The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mark walked through the darkened university hallways, a long day of classes behind him. He held their weekly school newspaper open in his hands, a photo of Sunburst and himself helping a would-be rape victim to a police car. It was last weeks lead story. He’d landed the story because of his lucky acquaintance with Sunburst, which allowed him to get the interview. He folded it up and placed it under his arm.

A small cry of surprise coming from a side door close by stopped him in his tracks. The hallways were empty in the early evening gloom. He sprinted forward and turned the corridor of the computer wing. He could just see a door closing down along the corridor.

Rushing up, he paused by a security phone, then thought the better of it—this might be a story. He rushed to the steel door, but then wisely decided to slowly push it open.

Inside the computer lab he could see a young female student sprawled unconscious on the ground, her head still lolling to its side.

And across the room she was there: the emerald lady of the security photos. She was advancing towards the old, balding Dean of Computer Sciences. He started to talk, but then a flash of green light eminented from her chest. Mark could see the dean’s vision drawn to her chest, followed by a blank expression.

She continued to walk up to the dean and, with her back still to Mark, slugged the professor with a large round house punch. His body flew back into the chalk black board with a bone cracking smash. He crumpled immediately to the ground.

Mark let out a low curse in the ensuing silence. She turned her head to face him and he fell straight into her emerald eyes. A second later a blinding flash blasted across the room.

For some reason everything was black. He opened his eyes, not realizing they had been closed. The cold tile floor was against his back and he found himself lying on the ground staring up into Tricia’s concerned eyes. “He’s awake,” she said quickly to someone nearby. Someone looking like an ambulance attendant entered his vision before he passed out again.

Tricia noticed with some concern, but with divided attention, the stretcher of Mark being wheeled out. “Hey! I told you I’m alright!” Mark complained while straining to sit up, but an attendant firmly pushed him back down. He smiled at Tricia weakly as he rolled by.

Tricia stood beside the Lieutenant, who leaned against wall. He was haphazardly dressed and didn’t look pleased to be there. She finished jotting down his last words about the stunned girl who remembered nothing at all of the encounter.

Lt. Warrick Heath sighed again. Reaching up he pulled his uniform’s tie slightly loser and shrugged in his blazer. Then he passed a hand through his shock of red hair, flecked with white. Finally looking about the room before bringing his hand back down.

But he abruptly stopped to look at a wicked scar that ran along the edge of his index finger. Sighing again, he shook his head wearily as he gazed over at the paramedics heaving a black body bag onto a stretcher.

“And you say,” said Tricia, “the professor had been working on cutting edge computer software, which was used to compress extra information for the seeing and hearing impaired into the video and audio signals of standard video tapes?”

“Yes, yes,” the Lt. sighed yet again, then reached up and rubbed bleary eyes before glancing past her to see the sergeant coming towards them.

The sergeant walked briskly up with a look that told of the lack of answers he had. “Well, the professor was killed on impact with the board, but the required force must have been tremendous,” the sergeant nodded over at the shattered blackboard and wall. “All his software and equipment is gone. From here, his office and at home. The school’s central server was destroyed about the same time as the murder. We’re looking into its repair and possibly any back up disks of the professors work, just in case. However, we have this,” and he handed him a black and white high quality print out. It should a blurry computer camera picture of the emerald lady and two black clad accomplices bowing as if in applause. It looked like they were at one of the school’s parking lot security cams.

“Shit,” the Lt. growled, and handed it to Tricia for her to see. Only a few cars in the lot, and a large black van driving toward the school.

“The camera panned automatically away from her a few seconds later,” confirmed the sergeant to what the lieutenant already knew.

Another piece of the puzzle to ponder over. Tricia excused herself and walked over to inspect the blackboard. “Such force. It couldn’t be...” her voice trailed off.

Tricia struck the enter key on the keyboard again. Only the journalism computers, not connected to the school’s central server, remained on-line. Another story snapped to the screen from the computer’s database of the large local papers.

“Aha!” she exclaimed. It appeared as if her keyword search had finally paid off. She mouthed the words silently as she skimmed the year old article. “New television production company set to..... M.Y.N.D.C.T.R.L. Pictures.... shooting today... large bulk of comic book adaptations to the small screen...”

A phone book later and she had the address scribbled onto a piece of paper. Next stop, the M.Y.N.D.C.T.R.L. Pictures’ studio.