top...”

In the meantime, Zeb’s, or rather, Lonbraj-la’s reputation had grown dramatically. Pleased with the successful completion of the job and retrieval of the hard drive, his client had made sure to sing his praises. More importantly, however, was the notoriety that followed in the aftermath, the tale told by the buyer and the guards at the warehouse, the story of the mysterious ninja that had taken them all out singlehandedly, and left a calling card in its stead. One of the soldiers, who happened to be French, recognized the name and began calling him ‘The Shadow’ instead. By the time Zeb had recovered and rested from his little mini-vacation, he’d discovered that The Shadow had become quite popular and in demand.

“Well, this is what you wanted, man,” Gene pointed out, amused at his friend’s discomfort. “You wanted to make a name for yourself, and you certainly have. Hell, you’re one of my biggest attractions now... the man who took out a hundred soldiers singlehandedly!”

“That’s not exactly the way it happened,” Zeb replied, rubbing his temples. “I was actually extremely lucky to pull that off! It is all well and good to gain fame and respect, but I do not want people expecting me to be able to pull off impossible jobs such as that on the regular!”

Gene chuckled. “Suck it up, Buttercup! You go around in a top hat and cape after all! Besides, you’re one of the top guys now. You have enough clout that you can pretty much pick and choose your jobs at will. So if something comes up that is completely unreasonable, just give it a pass and move on. The point is, pulling off that impossible job got people to take notice of you. So you might as well use that fame to your advantage.”

With that in mind, Zeb proceeded to do just that. A few low-key jobs here and there, some high-stress high profile ones when he was in the mood, though thankfully nothing as dangerous as the one hundred soldier fiasco. In between, he taught and mentored Patty, and helped guide her along her path. The young brunette seemed to have a knack for touch-based inductions, to a degree that rivaled his own. Visually, she was also quite gifted with Butterfly inductions, focusing and distracting with her fingers while her low seductive voice lulled her targets into a deep hypnotic trance. Two months after her introduction to the True Hypnotist world, Patty was starting to feel like a pro.

“When do you think I’ll be ready to try my hand at some mercenary jobs?” she asked, sitting naked on his floor in the lotus position, her face covered by the light excluding mask. In their time training, Patty had lost most of her hangups about nudity, coming to take great pride in her body. Already fit and trim, she’d taken to exercising regularly and doing some light sparring with Zeb.

“I would think you are ready for some of the smaller jobs,” Zeb commented. “You know, starting small, taking on a few University calls, and working your way up.” He smirked. “You might wish, however, to avoid anything having to do with armed guards, drug dealers, or knife-wielding psychopaths for now.”

Patty huffed, rolling her eyes. “No worries there. No chance of me becoming known as the ‘Woman who took down a hundred guards singlehandedly’.”

Zeb chuckled. “Touche,” he conceded. “Seriously, though, you have come a very long way in a very short time. I would put you in the same league as most hypnodommes out there now. I would, of course, like to continue training you... to see if you can go beyond just being adept, to truly mastering your craft. To see if you develop your own signature move or technique... something that you become known for.”

“Um, y-yeah,” Patty replied, softly, sighing. To be honest, she was beginning to feel a little stifled. Zeb was a wonderful teacher, and she had learned a lot from him. And she knew that he had so much more to teach her as well, that the man was a virtual wellspring of knowledge. At the same time... she was beginning to chafe at having to follow ‘his rules’, taking his advice in lieu of her own. She wanted to be able to run free... to act on her impulses and take whatever she wanted, whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted it. As much as she respected him, Zeb was just too disciplined for her tastes.

“Hmmm... we may have to discuss the details later,” he commented, staring at his computer. “It would appear that I have a new job request, asking for me, specifically.” He sighed softly. “Time-sensitive, but pretty straightforward...” He blinked, eyes widening. “And the offered price for the job is a quarter of a million dollars?!?”

“Did you say a quarter of a million?” Patty asked, perking up considerably. Standing up, she made her way over to join him. Then, gasping, she slipped off the mask, staring at it in shock. “How... the hell did I just do that?” she asked. “I mean... I knew where you were, where everything was... I couldn’t see shit, but it’s like... I could feel where things were...”

“Enough to sense my position without physically seeing me?” Zeb replied, grinning. “I’d say that it’s starting to work... that your senses are primed and your third eye is beginning to open. Just one more little push and I think it will kick in fully.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “You see? I told you you could do this. Nice to know that ol’ Zeb isn’t just talking complete nonsense, eh?” Patty nodded, blushing slightly for having doubted him.

“So... you think this job is legit?” she asked, peering over his shoulder. “That’s a lot of money, considering the one that made you famous only paid out fifty thousand.”

“You may have a point,” Zeb responded, thinking. “Usually when something appears too good to be true, it usually is. Yet, I am curious.” He paused again, considering. “Get dressed,” he stated, pulling out a second chair from the table. “And wear that balaclava mask on the dresser to cover your face,” he added, as he donned his own trademarked mask, cape, and top hat. I’m going to video conference with the client, and I want you beside me.”

A smile broke on Patty’s face. “Whatever you say, partner,” she grinned, quickly sliding on some clothes.

A moment later, the monitor flared to life, a large fleshy-looking face coming into view. Anthony Rios was a fifty-seven-year-old man, dark-haired but with a prominent bald spot on top. Dressed in a white jacket covering a navy blue button-down shirt, he sported a large thick gold chain around his neck, and large gold rings on each of his fingers. He wore a smug, vaguely amused expression on his face. “Heh heh. Well, get a loud of you,” he said, chuckling softly. “Mr. Longbrow, the Shadow. Big-time ninja man!” He glanced to the side, gesturing with an unlit cigar. “Who’s that there with you?”

“The name is actually Lonbraj-la,” Zeb clarified, “And this is my protege. She is merely observing. Now... what does the job entail?”

“Straight to the point, eh? Good man,” Anthony replied. “The job’s pretty simple, something right up yer alley. You see, I’m a... facilitator,” he said with a smirk. “I arrange for certain products to end up in the hands of customers willing to pay my price. Granted, some of those products aren’t exactly what you would call... legal.” He glanced pointedly at Zeb and Patty, but neither spoke. “Okay, then,” he said, continuing. “the issue is a particular shipment that was hijacked by one of my competitors, a real low-life named Mickey Calderone.” His expression tightened. “This guy... this son of a bitch... he’s been messing with me for years, trying to muscle in on my territory. But this time, the rat bastard has gone too far! I want this little shit gone. G-O-N-E! Gone!”

“If you are asking me to eliminate your rival, I am afraid I must decline,” Zeb replied stiffly. “I do not kill, Mr. Rios. I am a hypnotist, not an assassin.”

“Really?” Anthony asked, more intrigued than surprised. “So that’s true then? You don’t kill?” He nodded softly, to himself. “Okay, that’s good to know. And frankly, you’ll have to forgive me. I don’t really want this guy killed either. I’m kinda upset, so I’m not explaining myself very well...” He sighed deeply. “This mook, Mickey, he and his goons hijacked a transport of goods I had coming in recently. And it wasn’t a mistake—the little prick knew it was mine, knew I was expecting it in, and deliberately hit it to send me a message.” He scowled. “So I want YOU to send HIM a message for me—yer not welcome in my city! I want you to go back to his house, retrieve one of the items he stole, rough him up a bit, and then... ‘convince him’ to leave town and go back where he came from.” He smirked again. “Simple enough for a guy with your skills, right?”

Zeb frowned slightly. “And what is this item that you want me to retrieve for you?”

“It’s an oval cut ruby necklace,” Anthony replied, opening a second onscreen window, revealing a beautiful diamond and ruby necklace. “It was meant to be a special birthday gift for my wife, Carmen. Hence the time stipulation. I need that necklace dropped off to me no later than six p.m. today when I leave the office for home.”

“Six p.m.? That’s two and a half hours from now. Talk about cutting things close—that does not give me much time.”

Anthony shrugged. “Sorry, but it is what it is. Any later, and I will just have to write the whole thing off and go with something more mundane, like candy and flowers. And it’s not as if yer gonna be facing a hundred armed goons. The guy’s a punk. So... do we have a deal or what?”

Zeb sat silently, considering his response when Patty spoke up. “Excuse me for asking,” she said, “but why bother hiring a mercenary hypnotist in the first place? It seems to me that you have the money and resources to handle this annoyance yourself and cut out the middleman. So why post this job, and for such an exorbitant amount of money.”

Anthony’s smile remained but look on a strained quality. “Heh. Quite a head you got on you there, girly. Very astute. Fine. There are... extenuating circumstances involved with this particular job. This kid, this punk... he’s my nephew.”

Zeb and Patty blinked. “Excuse me? Your nephew?” Patty exclaimed.

“Yeah. Mickey Calderon Rios. My sister Viviana’s rotten kid. She’s got her own thing going on up on the east side, and little Mickey decided he wanted to get out of his mom’s shadow and make a name for himself... but at my expense.” He shook his head, scowling. “Under normal circumstances, someone disrespects me, they get free brain surgery courtesy of a Beretta to the temple. But the kid’s family. And he’s been using that fact to his advantage. He needs to pay for the slight but, yanno, with kid gloves, so to speak.” He shrugged. “At any rate, the clock’s ticking. What do ya say, Mr. Ninja? Do you accept or not?”

With a soft sigh, Zeb nodded. “I accept the assignment. I trust you can provide me with your nephew’s address, and information on what to expect with his security and manpower?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got that for you,” Anthony replied, a second window opening, displaying the information. “Yeah, I know, not a lot to go on, but as I said, Mickey’s a punk. He’s got four or five guys at most, a bunch of amateurs the whole lot of ’em.”

Satisfied, they confirmed the contract, then disconnected. Zeb sat for a moment, processing, before glancing over at his protege again. “So, Patty, what are your impressions, both of the client and the job?”

“Well, after talking to the guy, I kind of want to do a Scorsese film marathon, or watch the complete run of The Sopranos,” she quipped before sobering. “Seriously, though, that guy was definitely shifty. I mean... I get that he’s a criminal and that pretty much anyone needing to hire a merc would be a bit shifty, but something about that whole conversation seemed off to me. And his whole demeanor... it wasn’t just that he was acting smug of superior—it was like he was secretly amused... like there was some private joke that only he was aware of.”

Zeb merely nodded. “Go on.”

“And, well,” she said hesitantly. “I just... this whole mission just seems... suspicious to me. Paying that much money for a simple snatch job?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I guess everything he was saying sounded plausible... but it would be so much simpler for him to deal with Mickey directly. Make a truce, or hell, offer to buy the necklace back from him. That bauble was nice and pretty expensive, but it couldn’t have been worth more than twenty or thirty thousand. So why pay a quarter of a million to get it back?”

Zeb gave her a dazzling smile. “Well put. We are in complete agreement. I was watching his face and body the entire time he was speaking, and despite his calm demeanor, the man was a ball of high tension... like a compressed spring waiting to uncoil.” He sighed. “There is certainly a lot more to this ‘simple job’ than we’ve been told.”

“Does that mean you’re going to back out and cancel then?”

“On the contrary,” Zeb replied. “It makes me want to accept even more. Mr. Rios asked for me personally. So now I’m determined to see what this is all about. Besides,” he added with a smirk, “I do very much enjoy a good challenge.”

The six p.m. time limit made things extremely tight. and with the minimal information on the target and his location, it meant that Zeb was basically going in blind. Worse, he had no time to be subtle or careful and scout out the area beforehand. In truth, his biggest asset was the element of surprise, though dressed as he was, the entire neighborhood would have noticed him had he not been shielding his presence. Arriving at the house, he took a moment to pause and collect himself, thinking of how best to approach.

A warning growl caught his attention, however, as he narrowed his focus. Scanning the area, he sensed three small spirits moving rapidly towards him. Momentarily panicked, he forced himself calm, then turned to face the approaching enemies—a pack of three very angry rottweilers. Extending his hands, he uttered a soft curse. “Leniret spiritum tuum,” he muttered, feeling the magic flowing through him being unleashed. The three dogs let out a soft whine, then approached him, stubby little tails wagging. Guard dogs. That’s a nice bit of Intel I would have liked to know about beforehand. Sighing, he rubbed and pet them all briefly before shooing them away.

Approaching the house, he withdrew a monocular from his pack and glanced at the front entrance. Through the window, he could see three people inside, resting comfortably. Their positions were a bit strange, however; one of them was facing the window, while the other two seemed to be facing the door, facing away from the TV in the corner. And he could just barely make out the shape and metallic glint of the uzis each person was holding. A quick trip around to the back of the house showed a similar greeting waiting for him at the back entrance, two figures sitting at the kitchen table, both with semi-automatic weapons.

Hmm. It appears the direct routes inside are out, he mused, moving around to the front side once again. He glanced at the garage and considered. It was a large one, two overhead doors, and a small side door leading inside. The side door was the obvious entry point if the information Anthony had given him was accurate. Mickey was said to have a five-man term, and his glimpse inside had shown all five members guarding the two main entrances. By all accounts, the garage should be unoccupied. Moving swiftly to the door, he reached for the doorknob, only to pause again. Closing his eyes, he extended his senses outward, focusing on the door in front of him.

Scowling, Zeb drew back a few feet, and, deciding to err on the side of caution, gestured at the door with his hands, chanting a quick cantrip. “Reserare et aperire.” The lock clicked softly, signalling that it was unlocked, and the doorknob began to turn—

KA-BLAAAAMM! PITTA-PITTA-PITTA-PITTA-PITTA!

The small door immediately exploded as a shotgun blast tore through the wood and metal, followed by a rain of smaller but no less deadly hail of automatic gunfire. The five men inside continued shooting for several more seconds, emptying their clips, even as a loud thud sounded from outside the garage. Only once they were done did the one with the shotgun, a bald black man with a finely trimmed goatee, step forward, pushing open the ruined door to glance outside.

“Yeah! Oh yeah! We got ’em!” he called out to his companions. “Fuck yeah! Son of a bitch is dead!”

Indeed, on the ground lay a crumpled-looking form, a long black cloak, and top hat, both riddled with bullet holes, with a pair of black boots extending from the end of the cloak. The other gunmen laughed among themselves, congratulating each other. “Hah! That was too fucking easy,” one of them commented. “For some guy calling himself ‘The Shadow’ he went out like a punk. I don’t see why Mickey was so worried about him.”

Shotgun Man frowned. “Hold on. Hey. HEY! Quiet down, you fuckers,” he yelled, getting their attention. “Maybe this WAS too easy. Just chill for a moment,” he said, pushing open the door. Stepping outside, he walked over to the body, lightly kicking at the left boot with his foot.

And cursed loudly as the loose boot rolled over to the side, the wind blowing the cloak open to reveal nobody inside, just a pair of two-by-fours.

“FUCK! It’s a goddamn fake out!” he growled, backing back slowly into the garage, scamming left and right, gun at the ready. “Heads up, guys. That bitch is still alive and fucking with us. So you better get your shit together. It’s about to get real.”

“You can certainly say that again,” an unfamiliar voice spoke from behind.

Whirling around, he found himself staring face to masked face with the intruder, minus his boots, cape, and hat. Standing alone, as his other four companions had somehow already been neutralized, and knocked unconscious. Gasping, the bald man raised his gun, only to grunt in pain as Zeb struck his arm and wrist, causing it to go numb. Snatching the gun from his opponent’s limp grasp, he grabbed him by the back of the neck with his free arm, pulling his face up close.

“I want you to look me in the eyes,” he commanded, staring deep into the bald man’s own. “Look deep... deep into my eyes... and let your mind drift... your thoughts slow... your will fading as mine begins to usurp your own...”

“Wait... what?” the man blinked, confused, a strange weakness flowing through him. “What are you doing to me?”

“Shhh... relax,” Zeb continued heedless, “relax and stare... my eyes into yours... my mind, my will, draining your own... taking you deeper... deeper... so sleepy now.. unable to resist... unable to look away...”

“N-no! Fuck this... you’re... trying some kinda... hypnosis on me?” the man mumbled, struggling. He tried to avert his gaze, to glance away, only to find himself stuck.

“Yes... just a little more now... fading fast... becoming my obedient servant... becoming mine... now, submit!” Zeb commanded, eyes flashing again.

“Uhhhn.. no... I... uuh... submit,” the bald man grunted, head slumping forward as he slid seamlessly into a trance.

Zeb’s Sight was a very useful technique, giving him a notable advantage in most situations, but it was hardly infallible. It was not x-ray vision; he couldn’t see through walls or around corners. He had simply trained himself over the years to discern the smallest input from his senses—smell, touch, taste, and hearing—as well as his eyesight, to provide a picture of what was happening around him. By focusing those senses further through self-hypnosis, he was able to ‘See’ things that others simply failed to notice. In this case, a slight feeling of air displacement, the sound of muted footsteps of someone shifting position, and the faint smell of oil, metal, and gunpowder, alerted him that the garage was not, in fact, empty. Deciding to air on the side of caution, he’d drawn back at the last second, using magic to unlock and open the door, just as the bullets began flying.

The decision to discard and use his cloak, hat, and boots to draw the gunmen’s attention had proved correct. Slipping past the shotgun bearer, he’d managed to neutralize and subdue the four other shooters in a matter of seconds, leaving the leader for last. Satisfied, he glanced back at his ruined costume lying in the driveway but shook his head. Time was ticking down, and he needed to get a move on. Besides, I carry a spare in my trunk just in case, he thought grimly, though something tells me that after today, I may need to stock up on replacements. Turning back to the entranced shooter, he began issuing commands.

The two men in the kitchen glanced up sharply as the door to the garage opened but lowered their weapons when they saw it was one of their own stepping inside. “Hey, Jimmy, you scored man?” the tall thin blonde on the right answered. “We heard all the shooting, and what sounded like cheering out there. Did you get the guy?”

Jimmy nodded briskly. “Yeah, we got him. The situation is all good. The guys are celebrating, but I thought I’d come in and let everyone know we can all relax now.”

“Good,” the gunman beside him, a shorter Hispanic man with a thick black mustache replied. “I was getting damn tired of sitting here like a damn statue.” He yawned and stretched. “Too bad though... I was kinda hoping he’d try and come through the kitchen so I could get in some target practice, yanno?”

“Careful what you wish for,” Zeb stated, appearing suddenly behind the surprised blonde, grabbing him from behind. “You never know when you might just get what you asked for.”

“Shit!” the Hispanic guy cursed, reaching for his gun, only to find himself grabbed from behind as well. Eyes wide, he glanced up into Jimmy’s face, the bald black man staring down at his dispassionately, his eyes glazed and empty. He struggled, trying to pull free, but the taller man’s grip was like iron. And then... he was turning to the side, staring into the intruder’s bright amber-colored eyes...

“Yo! Heard all the shooting out there,” a large heavyset Hispanic man called out as three of the crew walked into the living room. “Is it over? We done?”

“Yeah, it’s done,” Jimmy replied, nodding, as the other two, Raul, and Ken walked over to the other two gunmen. “The intruder is all taken care of. The only thing Mickey needs to worry about now is someone to clean the driveway and repair the garage door.”

“Hehehe! Word!” the heavyset man laughed. “I think he can handle that. Shit, man, it’s about time,” he stated, lowering his gun and picking up the TV remote. “I was ’bout to be pissed if this fucker made me miss my damned show—OOOFF!”

Attacking simultaneously, all three of the entranced thugs struck, cracking their former friends in the back of the head with the butt of their weapons. The first two went out immediately, the short fat man managing a weak grunt before slumping over, unconscious as well. Nodding, Jimmy turned back towards the kitchen. “The way has been cleared, Master,” he stated clearly. “The only one left is Mickey, who is upstairs in his bedroom.”

“Excellent. Nicely done,” Zeb nodded. “Is he armed?”

“He has a Smith & Wesson revolver on his nightstand,” Raul replied, “but he was expecting one of us to signal if we ran into any trouble. The last I heard he was talking on his cell phone to Rhonda, his latest piece of tail...” Nodding again, Zeb made his way quietly up the stairs.

As forewarned, he found Mickey Calderon lounging on his bed, back to the door, laughing and chatting on his phone. His gun lay several feet away from him on the dresser. “...told you, baby, I’m hooked up! Got like five keys of the shit with me, a little ‘gift’ from Big Momma before I took off. Huh?” he said, listening for a few seconds. “Naw, of course not. Blood’s thicker than water, or some shit. It’s cool. Anyway, I’m talking ’bout some real nasty blow here, baby... totally uncut. Naturally, it’s going out soon as my boy Phil gets his lab all set up... but I’m willing to hold back a little bit of the real deal for my lady.” He laughed again. “Yeah, yeah, you can come over and ‘partake’ if you want. Just... hold off a bit, ’kay? I got this thing I’m involved in with Uncle Tony right now. Should be over soon, though... yeah. I’ll give you a call in a little bit when I’m done, ’kay?” He sighed softly. “Alright. Talk to you later, Boo. Peace!”

“How very charming,” Zeb said aloud, causing Mickey to jump in surprise. “Very touching. I sometimes find it hard to reconcile how a person can be so sweet and genial one minute, and yet cold and bloodthirsty the next.”

“Who the...” he began, only to blink and scowl. “Ah. Yeah, You’re that fuckin’ ninja guy... Longbrow, or some shit.” He glanced sidelong at his gun, several feet away. “Gotta admit, you’re pretty damn good if you made it past all my boys.”

“It wasn’t difficult,” Zeb replied, walking over and snatching up the gun, removing it as a temptation. “A lot more time-consuming than I thought it would be... not too difficult.” He made a show of removing all of the bullets from the gun, then disassembling the weapon itself in a few seconds, tossing the pieces onto the floor. “I’m here for two things: a certain ruby and diamond necklace, and some information. Give them both to me voluntarily, and I will be on my way.”

“Yeah? How about you go fuck yourself?” Mickey replied with a sneer. “I ain’t gonna tell you shit!”

“I see,” Zeb replied with a sigh, taking out a gold pocket watch from his pocket. “I cannot say I am surprised,” he stated, even as Mickey frowned in confusion. “I had a feeling you would not wish to cooperate. Well, no matter,” he stated, dangling the watch from its chain. “Willing or not, you will give me what I ask for. It’s only a matter of time...”

A lovely young blonde woman glanced up from her receptionist’ desk as a strange figure approached her. “Um... hello?” she said awkwardly. “Welcome to Rios Construction, LLC. May I help you?”

“Yes,” the black-clad figure in the cape and hat replied, giving her a dazzling smile. “Please inform Anthony Rios that Lonbraj-la has arrived. I believe he is expecting me.”

The woman frowned slightly. “Um... sorry? Your name is... er... Lum...”

“Lonbraj-la,” he stated again patiently. “It’s pronounced ‘Loon-Brey-Lah’. I was advised to meet with him before the close of the business day at six p.m.”

“Ah, Mr. Lonbraj,” a tall muscular bald man in a navy blue suit and sunglasses greeted, stepping forward. “I see you managed to make it in time!” He glanced at the secretary. “I’ll take care of this, Majorie. Please, Sir, if you will follow me,” he said, gesturing to the hallway. Following him back, the guard commented. “Sorry about that. Mr. Rios is actually not here on site at the moment.”

“Did you say he is not here?”

“Yes, He had a last-minute emergency with a client, and had to drive out to meet them,” the guard explained, opening a door to a room on the left. “He’s actually in transit right now, heading back to the office. I contacted him as soon as you entered the building, however, so I can bring him up for a teleconference. Please, have a seat.” Sighing, he sat down as the guard walked over, a monitor on the far wall coming to life.

“...be arriving there soon,” Anthony said, speaking to someone off-camera, only to glance back and blink in surprise. “HEY! There you are! Mr. Ninja!” he said with a grin. “Looks like you managed to make it back, and with a whole five minutes to spare,” he added glancing at his watch. “I take it you managed to obtain the goods?”

“Yes,” he replied, withdrawing a large red and white necklace from his cloak. “I did indeed. And I had a nice long ‘conversation’ with your nephew as well. I do not think he will be staying in town for very long.”

“I see. Well, that’s great,” Anthony replied, nodding. “Very well done. I can see that your reputation is very well deserved,”

“Thank you. Now... about the rest of my fee—” he began, only to stiffen as he felt a cold hard metal gun barrel press against the back of his head.

“Yeah, about that,” Anthony said, reaching back and lighting up a cigar, taking a long deep drag before continuing. “I’ve decided that this would be a good time to... renegotiate.”

“What is this?” he asked, scowling. “Do you have any idea of what you’re doing?”

“Yeah, I think I do,” Anthony replied smugly. “I have to say, I’m kind of surprised that such a smart guy like you hasn’t figured it out yet.” He took another long deep drag, blowing a smoke ring. “You see, Sparky... I ain’t paying you any more money. The way I figure it, it’s you who owes me. And this... this is me, collecting on a debt.”

“I see,” he said, swallowing slowly. “And just what do you mean by... debt?”

“Tell me, Longbrow... do you recall a little incident a few months back,” Anthony asked, gesturing with his cigar. “It involved a certain hard drive, kept in a secure bunker in the middle of nowhere. You snatched it up for your client before the buyer could arrive to take possession of it.” Anthony’s expression darkened. “Well, son, I happened to BE that buyer!” he hissed, in barely contained fury. “You stole it from me... out from under my nose. Worse, that little heist practically MADE your reputation! You became known as Mr. Shadow, the man who took down a fuckin’ hundred well-armed soldiers singlehandedly! And me... I lost millions because of that deal falling through!”

Anthony let out a deep sigh, managing to calm himself down. “So, yeah. You dealt me a pretty nasty blow there, Shadow Boy. And you managed to profit off it at the same time. So I thought up a way to get back at you... to lure you out where I could get my hands on you. I tried offering a few jobs of my own... but you never accepted.” He scowled. “So I finally offered a price so ridiculously high that only a fool would turn it down. And, as I thought, it finally drew you in.”

“So it was all a ruse, then? A lie from beginning to end?”

“Not all of it,” Anthony admitted. “That prick Mickey really has been a thorn in my side, muscling in on my territory. And he DID snatch that necklace that I had my eye on. But setting you on him like that... it was really just a way of putting you in the crosshairs. I gave Mickey a call ahead of time to warn him you were coming.” He chuckled softly. “A fat lot of good that did, though. Still, I knew that if you succeeded, you’d come back here to deliver it in person. Just as you always do. And that’s when I’d have you taken out once and for all.”

The gun behind him clicked loudly as it was cocked. Anthony sighed softly. “I told you earlier. When someone disrespects me, I respond with a little mandatory brain surgery.” A soft pffft sounded, followed by a second—two silenced gunshots. “Sorry, Shadow,” he said smugly, “but you can consider our contract... terminated...”

Zebediah Clark was beyond angry.

He was at most times a man of discipline. His Gram Gram had preached it, and he had learned growing up, that balance was about keeping his emotions and desires in check. Losing one’s self to desire, to passion, to anger, or greed, empowered them, allowed them to tap into a new level of strength not normally available. But doing so also came with a price. Surrendering to one’s baser emotions eroded their soul... blackened it, and made them less of who they were. Zeb’s dark side was a beast... a wild animal, a creature of instinct, hunger, lust, and rage. Never fully tamed, it was at best locked away, held in restraint, but its influence was always there, always felt and heard in the back of his mind.

Having spoken with the hypnotized Mickey at his home, he’d learned of Anthony Rios’ treachery, and of his plan to renege on his contract and eliminate Zeb the moment he arrived at his office. He had known it was coming, and taken precautions, sending in a hypnotized and programmed Jimmy in his stead. With his same height and weight, same dark-skinned complexion, all he had needed was some coaching on what to say and donning the spare cloak and top hat from the trunk, Jimmy turned out to be a perfect copy. Having him dial his cell phone and leave on the entire time had allowed him to overhear the entire conversation, including Anthony explaining the reason for his double-cross. And while he felt no guilt or concerns about the man he’d sent in his stead being murdered—he was, after all, a killer in his own right, and had attempted to shoot Zeb with a shotgun less than an hour earlier—the sheer arrogance and demeanor Anthony Rios showed during the entire incident made his blood boil.

How dare he? HOW FUCKING DARE HE?

Zeb lived by a creed of mutual respect. You showed politeness and respect where it was due. And while he did not choose to lord over the fact that True Hypnotists were simply higher on the scale than normal human beings, the simple fact was that they were simply better than them. In the True Hypnotist world, power and might decided right. If you wanted to be respected, then you needed to prove yourself worthy of that respect. It was the reason behind duels, in hypnosis or physical fighting, to prove one’s dominance over another.

But for a mundane like Anthony Rios to attempt to assert his superiority over him, a Hypnotist? No. That he would not stand for! For a man like Rios, born without power, he had made do with a shallow imitation of power, bought through money, intimidation, and fear. He honestly believed that his fortune, the number of minions on his payroll, and the illicit connections and resources at his disposal made him untouchable.

Well, Zeb thought to himself, starting his car, pulling out of the Rios Construction office parking lot, I think it’s about time he learned the truth. With that, he turned and headed home, to get some supplies.

Casa del Rios sat alone atop the high peaks of the Boise ridgeline, on Laguna Shore Lane. The entire area, once a forest-covered plateau overlooking the rest of the city, had recently seen a huge development boom. Halfway up the Bogus Basin mountains, it was the perfect balance of isolated and private, yet only a few minutes drive back into the heart of the city. Built to the owner’s specifications, the two-story domicile boasted twelve rooms, four bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, one master bedroom, a kitchen, dining room, study, library, and music room, as well as a dedicated game room, and a basement level Olympic-sized swimming pool and jacuzzi.

Naturally, such an expensive and exquisitely maintained mansion likewise sported ample security as well. The entire mansion and yard were surrounded by a twelve-foot tall iron and brick wall equipped with security cameras and motion detectors. The front gate leading onto the property itself was manned by a gate guard, a permanent hire-on that worked a steady rotation with three other guards. In addition, there were three guards that walked a patrol route around the property at night, just in case; being a crime lord and drug runner, Anthony Rios had his fair share of enemies. As to the mansion itself, all the doors and windows were connected to a first-rate electronic security system, a redundancy to the human guards, but no less effective. Entry required a five-digit access code.

All of these facts Zeb had committed to memory. Back home, he had contacted Eugene, informing him of Rios’ double-cross, but asking him to keep things quiet for the time being, while he settled things personally. More than happy to oblige, and stating that in breaking contract with his service, he was no longer bound by client confidentiality, Gene had offered up all the pertinent information on Anthony’s home and security measures that he had been able to uncover.

“I’ll leave the whole revenge thing up to you,” the old man had stated before signing out. “You’re a True Hypnotist, and the freaking Shadow, so I’m not gonna say anything as patronizing as ‘be careful’. But yer more than just another client. Yer special. So... well... just make sure you come back alive, okay?” He’d been honestly touched at the gesture.

Likewise, he’d contacted his young acolyte, Patty Jamison, to let her know the situation as well. He’d assured her that he could handle it, resisting her offer to come with him and help. As confident as he was, he was very aware of the kind of people he was dealing with... and while he was more than willing to risk his life for the sake of revenge, he wasn’t willing to bring an as-yet untested and unsure girl with him into danger. For all that their relationship had never progressed beyond close friendship, she held a place very deep in his heart.

And on the chance that he met his fate and failed to come back alive, he’d left a letter in the mailbox informing Patty about the Bible in his bedroom dresser drawer.

Arriving shortly after midnight, Zeb made his approach. Safety warred with anger, his desire to pay back the affront Rios had done to him urging him to throw caution to the side and simply charge straight in, proverbial guns blazing. Discipline and sensibility won out, however, though the dark beast inside him knew his time would come once he had Anthony Rios at his mercy.

Reaching the fence, he stopped to focus himself. A quick scan of the area showed electrical power running through the fence. Not enough to electrify it, but enough to signal a power conduit providing electricity to the camera system. Locating the box, he deftly unscrewed the lid, separated the nest of wires within, finding the correct ones... then attached a special device with alligator clips to the exposed circuit, sending through the false signal he had specified. Back at the guard shack, all of his cameras fuzzed over with static for a brief second, before going back to normal, showing all clear.

Shrugging, the guard took a drink of coffee from his mug, letting out a soft sigh, before returning to his sudoku book. Frowning, he was puzzling over the next number in the series, when a shadow crossed in front of his doorway. He glanced up to see a black-clad figure standing before him. Before he could react, however, the man was pointing a hand towards him, speaking in a strange language. An instant later, a feeling of deep lethargy washed through him, and despite the cup of coffee he’d just drank, he found his eyelids closing as he descended into a deep deep slumber.

A quick bit of programming, and the guard was alert and aware once again, with the stipulation to completely ignore his presence and any unusual incidents that occurred during his shift. Satisfied, Zeb slid inside the booth, glancing at the camera briefly, as he oriented himself on his path to the mansion. The yard itself was rather vast.... easily a good hundred and fifty yards from the fence to the mansion itself. Stepping out, he extended his senses again, opening his Third Eye... only to freeze as he Saw a lone figure moving slowly but steadily towards his direction.

Slipping back into the booth, he drew out his monocular and peered at the advancing sentry, only to curse softly. “Damn. It’s a guard... and he’s wearing night vision goggles!” That was definitely an unwelcome development. As effective as his aura dampening trick was at fooling the human eye, it had no effect on technology. Just as he’d been forced to disable the cameras for their ability to detect and record his image, the guards high tech goggles would illuminate him by the heat his body gave off.

Thinking quickly, he slid back behind the guard post and withdrew a small but powerful flashlight. Switching it on, he aimed the beam at the edge of the corner wall, flashing it back and forth rapidly several times. As hoped, the goggle-wearing soldier spotted the light, and paused, pulling his gun, and advancing carefully towards the disturbance. Dropping the flashlight, Zeb stealthily made his way around the guard shack, dampening his aura as he snuck up quietly behind the advancing guard. A few well-placed strikes and the man went down, allowing Zeb to draw him into the guard shack and out of sight from the other sentries.

Back out in the yard, Zeb took a moment to scan the area again. The area was of course, alive with life, various small and large auras, from the grass, to the large trees and shrubs, but nothing that stood out as human. Hunkering down, moving swiftly but stealthily, he began crossing the open yard, keeping an eye out for any sign of movement. This is actually going better than I thought, he mused silently to himself. It’s a lot of wide-open space, instead of being inside a cramped building. And it’s actually nighttime now, meaning I have the cover of darkness to help me blend in. He smirked. Best of all, the bastard thinks I’m dead. He has no idea I’m after him. All I need to do is jus—

PAIN!!!

Zeb’s eyes went wide, stumbling forward, stunned from a savage sudden blow to the back. Hitting the ground, the impact knocked the air from his lungs, and he lay still, trying to figure out what was happening. Trying to breathe in, his lungs seized, the muscles refusing to respond from the trauma, and panic momentarily flared up within him... but discipline kicked in. Forcing himself calm, he forced his body to relax, his seizing muscles loosening, and a slow trickle of air worked its way back in through his nose. Breathing accomplished, his mind switched over to damage control and assessment. He’d been struck, hard, in the back. How? He’d sensed no one nearby within a hundred feet, Even now, there was no one nearby within the range of his augmented senses.

So... no magic, or mentalism. A person would still need to be within a few feet of me to attack that way. And if there is no one close enough to attack me physically... a long-range attack?

I’ve been shot!

Anger flared, overtaking his calm for a moment before he banished it. Stay calm, Figure this out. He’d been shot in the back, long-range, at least far enough that he couldn’t sense them. How bad is the damage? His hand twitched slightly, the urge to reach back gently and feel how bad it was nearly unbearable... but he forced himself to stay still. Whoever this sniper is, he no doubt has a scope and possibly night vision or IR like the other guard. The only reason he hasn’t fired again is that I haven’t moved. He’s probably wondering if the first shot took me out, or if he needs to move in and finish the job.

Thankfully, breathing became easier as time progressed. Zeb’s back ached horribly, though in battle trance, he’d programmed himself to ignore the pain enough to be able to function. He was aware of his condition—his mind was still clear, he wasn’t going into shock, and there was a distinct lack of wetness or coppery smell associated with blood loss. Good. Seems like the damned kevlar undershirt did its job.

Since the hard drive incident, he’d started wearing kevlar underneath his costume as a safety precaution. While most of his jobs went off smoothly without any conflict at all, he’d recognized that there would likely come a time when someone would simply choose the option of shooting first and asking questions later. Of course, he hadn’t anticipated being shot in the back by a sniper’s rifle. Had the shooter gone for a headshot, the point would be moot, and he’d be dead. It seemed luck was with him still, for the moment at least.

His ruminations ceased, however, as he sensed movement behind him. Seeing Without Seeing, he bit his lip to stifle the string of curses welling up within him. Dammit! Dammit! There he is, he thought ruefully. He’d been sitting in a tree. No wonder my Sight failed to pick him up—I couldn’t discern his life essence from the tree’s essence from so far away! Either by choice or by accident, the sniper had picked the perfect camouflage to fool his opponent’s senses. Chagrined, Zeb could only force himself to lie perfectly still, waiting for his adversary to draw closer, close enough for him to take action.

Sasha Milana Volkov scowled deeply as she approached, rifle held at the ready. She was confused and on edge as she approached the man that she had shot. Her aim had been true, however, he’d turned slightly at the last moment, causing the shot to take him in the upper middle of his back, about an inch from his spine. Certainly not a kill shot, to her chagrin, and yet the way he’d fallen, and the fact that he hadn’t moved since had her doubtful. Under normal circumstances, a person shot from behind would be writhing in pain, or crawling, attempting to get away, or at least find cover of some kind. At the very least, he should have made some kind of noise, a groan, or cry or something! Yet the man hadn’t moved a muscle.

Hmph. What a pain, the raven-haired assassin grumbled silently as she neared her target. The smart thing to do would be to simply shoot him again and be done with it. But... I dislike wasting ammunition. And either way, I would have to dispose of the body. I doubt Mr. Rios would enjoy coming home to a fresh corpse lying on his front lawn. Pausing a foot away, she peered down at the unmoving figure. Hmm. He doesn’t appear to be breathing, I don’t see his chest rising or falling... Her eyes narrowed. But... boshi noi! No blood either! Bastard must be wearing a bulletproof vest! Scowling, she raised her gun, aiming for his head—

Only to gasp aloud as Zeb suddenly exploded into action, kicking out with both legs, sweeping her off her feet.

Sasha grunted, tossing aside her rifle as she fell, managing to plant her hands down at her side and arch her back, rolling over into a kneeling position before kipping back up onto her feet again. Her target also moved, smoothly rising back to his feet again. “Impressive,” she spat, cracking her knuckles lightly. “You have excellent self-control not to give yourself away until I was near. I do not think I have ever met anyone able to maintain their calm after being shot from behind.” Reaching for a pouch on her vest, she withdrew a wickedly sharp curved knife. “Unfortunately, that won’t save you from me finishing the job of ending you!”

Zeb winced slightly, slipping into a fighting stance. His adversary seemed very adept with knives, slashing out at him several times, each one a precise and practiced stroke. He took his time, dodging and deflected her strikes, his Krav Magra fighting style perfectly suited to this... under normal circumstances. The gunshot to the back was still hampering him somewhat—even with his pain dampened, the injured and no doubt bruised muscles were not responding as effectively as usual. He was moving slower and decided to give the assassin a bit more space until he better mapped out her fighting style.

Sasha, however, was using much the same strategy, doing a lot of feinting, trying to get a read on what type of fighting her target was using. He was annoyingly fast; despite the short distance between them, she couldn’t seem to land a solid hit, his body swerving out of the way at the last moment. When he didn’t pull a weapon of his own, however, she decided to throw caution to the wind and simply commit, lunging forward, going for a stab to the ribs. Only to stumble back a second later, her strike blocked, her hand tingling with pins and needles. “What the fuck?” she murmured, shaking her hand, glancing at him warily. Reversing the grip on her knife, she advanced towards him again, this time with a bit more caution.

Zeb brought up his hands as the assassin came at him again, wincing slightly as the motion pulled at his back muscles. He blocked, getting an arm inside her swing, injecting another bit of hypnotic energy into the strike, then followed up with a counter, a strong jab to the center of her chest, forcing her to stumble back once again. Rather than retreat, however, the woman spun on her heel, using her momentum to swing her blade in an arc, seeking to slash at his throat. Zeb drew back, throwing his head back despite his protesting back, as the blade clipped the edge of his mask instead. The plastic covering slipped free, revealing his face, but he ignored it, focusing again on the assassin, who was attacking once more. Going for a straightforward stab, he dodged, catching and grabbing her wrist, twisting it sharply along the joints, forcing her to drop her blade.

THUNK!

His grin of triumph faded into shock, however, as the assassin reacted, catching the discarded knife with her free hand as it fell, and using it to stab him painfully in the chest. Pain blossomed and spread from the impact point, causing Zeb to stagger back this time, the assassin taking advantage of his state to continue her assault, slashing wildly, at his chest and arms, managing several hard pinpoint strikes all about his chest. Grunting, pushing past the pain, Zeb managed to rally, using her own spinning trick, dodging and letting his momentum add force to his backhand, striking her hard across the face. Momentarily staggered, Sasha recovered only to find her other hand caught, wrist being twisted painfully until a crack sounded, causing her to cry out and finally drop her blade.

“Finally,” Zeb grunted, panting heavily, reversing his rip on the woman’s arm, pulling her forward. “Now to put you under, and end this litt—URRRKKK!” Sasha, however, was not yet done. Despite having little to no feeling in her right arm, and the wrist of her left badly sprained and possibly broken, she wasn’t about to give up the fight. Lifting both legs, she delivered a standing dropkick, sending the injured hypnotist crashing down to the ground. Before he could recover, she rolled over, pinning him, sitting astride his chest, pulling a Beretta M9 from her holster, pointing it directly into his face.

“Gaaah... son of bitch,” Sasha growled, breathing heavily as well. “You are certainly a hard man to kill. But I am being done with this now,” she declared, finger pressing into the trigger.

For Zeb time seemed to slow, his mind whirling, running full tilt. His body was a mass of pain, cuts, and bruises. He’d been stabbed several times, hard piercing thrusts, all of which had taken a toll. Thankfully, the kevlar undersuit would have prevented the blade from penetrating, but the force alone would have broken the skin and ripped jagged bleeding gashes over most of his chest underneath. And now... he was stuck, pinned down, the assassin bearing down on him, about to shoot him in the head.

No. No! I will not die here tonight! the darkness inside him insisted, rattling its cage. You have power! Use it!

Even still, Zeb hesitated for a fraction of a second. His knowledge from years of training far surpassed his power and skill. Pinned, helpless, seconds from death, he still had a myriad of options at his disposal. Any magic spell could easily turn the tide... except that the pain from his wounds made it hard to breathe, let alone focus. And magic, even the fastest, and easiest of spells required focus and concentration to pull off. Which mean he had to rely on his hypnosis.

As Sasha began to fire, a flash of golden amber light caught her gaze. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared into her enemy’s own, a piercing golden light emanating from within. “What...” was all she managed to think and speak before her mind seized up, her thoughts scattering to the winds. Wide-eyed, she continued to stare numbly into Zeb’s eyes... his Master’s Gaze sending her into an instant mindless hypnotic state.

“You are now my slave,” Zeb growled savagely, “Your mind, your will, your heart, and soul... are mine. You are mine!”

“I... am... yours...” Sasha repeated back blankly, his words working their way deep into her mind.

“Yes... you are mine,” Zeb confirmed, nodding. “And you will obey me. Now... drop your gun.” Obeying, the entranced assassin did so, tossing the pistol onto the grass. “Get off of me,” he barked, wincing visibly as she moved off his injured chest. Getting back to his feet, he glared angrily at the helpless woman before him. The desire to punish her, degrade and humiliate her, and use her brutally here and now was so very enticing... but he was mindful of his situation, and the reason he’d come in the first place. “Strip!” he commanded, taking no small amount of satisfaction as she did so.

Sasha deftly removed her clothing, unzipping and removing her camouflage jacket and vest, then peering of the olive green t-shirt underneath. Toeing off her boots, her hands slid back to slide off her bra, unveiling a pair of surprisingly large breasts, her D cups hidden away by her uniform. Her pants soon followed, her belt removed and discarded before her pants slid down, revealing a pair of long. slender, perfectly toned legs. Standing only in her socks and panties, those last two remaining items soon joined the pile of discarded clothes, leaving her completely naked.

Zeb looked her over briefly, dispassionately. The woman was actually quite beautiful. Tall, slender, muscular without her feminity, with long black hair and grey eyes, and gorgeous bare feet, shapely and well cared for. Indeed, the only flaws to her beauty, aside from her homicidal tendencies, were the mass of scars running down and across her back. Some might have found them offputting, yet to Zeb, they actually seemed to fit the woman he’d faced, as much a part of her as her hair or eye color. He had little doubt that she’d earned every scar proudly in combat.

Still, his admiration for her didn’t outweigh the anger and contempt he still felt for her. “Listen closely, slave. You will obey my every word, my every command. Without hesitation or resistance. Also, you will not take any action that will harm me, or allow me to come to harm. When I awaken you momentarily, you will be fully awake and aware of what has happened to you, but be unable to resist obeying me.” Satisfied, he snapped his fingers. “Now, awaken!”

Sasha blinked, glancing around in confusion, before gasping, hands moving to cover herself. “Blyad! Sukin syn! What the hell happened to my clothes?!?” she yelled. Then her eyes landed on him. “YOU!” she hissed. hands clenching into fists. She took a step towards him when he spoke.

“Freeze!” he commanded, nodding as she obeyed, freezing in place. “And no talking. I am sure you have questions about what is happening, and how I’ve done this to you, but I have neither the time nor the desire to explain.” He gestured to the ground. “Pick up your rifle, and come with me,” he said, turning back towards the mansion. “I’m going to have a conversation with your employer... and you, you are going to act as my escort.”