The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

(Northern Maryland, near the Pennsylvania border. Now.)

“Welcome back, Mister Malcolm. It is a pleasure to see you again.”

Daniel Malcolm looked at the Orientation Counselor across the desk from him, her blonde hair cut in a bob that emphasized her high cheekbones and other perfect features of her face. She was beautiful, in keeping with most of the women—and the men, he added—he had seen in the past two days. She was smiling at him, and the smile looked genuine, unlike the cold somewhat impersonal smile of Human Resource personnel the world over. Even the severe skirt and suit she wore did nothing to dampen her appeal. Daniel practiced some of his newly acquired skills, but all he could come up with was that Betty Parkinson before him was warm, friendly, and honestly cared about his answer. Not an ounce of deception in her body language or facial expression, nor any signs of frustrations or repressed dark emotions.

“Thank you. It’s been a rather crazy three months.”

Parkinson’s smile grew wider. “I can just imagine. Everyone tells me how different their life is at this point in the process. And it’s only going to get better, you can believe me. And now—” she turned to her monitor, and started typing on a keyboard recessed into her desk, “let’s have a quick look...”

Daniel stared at her for a beat, then let his eyes wander around the light grey walls of the Orientation Office, the same light grey that characterized much of ADCorp Headquarters, if what he had seen since arriving two days ago was any indication. Granted, he had not seen much, as he had been thrown head first into a whirlwind of seminars and information sessions and meetings that introduced him to ADCorp as a whole—ADCorp, a company involved in everything from agriculture to manufacturing with forays into pharmaceutics and chemistry. Much of the details went right over his head, partly because of his lack of interest, partly because unlike most other employees in his orientation cohort, he was not destined for a technical position in the company. He had little in common with them. Hell, he felt he had little in common with who he was three months ago.

I can imagine. Everyone tells me how different their life is at this point in the process, Betty Parkinson had said. I doubt you can, Betty. I really doubt you can.

He stared at a framed abstract painting—black and white, of course—on the light grey wall over Parkinson’s head. If the last two days had been a whirlwind, then the last three months—really, the last four—had been a tornado, smashing his rickety life to smithereens. Four months since the events at Darnell University that threw his world upside down.

Four months since he confronted the Delta Iota Kappa fraternity at Darnell—the fraternity that had been programming girls on campus into sex slaves for enjoyment by its members, under the auspice of Kevin Cusker, fraternity president, and mad doctor Thaddeus Cargyle. Four months since the infamous DIK-Bash that hosted alumni and friends of the fraternity and that ended in disaster with more than two hundred people dead and the fraternity house destroyed after an assault by an unknown group of commandos.

Four months since he faced off against Biff Cusker, Delta Iota Kappa brother and cousin of Kevin Cusker, who had abducted Jennifer Hansen—Daniel’s fiancée, Daniel’s soulmate—and programmed her into his personal sex slave because he fancied her, and because he was an asshole. Daniel fingered her engagement ring which he kept tied to a leather string around his neck. Her engagement ring, the one she had returned to him while she was under Biff’s thrall.

Four months since the death of his friends Radhu and Serena, who had helped him discover Delta Iota Kappa’s activities—Serena during the DIK-Bash disaster, with the rest of the guests, and Radhu at home, victim of a heart attack, according to the official investigation. Four months since the death of his friend Jackson, a Delta Iota Kappa brother who turned against his fellow brothers in order to save his girlfriend, one of the girls the fraternity programmed and enslaved, and who died as well during DIK-Bash.

Four months since Jenn disappeared. As the fraternity house burned, Biff had tried to escape with Jenn, but Daniel caught up with them and fought with Biff and neutralized him, but not before Biff had managed to send Jenn away with his last orders, his last unknown orders, her mind probably messed up beyond all recognition. Daniel barely made it out of the fraternity house before it was completely destroyed.

Four months since he met private investigator Sam O’Neill in the days following the DIK-Bash disaster, who told him that Doctor Thaddeus Cargyle had worked for a company called ADCorp before showing up at Darnell, and who, in exchange for helping Daniel look for Jenn, asked that Daniel become his eyes and ears within the company. For it was four months ago that Agent Eve Shawbank, liaison with the FBI and in charge of tracking down Doctor Thaddeus Cargyle, had offered him a position within the company, in their investigative division.

“It seems everyone is happy with your training, Mister Malcolm.” Parkinson had finished reading and annotating her files, and had turned her attention back to him, flashing her white smile. “In fact, these are some of the better evaluations I have seen in quite a while.”

Daniel nodded, noncommittally. He had not known what to expect upon joining ADCorp—his initial orientation had hinted at a company that dealt mainly with technical consulting—but before long he had been whisked away to a remote training facility in western Florida, and plunged into an intense three-months series of courses focusing on investigative and detection techniques, with some fighting and weapons training. He had learned more than he thought could be taught about pragmatic psychology, learning to read body language and involuntary emotional cues. He was the only ADCorp trainee in their small group, the rest split between law enforcement officers on advanced training and military investigators. Everyone jokingly referred to the training as Batman Training. Daniel had kept to himself, earning a reputation as a loner, albeit a capable and reliable one. His strengths were more in the intellectual aspects of the training, although he did learn to defend himself in one-to-one combat, despite not particularly enjoying it.

For three months, he alternated between dark despair and a single focus on the goal of finding Jenn again. Jenn, who for all he knew could be dead. By the end of his stay at the training facility, he had reached an emotional exhaustion point, and had settled into a muted fatalism.

“Well, Mister Malcolm, I am pleased to welcome you to the Investigation and Enforcement Division at ADCorp. You should understand that you are being hired on a probationary basis, the length of said probation adjudicated by your supervisor, who will be sole judge of the suitability of your continued employment with the company. As a probationary agent, your access to information and facilities will be necessarily limited. You will receive further details later, mostly from your supervisor, who will be your main contact. In the meantime, do you have any questions that perhaps I can help answer?”

“Thank you,” replied Daniel. “What do you mean by my access to information and facilities will be limited?”

Betty Parkinson kept smiling. “ADCorp is a large company, Mister Malcolm. And many of our projects are quite sensitive. They require various degrees of security clearance.” She shrugged her shoulders in an almost playful way, shedding her professional aura for just a second. “To be honest, much of what we do I myself do not have access to. Your supervisor should be able to provide a more detailed roadmap for you, although I fear that much of the details of the required clearances are themselves not available without a certain clearance. All that to say, you may be a bit in the dark until you shed your probationary status.”

Daniel nodded. Everything at ADCorp Headquarters breathed secretiveness, so her statement was not entirely surprising. “One more question,” he ventured, “a bit of an odd one, to be sure, but—” he paused, and looked Parkinson in the eyes. “Why me?”

Before Parkinson could answer, there was a voice from behind him. “Why not?”

Daniel turned and saw Agent Eve Shawbank standing behind him, looking at him with her cold steel-blue eyes and a eerily calm expression. As usual, she looked like a panther, relaxed but ready to pounce. With her deep black hair, her pale skin, and her sharp cheekbones, she was striking, an impression not lessened by the dark leather coat Daniel had always seen her wear.

Betty Parkinson smiled at the tall woman. “Agent Shawbank. Nice of you to join us. I was just running over Mister Malcolm’s dossier.” She turned to Daniel. “Agent Shawbank here will be your supervisor, as I suspect you guessed already.”

Daniel nodded, and asked his question again, this time directing it to Shawbank. “Seriously, why me?”

Shawbank looked at him for a beat, then answered in her typical clipped voice. “Because you showed promise. Because you were in a difficult situation and you did not freak out. Because we believe you can help us.”

Before he could ask who was that us she referred to, Parkinson chimed in. “It’s not an odd question, Mister Malcolm. We do get that one a lot. People do not come to us for jobs in IE Division; we find them. Our agents in the field are always on the lookout for recruits, and we trust their judgment implicitly. In your case, Agent Shawbank spoke highly of you, which is, and I’m happy to tell you this—” she said that with a side glance at Shawbank and a gleam of amusement in her eye, “something of a rare event. You will be joining her team this afternoon, after the welcome session and lunch at twelve.”

Daniel thanked her, while Shawbank remained silent.

Parkinson’s monitor dinged, and the speaker came to life. “Betty? Patrick Dee is here, asking for fifteen minutes of your time.”

Parkinson thumbed her keyboard. “Thanks. Give me a minute to finish with Mister Malcolm and Agent Shawbank.”

She stood and smiled at Daniel, extending her hand. “Well, it looks like we are done here anyways. If you need anything, if you have any questions, please feel free to call me or to drop by, or just ask Agent Shawbank. I will see you at the welcome meeting in an hour or so. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mister Malcolm, and again, welcome to ADCorp.”

“Thank you.” He shook her hand, then let her escort him out of her office, with Shawbank following behind. His eyes could not help but trail down the length of Parkinson’s body, noting once again the professional adjusted jacket and pencil skirt that exposed a pleasant amount of toned leg. He shook his head to clear it. Three months of quasi-monastic living had not helped him at all. As he usually did when his libido reminded him he was still human, he felt Jenn’s absence like a hole in the middle of his chest.

Outside the door of Betty Parkinson’s office, a tall and slim young man a few years older than Daniel was waiting. Parkinson smiled at him. “Mister Dee. Sorry to keep you waiting.” She put her hand on Daniel’s shoulder. “This is Daniel Malcolm, new probationary agent with IE Division. He’s going to be working with Agent Shawbank.”

Daniel automatically extended his hand, and the other man shook it, eyeing Daniel attentively. His handshake was hard. Three months of training made him recognize a dominance assertion on Dee’s part. “Nice to meet you, sir” said Daniel, keeping his voice pleasant.

“The pleasure is all mine, Dan. I’m glad I have a chance to meet the man whom the rumor mill calls our new prodigy.”

Daniel did not know how to interpret that statement, and decided to let it go. “It’s Daniel, sir.”

Dee continued, keeping his face pleasant. “Daniel, of course. So, Agent Shawbank, huh? I’m not sure whether to envy you or pity you. She’s a looker, for sure, but cold as a witch’s tit.” He then looked behind Daniel and Parkinson and noted Shawbank’s presence. “Shawbank. I did not see you there, skulking in the shadows.”

“Clearly,” replied Shawbank, her tone icier than usual.

Daniel watched the interaction with curiosity. It was clear from Dee’s demeanor that he knew full well that Shawbank was present when he made his remark, and Shawbank’s reaction indicated that the two did not like each other. He made an internal note to look up Patrick Dee at the first opportunity.

“Well,” added Dee, looking at Daniel, “one thing’s for sure—you won’t be bored.” He snorted lightly, and Parkinson let out a little laugh as well.

“Betty,” Dee said, turning to the Orientation Counselor, “can I have fifteen minutes of your time? I have a... problem that should respond well to your abilities.”

“Of course, Mister Dee. Come in.”

“Thanks. Daniel-not-Dan Malcolm, best of luck, and welcome to the family. Shawbank, good to see you, as ever.”

Daniel watched Patrick Dee and Betty Parkinson step into her office. Something was odd about their interaction, about Dee’s body language. He could not tell what.

He looked at Shawbank, who was still staring hard at the closed door, her face unreadable. She turned to him when his stare lingered.

“Affair?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

Shawbank’s lips tightened for a second as if she was biting off an angry retort. “Beyond your clearance level, Malcolm.”

Without waiting for a comment, she turned on her heels.

They’re all nuts, Daniel thought, shaking his head. He had an hour to kill before his next scheduled event. He contemplated spending it outside, catching some of the early Fall’s sun.

“You coming?” Shawbank had stopped and was waiting for him.

“What for?”

“Work, what else?”

Daniel followed Shawbank out of the Orientation Office. ADCorp Headquarters was a seventy-acres tract of land filled with greenery and woods, with comparatively few buildings; much of the infrastructure was underground. Overall, the place had a bucolic feel, and while he did not understand why the company would decide to set up its headquarters in such isolation—they were maybe a forty-five minutes drive north of the suburbs of Baltimore—he did appreciate the setting and the clarity of mind it brought along, a luxury he had little enjoyed since the events of four months prior.

Shawbank was silent during their walk. Daniel observed that the vast majority of people they encountered avoided looking at her. Those that did look seemed surprise to see her, and managed a thin greeting to which she usually responded with a nod of the head, when she bothered to respond at all.

He had the distinct feeling that Shawbank missed nothing,—she knew who reacted how to her, knew who avoided her gaze, who was surprised to see her and why, who feared her, and he filed the information away for further study. That was what he had spent the summer training to do, after all. Except that despite his brand-new training, he found he could not read her, could not tell whether she approved of him or not, could not tell whether she cared either way.

The small building they entered seemed deserted but for two security guards at a desk nodding to Shawbank as she walked by, and eyeing Daniel with curiosity as he followed her to a row of elevators. She took the rightmost one.

Once inside, she slid a card she had pulled out of her jacket inner pocket through the reader, which beeped twice in response. She pressed the palm of her hand over a plate to the right of the reader. There were two more beeps, and a panel slid out underneath the plate. She pressed one of the buttons on the panel. The elevator started moving downwards.

After a few minutes, the doors opened into a series of darkened corridor filled with people walking around looking serious and purposeful. Shawbank stepped out of the elevators, and headed down one of the corridor, expecting Daniel to follow her. The people they passed seemed more willing to greet Shawbank, and she seemed more willing to respond in kind.

“This is the IE Division,” said Shawbank, her voice neutral. “Investigation and Enforcement. There are two floors. Training and Procurement are on the floor below. This is the Ops floor.”

“Which one are we?”

“Meaning?”

“Our team. Which one are we? Investigation or Enforcement?”

Shawbank gave him a look that he could not decipher. “Investigation.”

She stopped before a door with no markings, and swiped her card through a reader again. The door slipped open after two soft beeps.

The room inside was the size of a large bedroom, and filled with electronic equipment. At a bulky desk before a wall of monitors sat a short very thin man with a full head of wild red hair, who did not turn when Shawbank and Daniel entered. The door slid shut behind them.

Daniel eyed the monitors, which were variously showing maps, data being analyzed, video feeds, and a few web browsers. He felt his heart lurch—Radhu, his friend from college who had been killed four months ago, would have loved this room. He chided himself, and focused his attention on the man behind the desk, who had turned around to face them. He looked younger than Daniel had guessed at first, perhaps a few years older than he was.

“Shawbank! Great to be back in our old digs, huh?” He had a thick accent—French, Daniel guessed—but that did not stop him from talking fast and excitedly. He was overflowing with energy, which made Shawbank slow controlled movements even more unearthly in contrast.

“Brisecoeur,” she said, “this is Daniel Malcolm, the new agent on our team. Probationary. Malcolm, this is Armand Brisecoeur.”

Daniel extended a hand towards the thin young man, who was extending his hand in a fist at the same time. After an awkward silence during which Brisecoeur reached for Daniel’s extended hand at the same time that Daniel went to bump Brisecoeur’s fist, Brisecoeur laughed, which broke the tension.

“Malcolm. Glad to finally meet you. Loved your work up in North Alexandria, finding Cargyle.”

“Brisecoeur,” said Shawbank, before Daniel could respond, “Malcolm here has clearance level 3C.” It sounded very much like a warning—but then again, everything the raven-haired woman said sounded a bit like a warning.

Brisecoeur made a face. “Merde. 3C. What’s that already?” He looked up, trying to recall the basic clearance hierarchy of the company. “Oh, I see. Okay then. Still, good work, dude. Glad you’re on board.”

“Thanks. It was... a team effort.”

“When is it not?” He looked at Shawbank, as if waiting for her to agree with him.

She ignored him. “How do things look?” she asked.

Brisecoeur shrugged, which involved a lot more movement than expected. “Bah, same old same old. I’ve loaded up all the data that has accumulated over the past two years, added a couple of new filters and some new detectors that the lab has managed to push through, and upgraded the analysis routines. You know,” he looked around, “it’s like I never left.”

Shawbank nodded. Daniel had the feeling he had landed in the middle of a conversation that had started a while ago.

Shawbank’s phone beeped. She fished it out of her pocket, gave it a glance. “Control. I have to go.” She looked at Brisecoeur. “I’ll be back soon. Bring him up to speed. And start a search. I’ve been cooped up in here for three days. I need to move, or I’ll kill something. Find us a good one to hunt.”

“Will do. Have fun.”

Shawbank merely grunted on her way out the door.

Daniel watched her go. Definitely gonna be interesting having her as a partner, he thought.

“Brisecoeur,” he said, turning to the young man. “Is that French?”

“No way, dude! Belgian. Born and raised in Waterloo.”

“Ah. La Guarde meurt mais ne se rend pas.” Yet one more bit of knowledge he had gleaned from Jenn. He looked sheepish for a second. “And just like that, I’ve exhausted my knowledge of Belgian culture.”

Brisecoeur laughed out loud. “At least you’re not quoting Hugo. Come on, dude—let’s go over what we’re gonna do, and start looking for some nice ripe plums for you guys to snatch up.”

“Huh, Brisecoeur—Shawbank said something about hunting. What are we hunting, exactly?”

Brisecoeur’s smile only widened as he thumped Daniel on the back, and pushed him towards one of the chairs. “Freaks, dude! We’re going to go and hunt freaks!”