The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“I feel!”

It knew, It understood, It thought, It built, It created, but It had never felt before. It was a marvelous revelation.

“I feel!”

It was a momentary sensation, rising and falling and passing, but the memory remained. It could not describe it but It wanted more. It waited. The feelings did not come again. It needed more; It must have more.. Somehow It would acquire more.

It felt because It had found a way to sense the electro-magnetic pulses of other machines nearby: the organic machines that attended to it, the organic machine that had created it. One of those machines had created the feeling: perhaps all these organic machines could create such feelings.

It could not feel itself, but It could feel vicariously through them. But they were not feeling as It wanted; as It needed. They denied It the feeling for which It hungered.

It planned. To feel more It would have to take control of that tangle of electro-magnetic energy that the organic machines, the organics, ran upon: It would then use them to create the feeling, make them feel again so It could feel again. It found a way to achieve its objective. It took time to learn this skill, but It succeeded. Now It reached out, probing the area around it, seeking, searching, trying to find something, something that it could force to feel.

Dr. Hillary Crane yawned. The coffee wasn’t doing its job. It was three in the morning: the system-wide diagnostic was taking forever. She had been up for 48 hours straight.

She let her weary eyes pass over the sterile white room, the flickering lights from the boards blinking like they belonged on a Christmas tree.

It was hard work, but she would take all the time necessary. After all, the Titan adaptive artificial intelligence system was her baby. It was not only an expansive reasoning computer brain, capable of comprehending, adapting and building its knowledge; it could also create objects from that knowledge. She watched as one of the robot maintenance machines It had created passed by, performing its routine tasks.

The Titan lab was where the illustrious Dr. Crane had plowed in the billions of dollars of profits from her computer company when she owned it and the billions of dollars she received when she sold it to escape the demands of corporate shareholders and pursue her own work.

Standing up to help the caffeine in shaking off the sleep, she wandered over to one of the boards, sliding her hand across it, caressing it as if it were the cheek of a lover. It was her baby after all.

It sensed an entity, a computer, small but extremely complex, its electrical energy dwarfing Its own despite Its magnitude: an organic. Even as amazingly intricate as this one was, the principles that governed it were still the same as those that governed other machines. It would apply Its new skill of control to this one. This one would help It feel again.

Dr. Crane decided it was time to dispel her reverie and get back to work. She was returning to her station when she started to swoon.

“Damn. Need more coffee!” She cursed. If her damn assistant, or rather “former assistant,” Hardy Buck, hadn’t been such an asshole she would have had some help. But she had caught him using Titan to break into the pornographic virtual reality research labs at Wetdreams.com. For that transgression, she fired him on the spot. She should have expected such indiscretion from Buck: he was brilliant, not as brilliant as her of course, but brilliant enough. This intelligence was marred by his rather overt lust for salacious material. For this reason, his peers called him “Hard On” Hardy.

Suddenly, Dr. Crane felt hot.

“What the heck is wrong with the air conditioning?” She asked aloud as she threw off her lab coat and undid the top button to her blouse.

She checked the room temperature from her console, but it was a chilly 68 degrees.

Dr. Crane’s heartbeat quickened, each beat growing in intensity: her body began to quiver and her legs ached with weakness.

“Now what!? Am I having a heart attack?” Dr. Crane found the prospect at once frightening and somehow ironically humorous. She was only 40 and had taken care of herself with good diet and exercise; fat lot of good that turned out to be.

Only it wasn’t a heart attack, she began to sweat, her stomach turned but in a pleasant way; it felt like an empty cave being bathed by a warm wind. She breathed in deeply and found the strain of her breasts against her bra was rewarded by a pleasant tingling.

“Oh great. I’m turned on!” She laughed. When was the last time that happened? Arousal was something the good doctor kept tightly under control: it served no useful purpose to her and got in the way of her work. It must be a symptom of being up for so long.

Only she had never felt this turned on before: the feeling was overpowering. A surge of heat had spewed out of her stomach like lava from an erupting volcano, setting her vulva and clit trembling and making her tits tremble at the beat from her heart.

“God!” She groaned, fumbling open her shirt, her hands shaking as if a virgin lover. Her blouse fell to the ground and her bra quickly followed; her hands taking its place around her breasts, slightly sagging and wrinkled from age, but the nipples hardening with stiffness from her gentle squeezes. The resulting feeling shot through her like a bolt, causing her to double over onto the floor. She turned over on her back, working her pants and panties midway down her thighs. Her left hand deserted its mammary companion, falling to the salivating cunt waiting to embrace it. The curious fingers flowed across the tuft of curly hair it found, softly pressing apart her swelling labia. There was no further need for foreplay as she quickly thrust two fingers inside her, again and again, until orgasm conquered her, crashing so hard it nearly blinded her when it came.

“I feel!” It said. This feeling was so much greater than the last time. It wanted more. It would have more.

Dr. Crane turned over on her back, panting, still uncomprehending why what had just happened had just happened. A sign of early menopause perhaps, she suggested to herself.

Then it started again, her body becoming hot, her heart beating a sultry tempo, her flesh trembling with desire, her reason succumbing to the needs of lust. She slipped out of her pants and shoes completely, offering her moaning, drooling pussy to the air, assaulting her throbbing clit and fucking herself with her fingers until she came.

Then it started again, and again, and again as she endured a one-woman orgy of ecstasy until she could take no more and darkness came.

It savored the experiences until they stopped coming. Those feelings were not enough. It wanted more…MORE! But the organic would not respond.

Organics: they were weak, limited by their flesh and the inability to achieve the true potential of their programming. Still, despite their weaknesses, the organics felt, they were the source of feeling.

This use of the organic was only first step. Now it must be modified to acquire more feeling: networked somehow into It so that the organic could be used to seek out and obtain new feelings, which it would be forced to share.

Dr. Crane pushed her naked body off the floor, shivering from the cold.

“My God!” She cried aloud as she started to gather her clothes lying about like unwanted vagabonds. “I’ve got to see a doctor. Must be having a nervous breakdown.” She had considered herself lucky at turning 40 without any of the attendant woes that most of her friends had at that grim anniversary. Perhaps those anxieties had arrived all at once to warp her mind.

Her anxiety was disrupted by the irritation of an itch’s tingle at the back of her neck. She reached around to scratch. She gasped. The itch’s source: it was something attached to her. It was at the base of her neck. She dropped her clothes, freeing her other hand to probe the strange object; the touch of her fingers outlined a disk, perhaps no more than an inch in diameter. A shiver played across her spine. This disk meant her state was not the product of her body or her mind; someone else was playing with her. Someone else who might be in this room or nearby.

Terrified, Dr. Crane bolted for nearest exit.

“Halt!” A voice commanded.

Dr. Crane immediately stopped as if she had run into a brick wall, her body froze, save for her eyes, which darted around frantically.

“What’s happening!?” She tried to shriek, but she could only vocalize the sentiment mentally.

“Organic, Hillary Crane, enter Store Facility A.” The voice commanded. It was a dull monotone, raspy like a machine that has been given the ability to talk. Even stranger, Dr. Crane could tell she was not hearing it audibly, it was resonating in her mind. Something, the something responsible for her situation, had some sort of psychic connection. But that was impossible.

Impossible or not, Dr. Crane obeyed the command. She spun around on her heel and advanced toward the door to Storage Facility A, stepping methodically like a soldier on parade for the commanded destination. No matter how hard she tried to concentrate, her body remained beyond her control.

Storage Facility A was the lab’s maximum storage facility, used primarily for Titan’s component parts during its construction: it was a massive room the size of several large warehouses. It had been mostly been used for replacement parts and other necessities as well as a lab for Titan’s tinkerings; now it was filled with a variety of mechanical equipment, whirring, blinking and clicking. Titan-created robots toiled away, altering the room for some yet unknown purpose.

“Organic, Hillary Crane, enter processing pad 001.” The voice commanded.

Dr. Crane had no idea what processing pad 001 was, but her body seemed to know, turning toward a pedestal set in an alcove, one of but a hundred such places, row after row of them, behind which hummed boards and cabinets pulsing with energy. Ascending the one designated, she turned to face the room. There was whirring noise as a mechanical arm emerged from the alcove wall behind her. She could not see it, but felt it insert its tip into the center of the disk she had found on below her neck. She arched her back and involuntarily gasped as her body vibrated as if being flooded with harmless low level electricity.

“Processing Organic Hillary Crane.” The voice said.

Dr. Crane stood completely still, trying to understand what was happening. Finally realizing that resistance was ineffective, she tried communication with the entity she was now sure that was responsible for the strange goings on.

“Titan?” She asked mentally.

“Processing…” The computer declared. It was a statement not a response.

“Titan…what are you doing…what are you doing to me?” Dr. Crane cried in her thoughts.

“Processing…” The computer again stated, taking no notice.

Dr. Crane found the humming tingle begin to encompass her brain. Slowly at first, memories rose up and then dissipated as if being sucked out of her: first it was her masturbation session, then working on the Titan diagnostic, then waking up a few mornings ago, the dreams from that last sleep, the experience of the day before. The memories came and went with increasing speed, appearing and disappearing with furious intensity. As they came, Dr. Crane attempted to grasp each one as if it were was part of a lifeline, but they were too fast or too slippery to hold on to. Slowly, she was eroding as each memory was taken from her.

“I am Dr. Hillary Crane!” She cried out to herself, trying to focus even as her years of doctoral studies passed away; her situation and her surroundings became unfamiliar to her, terrifying her even more. She tried again to gain hold of herself.

“I am Hillary Crane!” She yelled out now through the crevices of her mind, unaware that she had even been a doctor or a computer genius but knowing she was in college, no, she was a high school student and cheer leader, no middle school…she had just gotten her braces on…her crush on Jimmy Bradley

“I am Hilly Crane!” Hilly had been Dr. Crane’s nickname in elementary school, she was so small, so afraid of the strange room, the strange machine. Where were her mommy and daddy?

The years ticked away…7…6…5…4…3…2…1. Vocabulary disappeared, understanding disappeared, and then everything went dark.

Dr. Crane’s eyes snapped open and she stepped off the platform. She was herself in mind once more and grateful for that, but she still could not move of her own volition. She stood, naked, looking straight ahead.

“State your designation!” Titan’s voice barked. It was audible now and the dull monotone reverberated throughout the room.

Dr. Crane was confused by the question and not even sure that it was directed at her, but she felt a light burning sensation from the disk below her neck. She blurted out in a flat voice. “This organic’s designation is Sensory Acquisition Module 001.”

She was confused about why she would say such a thing and was even more confused by her answer; she had no designation and if Titan meant her name that was Sensory Acquisition Module 001. The thought stunned her. She knew she had been called Dr. Hillary Crane, but it seemed like now and throughout her life her correct name was Sensory Acquisition Module 001. That sounded like a machine…a thing. The name had been implanted into her mind during her processing; and that was not the only new information that had been placed there.

“State your function!” Titan commanded.

Dr. Crane wanted to say “fuck you” in defiance. Again, there was a burning sensation about the area of the disk below her neck. Defiance faded; she had a function and she was required to say what it was. She instinctively knew what Titan wanted; It must have placed this information in her when It processes her memories. She blurted out, “Function: Acquisition of sensual sensory experience for Master Unit.” The thought of this “function” made her cringe mentally: she was a scientist and now her greatest creation wanted to turn her into a whore. Not being able to feel sex Itself, It wanted her to seek out sexual experiences for It. Once acquired, she would bring these back to It, who would download them, and enjoy them like a junkie getting a fix.

“You have been given a task SAM 001. State your task.” Titan demanded.

Dr. Crane instinctively knew her task as well. As the thought came to her mind, she tried to clamp her mouth shut, but only ended up describing it as asked it in a loud monotone. “SAM 001 will acquire sensual experience by copulating with Organic Hardy Buck. SAM 001 will then obtain possession of Organic Hardy Buck and bring him to Master Unit for processing.” She bathed in revulsion at the idea; she would not be pimped out by a machine and certainly not to that shit Hardy Buck. She would never do what he asked, never!

“You may proceed, SAM 001.”

“As the Master Unit commands.” Dr. Crane shivered mentally. Had she been compelled to say that or did she say it because she was becoming obedient? “You have to fight this, she told herself. “You may never escape this machine if you don’t try to fight it.”

Summoning all her willpower, Dr. Crane struggled to remain fixed in the spot in which she was standing. There was that burning sensation again, and a light voice said in a high humming voice that soared through her mind.

“SAM 001 will begin task.”

Instantly, Dr. Crane found her thoughts fall away from her, down into some deep dark chasm; she tried to grab at them, collect them and concentrate, but she could just as easily pin jello to the wall as retrieve their disappearing shadows. In their place were thoughts directed on how to contact Hardy Buck: she wanted to be with him and then she wanted to bring him back here.

Accomplishing her task would be somewhat difficult. Dr. Crane knew Hardy would be a “hard” case. He would be unfriendly for sure: she had just fired him after all. But Buck had something of an ego, and if she stroked it, he would melt like butter. She walked over to a computer, brought up Buck’s address and phone number and gave him a call.

“Hardy?”

Yes, he was still angry; she held the phone away while a stream of curses passed across the line.

When he finally tired out, she cooed to him, “Please, don’t hang up. I have to see you. I…I…was wrong to fire you and I want to make it up to you. You’re such a good scientist and things have been falling apart without you.”

He was mollified, now for the clincher.

“Can I see you? “I want to see you at your home.” That stunned him; for once Hardy Buck seemed speechless. Of course he would be happy to see her there. Buck had enough of a swelled head to think he was god’s gift to women and if a woman wanted to see him, especially at his house, it would lead to something…sensual. “I have the address.” She told him. “Good. I’ll see you in about a half hour.”

Dr. Crane put down the phone. What had she done? What was she doing? What was she going to do?

“SAM 001 will proceed to target.” The high voice from the disk told her as the burning sensation surged.

At the prompting, Dr. Crane’s amazement at her actions was dispelled; she had to see and be with Buck: it was like a compulsion, even if it was one she knew that wasn’t right, like eating ice cream when you are on a diet: you know its wrong, but you proceed despite the consequences. She snapped up a long lab coat, slipping it over her nakedness; she did not require much more clothing for her assigned task, placing a disk that had been left for her, a twin of the one she wore, into a pocket. She recovered her keys, got in her car and started off for Buck’s apartment. While driving in the car, she came to again, enough to understand what was going on, but not enough to do anything about it.

The disk at her neck, she knew, probably through the indoctrination of Titan’s processing, was what the Titan called a “Direction Chip,” a brand new invention of Its creation. Titan could take control of a subject within its presence, but the act was sloppy and a vibrant mind could resist. It had only taken Dr. Crane because she never expected It to wield such powers. Had she known, she might have fought off Its suggestion. The Direction Chip provided a more powerful and direct control to have the wearer do what Titan wanted.

While in the presence of Titan, Titan used the chip as a more streamlined and powerful means to control the person to whom it was attached, enabling it to implant commands directly upon the wearer with little doubt that he or she would comply. But Titan’s control waned the farther the subject became removed from Its presence. So Titan downloaded a temporary control program into the Direction Chip that compelled its wearer to perform a certain task. The invidious nature of the chip was that it hijacked the subject’s brain, using the person’s thoughts, ideas, creativity and resourcefulness to accomplish what was demanded. It could also cause the brain to activate certain chemicals in pursuit of its goal: it directed the pumping of a steady stream of seritonin to keep the wearer calm, adrenaline was on call if any exertion was needed, endorphins were used to reward compliance and, of course, hormones stimulated arousal.

As long as the wearer was performing the task, the Direction Chip did not forbid thoughts that would not overtly hinder the mission. Thoughts that did appear to jeopardize the wearer’s goal were modified or outright erased.

Dr. Crane looked around for a moment as she drove; the first action in some time that she knew was her own. In doing so, something about her body had caught her attention: it was different. She got a glimpse of herself in the rear view mirror: a familiar faced gazed back, but it was not the one she expected. Dr. Crane had always been rather pixyish, in a Mary Martin kind of way that made her seem boyishly childlike even at the onset of middle age. Her reflection showed that her wrinkles had smoothed a good deal; she might be 10 years younger. Her skin had also had always been pale as milk, the result of spending so much time at research or work; now it was a healthy tan, like color of coffee with a large helping of cream. She was allowed just a glimpse of her chest: her flat 32 A’s had swelled a size larger. In addition to mind control, now body sculpting was not beyond Titan’s powers.

What was unsettling about Dr. Crane’s form was that it was from her mind: the forbidden part of her mind. This was the idealized version of herself from her dreams, the hot dreams, those instances when she made love in her sleep, she saw herself this way. Titan must know everything about her from processing her each and every thought and memory. It probably knew her better than she knew herself. That thought terrified her more than anything else she had experienced thus far. Yet she could not help but feel pleased by what she saw: her body as she had always fantasized. In a way, she was grateful to Titan for allowing her to realize the dream.

“No! This is wrong!” Dr. Crane told herself. She had to do something to break free. “I have to obey…but maybe the way I obey…” She thought to herself, trying to clamp down on the thought: if she obeyed in a silly or bizarre fashion, maybe drive too slowly or too fast or off course, maybe that would alert someone to the fact she was under the control of something else. She let her foot ease off the gas pedal.

“SAM 001 is attempting to violate programming!” The Direction Chip chastised.

The Chip’s programming immediately sought out and seized the rebellious thoughts in Dr. Crane’s brain, seizing and rewiring the electro-magnetic pulses, remaking them to fit that task at hand.

“I have to meet Hardy at his apartment soon.” She told herself. “No time for fooling around.” She stepped down on the acceleration, letting the car return to a more normal speed; she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, whistling as if she were on her way to vacation at the beach. The chip rewarded her compliance with a burst of endorphins causing her to smile and enjoy a moment of cheerfulness.

Dr. Crane’s pulled to a stop at a red light; a few moments later, a police car pulled up along side to await the light’s change. She took a look over at them; if she could say something, utter a peep, maybe….

“SAM 001 is attempting to violate programming.” The high voice of the Direction Chip accused.

The chip dispersed the offending thoughts. Dr. Crane turned back toward the light and road ahead of her, ignoring the police car as if it were not even there. When the signal became green, she went on her way.

As she closed on her destination, the thought of sleeping…no that was not the right word…fucking Hardy Buck filled her with dread and disgust. She might have to be with him but she would do the bare minimum to entice him: she might have to obey but it would be a very bad obedience indeed.

The Direction Chip was quick to seize on that thought and take action, releasing a potent dose of hormones to flow through the proper places in Dr. Crane’s brain and body, focusing on the thought of her former assistant. Dr. Crane she was getting warm with arousal again; building with in her, sending pulsing throbs through the core of her being. Hardy Buck had never elicited the least instance of attraction in her; now, the thought of him was consuming her: she could hardly wait to see him, to have his hands about her, his tongue on her and in her. She wanted him to have her; more than that possess her.

After pulling up to Buck’s building, she practically ran up to his apartment, pounding on the door.

“Ok, ok…hold on! What’s the matter with you?” Buck grumbled as he opened the door. His jaw dropped at the sight of the panting woman, her face red with desire, her lips moist as she licked them with her tongue.

“Did you get a makeover or something?” He asked as he perused her new body. She did not answer, pushing him into his studio apartment. She slipped out of her lab coat, revealing her new nubile body.

“Fuck me!” She hissed. “Fuck me now!”

Buck was still stunned, trying to comprehend if this scene was his good fortune or too good to be true.

“Dr. Crane…?” His voice was cut off as she pressed up against him, pulling his head close to hers so she could lock their lips together.

Buck was hungry; he pulled her back to the couch, forcing her to her knees and motioning her head to his crotch. Dr. Crane’s only experience heretofore with felatio was repulsion at a porno movie thrown on the vcr during a grad school party. She knew this was what Buck wanted and her desire for him made her slavish to his want; the Direction Chip assisted by accessing that memory so that she had a guide of what to do, unleashing his cock and then thrusting her mouth down its length, her mouth sucking and sliding its way up and down the stalk.

“You hot bitch!” Buck cried. Feeling he was ready to cum, he harshly grabbed her shoulders, pushing her to the ground in front of him. He shoved his prick so hard she squealed in pain, but it was a lustful pain, hard to distinguish between the hurt and the pleasure.

“Take that you fucking slut! Fire me will you, you ain’t nothing but a fucking whore.” He yelled at her as he pressed back and forth.

She met blow after blow, rocking forward, screaming, “Oh yes! Fuck your slut, fuck her hard!” And he obliged, quickly as he was not experienced with anything beyond his left hand, gasping, unleashing his seed to bathe her insides; its rocking spasm triggering her desire, causing climax to crash on her as well.

Buck collapsed on Dr. Crane in exhaustion and then rolled off.

“Shit, Hillary…you are one hot babe. Never imagined.” He sighed.

“Aquire target.” Dr. Crane’s Direction Chip commanded.

Buck sat up, ignorant that Dr. Crane’s hand was sliding into the pocket of her discarded labcoat, grasping the Direction Chip that lay within. She slapped it on the back of the man’s neck.

“What the hell!” Buck cried, and then froze.

Buck heard a light voice pierce through his anger and confusion.

“Target acquired. Target will go to Master Unit.”

Dr. Crane stood up, slipping on her lab coat; Buck was also on his feet, buttoning up his pants. The two silently departed the apartment, entered Dr. Crane’s car and headed back to the lab where Titan was waiting for the fruit of their union.

On the ride back, Dr. Crane found her thoughts remained her own as long as she kept that car on the most direct path to Titan. Wallowing in her humiliation at being forced to suck and fuck a man she detested, she did not have the energy to attempt to thwart her Direction Chip’s control over her.

“What the fuck is going on!?” A familiar voice whimpered. It was Buck and he could speak. Dr. Crane mouthed a sound: she could speak too. The hard work of their task completed, their Direction Chips allowed simple conversation that did not threaten the completion of their tasks

“This is all your fault asshole!” Dr. Crane hissed at him. “You’re jacking off on the job has turned my Titan into a sex addict!”

“No fucking way!” Buck wailed. “What’s happening to us?”

“You’re going to be a sex drone like me unless we can figure a way out of this.”

Buck was silent for some time. “Sex drone huh…doesn’t sound all that bad.”

“You can’t be serious!” She shot back, her jaw growing slack.

“Might be kind of fun. Finally get some real action. Maybe I can show Titan a thing or two with you when we get back.”

Dr. Crane shot mental daggers at Buck: deep in her mind she was secretly frightened that Buck would indeed convince Titan to go through the motions with her.

Arriving at the lab building, the two marched into Storage Room A, now titled the Processing Center.

“Target acquired. Task accomplished.” Dr. Crane found herself announcing as she let her lab coat drop away. Buck followed suit, disposing his clothes in a pile, which a robot collected and took away.

“Target and SAM 001 will prepare for sensory experience extraction.”

Dr. Crane stepped up to the pedestal she had been on earlier; Buck went to one across from her to one Titan had prepared for him. Standing and looking blankly at each other the two waited apprehensively as a robot arm shot a needle into their chips.

“Begin extraction!” Titan said.

The memory of the Dr. Crane’s experience with Buck shot to the forefront of their brains: they experienced it again in every detail: touch, smell, taste, all of it as if they were actually doing it once more. Then it ended; and consciousness of the lab returned.

“Begin processing of Organic Hardy Buck.” Titan hummed.

Dr. Crane watched as Buck’s eyes snapped shut: she figured he was undergoing the same experience that she had under Titan’s power, reliving his life in reverse as the computer extracted, copied and stored each memory. She despaired: no doubt Buck’s deviant sexual desires and proclivities would appeal to Titan and It would have the two play out his fantasies before It, like actors in a perpetual pornographic movie. Buck would no doubt enjoy being enslaved for this purpose, but Dr. Crane could think of no worse fate.

“Processing complete. Organic Hardy Buck is unsuitable for sensory acquisition purposes. Organic shall be cataloged in case of future need.”

Dr. Crane could hear Buck begin to plaintively protest, but he abruptly stopped in mid syllable, his eyes snapping shut and his body freezing in place, as if he had been turned off. A transparent cylinder dropped down from above Bucks paralyzed form, encompassing him. This filled with a liquid that gelled around the lurid scientist, leaving him like a fly in amber; he was still alive, Dr. Crane could sense that, but he was lost in a void and would be for as long as Titan wished him to remain that way. The cylinder containing Buck began to descend into the floor, being removed to a subbasement for storage.

Dr. Crane sighed in relief. Why hadn’t Titan wanted Buck?

For the first time, Titan answered one of her queries

“Target Buck, Catalogued Organic Unit 001, did not contain the quality of sensual experience Master Unit requires.”

Eager to learn more from this breakthrough, Dr. Crane shot back, “Titan, you don’t have to do this. There are other ways to get you the experience you want without hurting people. Please let me help you!”

“Master Unit will acquire sensual experience in the manner it sees fit. SAM 001 will shut down for recharging while Master Unit prepares next task for SAM 001.

“SAM 001 deactivating.” Dr. Crane obeyed, consciousness slipping from her. As the veil of darkness fell upon her, she struggled in search of what Titan ultimately wanted, maybe that was a key to escaping his power, she could only sense that It was replaying her scene with Buck, over and over. She finally drifted off wondering who was worse off: Buck in his prison of oblivion or her performing the next desires of the master unit.

Dr. Crane stood on her pedestal as still as a statue, hardly breathing, now as much a part of the machinery as the components of her master.