The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The next morning, Mister Talv still had no idea where Helena was, or the meme. He’d slept restlessly, wondering about Suzanna and the meme; the surfacing of the voices and thoughts in his head, the disconcerting and unexpected pleasure of the experience. Lilith. Voices; uninvited thoughts; meaningless, surely. Although they were nothing he recognised, they had felt exactly like his thoughts, and that was unsettling, even for him. Therein lay the true danger of the creature, he surmised.

A few miles away, across the city, sat the UN building, and somewhere there, he hoped, the meme would have stopped messing around and would be busy doing its work. He hated not being sure. He itched and fidgeted, and wished he could be there, to see with his own eyes, to really know. He even almost lost his temper, snapping at Suuori, who was only trying to please him as usual.

Momentarily, he even doubted his—Karsten Talv’s—own plan. What would the meme be able to do, really? Random visions of the past? Other peoples’ memories? A few dreams, to confuse? Could it somehow persuade more directly? From the little Takeshi had been able to glean, he guessed the meme would be somehow looking to help ______ lose his well-documented cool at some crucial negotiating moment. Perhaps, reasoned Mister Talv, such a small loss of face would be enough to edge ______ towards a more emollient position vis-à-vis the border countries. Or perhaps the meme would find something else to work with, to reinforce, something Takeshi didn’t know about; perhaps a hidden liking for little kittens. He just didn’t know.

More importantly, if it didn’t work, then what?

But by lunchtime, he had all the evidence he needed.

While Suuori served his lunch—salmon, today—Mister Talv watched the whole thing unfold on CNN. ‘Unprecedented scenes at the U.N.,’ ran the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Talking heads, chattering excited nonsense across the footage. They didn’t know the half of it, and all this captured barely a hint of what he now guessed must have happened.

He pulled the whole thing up on the internet as well, the better to see it all from the beginning. Suuori knelt by his side, watching quietly, wide eyed.

The debate, he knew, was on the exact legitimacy of the borders of the small country _______, and the attendant legitimacy of the _______ regime. There were more views on this than there were representatives, and the debate was a retread of an exactly similar one three months ago. One leader would drone on about human rights violations. Another would counter-drone about legitimate self-determination of small territories. A third would shout passionately about strategic interests in the region, and with the benefit of a translator of singular incompetence, their words would be reduced to the inevitable staccato monotone.

Usually, _______ would sit quietly, keeping his own counsel. When called, he would stand, approach the podium, and in a completely reasonable tone of the utmost diplomacy, he would explain the position of his government. He might, if pressed, purse his lips and express regret that things had come to this, that so many lives had been lost in recent weeks, but was that not the inevitable nature of such conflicts, and by the way, what about those drone strikes and the horrific attendant collateral damage? He was always the coolest, calmest man in the room, was Mr _______, and the sanest, most reasonable person alive. A feared and respected negotiator, always utterly in control. It was hard to believe how his opponents saw him, sometimes.

Normally Mister Talv took no interest in current affairs unless they threatened his equilibrium. Now he watched, fascinated, as the debate took a turn for the spectacular. The footage was extraordinary.

It was an innocent line of questioning that triggered it, and one instantly forgotten by Mister Talv. He watched as _______ began to redden, the flush of anger rising, unmistakable. He could see the sinews swelling on the man’s neck.

He watched as Mr _______ stepped down from the podium, began walking towards the delegate, then running, fists bunched, his face twisted in anger; and without breaking stride, he just punched the man full in the face with all his strength.

The delegate went down at once, but _____ didn’t stop, raining blows and kicks at the man’s face as he tried to crawl away. The chamber erupted into chaos, a maelstrom of shouts and cries, people scrambling either to help or to escape. Mister Talv fancied that even through the pandemonium he could hear the crunch of boot on bone.

Two American delegates flung themselves at ______, clinging on to his arms, shouting at him. But he was in a frenzy now. With inhuman strength he brought them both down, and with a howl, he simply grabbed the smaller one by the neck and, with both hands, twisted savagely. The man went instantly limp, and _____ dropped the body on the floor with a gesture of furious contempt.

The chamber was suddenly as silent as a church.

The incoherent brutality of it was stunning. Suuori gasped and looked away, burying her pretty face in his lap.

Everybody was running in panic now. The delegate lay still at _______’s feet, limbs and head at odd angles. A trail of blood splashed across the floor. For a second, he stood there, fists clenched, veins standing out on his forehead, laughing manically over the prone body of the diplomat. And then, something else seemingly catching his attention, his face twisted into a snarl of rage and he turned and vaulted the barrier into the Russian delegation’s area. Diplomats scattered; one, an elderly gentleman with a shock of white hair, went down in front of _______, helpless. He picked up a chair, raised it with both hands, and brought it crashing down on the poor man’s head. He paused only to identify the next target—there, a South American delegate, female—and he was on her like a feeding tiger, and whatever small slight she might have meted out to him in the past was repaid a thousand times in blood. The woman had been quite pretty, thought Mister Talv, with a twinge of regret. He had a soft spot for pretty women.

Suuori was weeping now, unable to watch at all. A whirlwind of violence roared on through the chamber, unstoppable.

‘Four dead, seventeen injured,’ ran the ticker, ‘three in a critical condition’.

Anger management. The echo of the voice in his head. Impulse control.

Mister Talv was amazed. Whatever the meme had latched onto in the man’s mind, it had worked better than he could possibly have imagined.

On the screen, ______ was screaming in rage, out of control, covered in the blood of nations; howling at the delegates as they tried to flee, waving the stump of a chair leg in his hand like a club. The security guards were edging carefully towards him, guns out, and he span and roared at them, swinging his improvised weapon, daring them to try.

At last they were on him from behind, four guards physically wrestling him to the ground as he continued to lash out. Finally pinioned, he twisted his head this way and that, teeth snapping, trying to bite them; he was quite literally foaming at the mouth, Mister Talv observed.

If he were ever to lose control, step over that brink, there would be no going back, said the remembered voice of the meme.

‘______ under arrest. Forcibly removed from the chamber,’ ran the ticker. ‘Held at secure psychiatric facility pending evaluation. Charges imminent.’

The footage cut from the scenes of carnage in the chamber, the still-struggling ______. A wan-faced member of _____’s diplomatic group was on now, opportunistically reassuring everybody that yes, the border country was under control, that it was a much more peaceable place than was often given credit for, that the government was bigger than one man; oh, and by the way, yes, perhaps it was time for a change in policy direction—a more conciliatory agenda, perhaps, than that of Mr _____, who had perhaps been a little unstable all along. And by the way, you may be looking at just the man to deliver such an attractive new era. There is nothing at all to fear; cue disarming statesmanlike smile.

One man’s fall is another man’s rise, thought Mister Talv, and noted the man’s name for future reference.

Of course, to an unknowledgeable observer, it would seem that _______ had suddenly just gone stark raving mad, for no reason at all. The world would shake their heads and wonder again what darkness lurks in the hearts of men, and then they would move on. He would not be an issue now, thought Mister Talv. But what of the meme? It was evidently just as dangerous as he’d suspected, and much more so besides.

He watched as _______ was bundled into the back of a security van, twisting and kicking and screaming, raving about voices, the voices in my head, his eyes bulging and swivelling in his blood-streaked face.

As if reading his mind, Suuori spoke, her voice soft beside him. “Was that the creature, Mister Talv? The monster that lives in peoples’ heads?”

He absently patted Suuori’s head. “Nothing to fear, Suuori. It’s just a nightmare, really.” She trembled under his hand. On the big screen the talking heads chattered on, attempting to analyse the incomprehensible.

Yes, a nightmare indeed, thought Mister Talv. And where was it now?