The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

IX.

Shanna stood nervously at the front desk of Caldwell Hall, her backpack held tightly in her left hand. It had been nearly fifteen minutes since she had had the desk clerk call Jeffrey’s room. People were walking about the hallway, guys and girls, chatting with one another. Shanna clutched her book bag tighter, wishing Jeffrey would hurry up and arrive. Standing in the unknown dorm around so many strangers made her very uncomfortable... especially when she started picking up their thoughts.

Geez, look at the nerdy girl with the books... a blonde dressed in red thought as she walked by. I look better than her. Robert better not turn around and giver her a second glance... dammit Robert!! I am so going to kick your...

Ass, Robert thought as he turned around, glancing at Shanna from the side. She sure does have a nice ass. Nice tits too—OOWWW!! Geez, Felicia... he thought, as he rubbed the spot on his arm where he’d been pinched.

There were other thoughts as well, not as strong or directed at her per sae, but thoughts that came drifting to her from all about the lobby. Guys in the front room watching the game. C’mon ref! What’s the deal!! Are you blind? That was pass interference all the way!

Damn man, you could have saved me at the last slice of pizza while I was in the fucking bathroom, you pig, I bought the damn thing!

Hell yeah! I just won two hundred big ones betting on this game!

Shanna winced, turning away from the lobby. Looking up at the desk clerk again, their eyes met briefly, before he turned away.

Damn. She is hot and all, but she’s starting to creep me out a little. I hope that guy, what’s-his-name shows up soon. Not that I am gonna ring his room again or anything. Heh. Why should I make another effort anyway? They don’t pay me nearly enough as it is.

“Shanna!” Jeffrey said from behind her, making her jump. She’d been so absorbed into listening to the thoughts going on around her she hadn’t heard Jeffrey approach. He smiled at her. “Sorry I’m late. Stopped off at the SUC and grabbed something to munch on while we study.” He held up a large plastic bag. “Nothing too fancy, just some chips and cookies and sodas.. junk food.”

Shanna nodded, smiling grandly, her heart fluttering. “Ye... yeah... um... that sounds just fine. Thanks.” She felt her face turning red, and felt even more embarrassed.

“Hey, Larry,” Jeffrey called to the desk clerk. “I got study room number three. Toss me the key, willya?”

The clerk tossed the key, and Jeffrey caught it in mid air. “You know the rules, Jeff,” he said in a uninterested voice. “No smoking, keep the noise down, yadda, yadda, yadda, and I expect the room to be in the same condition when you leave as it is when you first go in.” He picked up the magazine he’d been reading before Shanna arrived. “And bring back the key when you leave.”

Jeffrey sighed. “C’mon,” he said, walking forward. Shanna followed behind him. “Don’t let Larry get to you. He’s got one more semester before he graduates, and as you can see, he’s kind of burnt out. But all in all, he’s a nice enough guy.”

Entering the quiet and cozy study room, Shanna forgot all about Larry. The room was small, but pleasant, a pair of leather backed ergonomically crafted chairs, and a large table to hold all their books. The light switch had even been replaced with a dimmer knob. Jeffrey turned the light to three-fourths intensity, and sighed, sitting down across from Shanna. Their eyes met, and Shanna gasped, as his thoughts streamed into her mind.

She certainly is beautiful... would like to kiss her... wonder how she feels about me... dresses a bit frumpy, like my mother... worried about the quiz tomorrow... hate calculus, why couldn’t it be something easy, like English Lit... wonder what her tits look like... getting hungry, could go for a Sourdough Jack from Jack-in-the-Box... wonder if Shanna likes Jack-in-the-Box... she’s staring at me... is something on my face...

With a jerk, Shanna looked down, face reddening again. “So, um, Calculus,” she said in a slightly high voice, opening the book. “About this upcoming quiz... what is it that you’re having trouble with? What section is giving you problems?”

Jeffery snorted, shrugging his shoulders. “All of it. I don’t understand Calculus at all. I mean, I just don’t get it. Algebra I understood. Trigonometry, I got. But this? What’s the point? I guess I just don’t see what we’re supposed to be doing.”

“Oh.” Shanna thought for a moment. “Well, Calculus is basically a way of finding out about the nature of the numbers. Algebra was like solving a problem. You have three things, you know two, so use those two to find out what the third one is. Trig was the same way, only it dealt with shapes and objects instead of abstract ideas. But Calculus goes deeper. It’s like trying to understand a person. Trig and Algebra can give you a physical description of what a person looks like... but with Calculus, it describes the inner person, how the think and feel and react.” She smiled, looking up at him. “Do you get it?”

“Yeah...” Jeffrey replied, his smile growing. “I think I do get it. Like what that chapter about numbers was about. Like prime numbers... numbers that are only divisible with one and themselves. And... that section on completing the square. Basically... its just a way of... figuring out how a number reacts in an equation.”

Shanna smiled. “You got it. Now in this section,” she read, “we’re studying integration. Its like taking an equation, something you already know and understand, and increasing it, pumping it up. The opposite of differentiation, where we took an equation and broke it down into its components.” She looked up, risking a glance into his eye.

Man, I’d really like to break HER down into her component parts he thought with lust.

Shanna quickly looked away. EEP!! Well... I did want to know how he felt about me. I guess its true what they say about guys... thinking of sex every twelve seconds. She felt her own thighs moisten, and she shivered. Of course, he’s not the only one here having lusty thoughts. A thought, unbidden, swept into her mind. I could probably use my Gift... maybe egg him on... make him want me as much as I am wanting him right now... make him actually— She shook her head. No. What am I thinking? I can’t use my Gift that way. It’s bad enough that I keep listening in on his private thoughts.

“Is something wrong, Shanna?” Jeffrey asked.

“Um, uh, no,” she answered, going nearly crimson. “Just distracted. I think I got the answer wrong for... um... number three. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Jeffrey went back to looking over his notes. Shanna lifted her eyes, watching him sidelong. He was so handsome... and he found her attractive. He thought she was beautiful. He wondered what it would be like to have sex with her. The way he smiled made her insides melt. She was a virgin, had never even kissed a boy before, had never even considered having sex so soon... yet now, at this moment, it was what she wanted more than anything.

I really shouldn’t, Shanna thought wickedly, rubbing her thighs together. I know I shouldn’t use my power... the way Devon and Alvin use it. It’s wrong. It’s a disgrace. Still... I should be open to new ideas... and I wouldn’t be doing anything that he wouldn’t want to do anyway, she rationalized. Maybe I could just take another quick peek inside his head to make sure...

She glanced up at him, and he looked up as well. Their eyes met for a moment, and his thoughts streamed into her mind once again. The very first one made her go rigid.

Shanna sure acts weird sometimes. Maybe Melinda was right about her... being a bit of a freak.

“Gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming,” James Denton said with a grand smile. “This is my weapon’s testing facility. My boys and I have been working on a little project that I think you boys in the Pentagon might find... interesting.”

The two generals and their subordinates glanced at one another. “Mr. Denton,” General White said briskly, “we all know you have something special to show us, that’s why we made the trip here from DC in the first place. Now, kindly dispense with the grand theatrics and proceed with you demonstration.”

Denton chuckled softly, and removed a small radio receiver from his pocket. “Tell me General White... who’s your favorite comic book hero?”

The General blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Excuse me?”

“You know, comic books. The X-men, the Hulk, Superman, the Flash.” He sighed softly. “When I was a young lad, I used to LOVE comic books. They were my one passion.” His lip trembled slightly. “My father never understood it. Always saw it as a waste, of time and resources. He never had much imagination, my father. ‘Spending your time reading about imaginary foolishness’, he used to say, ‘is rubbish. Men with strange powers, able to fly, to turn into monsters... utter foolishness. I would encourage you to keep yourself firmly planted in reality instead of fantasy.’”

Denton pressed a small button on his radio and spoke a single word. “Ready.” Then he turned back to the General. “My father refused to give me a single cent for comic books. Still, I was a resourceful young man. I traded other things, the expensive toys and gadgets he’d given me, with the other kids for their comics. Pretty soon, I had a rather extensive collection.” He chuckled softly. “Anyway, as to my question to you, General. Think on this. When most of those books were written back in the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s, most of the science and technology described therein was merely that. Just a fantasy. The idea of man traveling through space, landing on the moon, shooting lasers... fantastic ideas in those days, but now, pretty average, run-of-the-mill stuff. Do you see what I’m getting at?”

“Mr. Denton, I do not,” White said stiffly. “If you brought us all the way down here to debate comic books—”

The dim moonlight was suddenly augmented as high powered flood lights surrounding the field suddenly switched on. “General White,” Denton continued nonplused, “allow me to explain it in plain English. Using modern day technology and the resources at my disposal, I have managed to pull several of those ‘imaginary’ comic book heroes out of the comic books and into reality. Behold, gentlemen,” he said, gesturing to the center of the field, “the next generation of biological weapons.”

They all glanced down at the illuminated field. It was littered with several heavy assault weapons and vehicles, ranging from remote controlled missile salvos, to high yield lasers, to remote operated armor-piercing machine guns. There was even a tank down at the very end of the field. Closer inspection, however, showed one thing moving in the very center of the field, a lone individual walking slowly forward.

Dr. Bradford handed out binoculars to military personnel, then handed a pair to Denton as well, and stood back. “What you’re seeing,” Dr. Bradford replied, “is a test subject that has undergone our special treatment process. As you can see he is clad in a silver high tech suit and helmet. Let me point out, gentlemen, that the suit’s function is not protection. No, it is a specifically designed wet-ware information gathering and transmitting system, which feeds data directly to the helmet, and to the probes integrated directly into the test subjects central lobe.”

Denton chuckled. “What the good doctor means, in layman’s terms, is that the suit and helmet acts as a giant sensor, giving the test subject eyes in the back of his head, as it were. Other than that, it has no special abilities. I want you to keep that in mind,” he said, as he pressed the green button in his remote, “because what you’re about to see all comes from him.”

Receiving the ‘Go’ signal, the crew activated the weapons. A loud blast broke the silence of the night as the automated systems came online. The missile salvos locked immediately on the lone figure and fired, two high explosive shells streaking towards the seemingly helpless man. The military brass watching the field let out a collective gasp as the shells exploded seemingly on target, enveloping the figure in a blast of fire and smoke. Nonplused, Denton stood silently, as the smoke and fire cleared.

When the dust cleared, the figure stood, unharmed, in the center of a small burned crater, his suit not even singed from the heat.

“Jeez!”

“Sonofabitch!”

“Holy—”

“How the hell did—”

“Please, gentlemen,” Denton replied. “The demonstration is not yet done.”

The machine guns turned and locked into place now. Twin streams of hot lead began raining down on the figure, who stood stock still, seemingly lifeless as a statue. The laser, also locked in, trained a concentrated beam of energy down on the target. The laser’s light, however, illuminated the scene perfectly, showing with each flash what appeared to be a round invisible bubble surrounding the target, deflecting everything from its path.

The figure remained in place, until the tank began to move, its turret firing shell after shell as it began its slow march towards the test subject. Only then did the figure begin to move forward, slowly walking towards the tank, one step at a time. As he passed the machine gun torrents, his head turned, a quick glance at each gun. Immediately, the squeal of tearing metal sounded, and both turrets exploded, smoke rising from the mangled wreckage.

Continuing forward, he glanced up at the laser tower, several feet above the field. His baleful glance caused the metal to glow red hot, and with another squeal of strained metal, the tower collapsed, falling to pieces, literally melting before the stunned audience’s eyes. Unconcerned, the test subject continued forward, towards the tank, which continued to fire down upon him. The huge turret shells may as well have been spitballs for all the damage they did. Within two feet, the tank jerked to a stop, its treads still running, but unable to advance any further, obviously hitting the subject’s force field.

The figure stopped then. Raising an arm, he held out a hand, palm open. Then, with an easy gesture, he closed his hand into a fist. The tank shuddered, and... imploded, falling in on itself, compacting until it was a solid amalgamous mass of green and gray metal about one third its original size. The figure then lowered its arm and stood still, waiting.

James Denton turned to his assembled guest, noting with a savage glee that most of them looked very pale with shock. “Now, gentlemen, I will explain. Project Phoenix, named after the comic book character with an unstoppable mix of power and might. Test subject zero-one-four has been given a series of chemical and biological treatments, affecting him on a genetic level, for one specific effect: to create and amplify psionic powers.”

A burst of chaotic chatter erupted, but Denton waved them to silence. “Powers of the mind, gentlemen,” he repeated. “You’ve all just seen the evidence yourselves, firsthand. Zero-one-four has had his brain augmented to allow him to tap into abilities that less than one percent of the population can access naturally, and to much higher extents. You’ve just seen two examples, telekinesis, his ability to shield himself from anything by stopping and controlling the molecules of the air around him, and the way he can crush anything, even a tank, with just a thought. And pyrokinesis, able to excite and speed up those same molecules, causing heat and fire, like when he melted the laser tower. Think of what he could do against LIVING targets, instead of remote controlled machines.”

“My God,” General Wilson breathed, his hand moving involuntarily to his heart.

Denton chuckled inwardly seeing his nemesis’ reaction. Focusing back on the matter at hand, however, he gestured to the stairs leading back down and inside the facility. “Ah, but don’t think of Project Phoenix as just a weapon of mass destruction. His abilities are much more... versatile than that. As you will see,” he stated, as they entered a small room with a row of chairs in front of large two-way mirror.

Charlie gripped his gun tightly. His palms were sweaty, and he was glad for the form fitting black gloves covering his hands. He glanced over at his two companions, both of whom looked as nervous as a piece of granite. Dammit, he berated himself, I’m the damned Resistor of the group. If anything, I’m the safest. The target won’t even be able to track my thoughts... won’t be able to sink her claws into me as easily as with Bert or Darrell. All we have to do is slip in, immobilize her, contain the area, and slip out before anyone even knows what’s going on. Simple. Just like a hundred other missions I’ve breezed through back in the service. A regular cakewalk.

So why the hell does my stomach feel like I swallowed a live crocodile?

Bert tapped Charlie on the arm, frowning, concern on his face. Saying nothing, Charlie merely shook his head and linked his middle finger and thumb to form the ‘OK’ symbol. Bert nodded slowly, dubiously, and glanced back at his watch.

Fuck! Charlie grumbled to himself. Am I so obviously shaken by all of this that Bert is worried about me? Dammit... I’m not a rookie! I’m not an old gray-haired ex-sergeant like him, but I’ve put in my time. I’m... just a little nervous, that’s all. Hell, consider what this kid can do, any sane person would be nervous!

Darrell glanced up, holding up a hand, two fingers sticking up. Two minutes.

Charlie gulped. He pulled the clip from his modified M-9 and checked the chamber. Fully loaded, ten rounds, with enough tranquilizer to take down a herd of bull elephants in a rampage. Sliding it back in, he clung to that image, though it gave him little comfort. He glanced down at his watch again. Minute and thirty seconds. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed his grip, wriggled his wrist. Flexed it. It was nearly showtime.

Bert’s hand grabbed his wrist, his expression hard. Charlie frowned, and then exhaled sharply as Bert’s finger pressed the safety latch off Charlie’s gun, arming it fully.

SHIT!! Charlie screamed inwardly. The safety. I forgot to remove the fucking safety. C’mon Charlie, get a grip here! This is just a kid, just a damned kid. It’s not like you’re about to fight the devil incarnate or anything. It breathes. It bleeds. It can be stopped. Patting the small fully armed Beretta hidden in his waistband, he thought smugly, And if all else fails, it can die.

One minute.

Alvin growled softly, biting his lip. The naked whimpering form at his feet nibbled and sucked on his inner thigh, teasing and caressing his cock with her slender soft fingers, trying desperately to arouse him, but with no success. His attention was entirely on the high quality plasma screen before him, and the gruesome scene of his character fighting off a relentless horde of zombies. Grunting, handing the control like a man possessed, he cursed loudly, tossing the controller down on the ground with a hard thud.

“Goddammit!!” he snarled, as the ‘Game Over’ logo scrolled onto the screen. “It figures! It fucking figures! Why the HELL did I go with Jim Chapman?!? I mean, yeah, its pretty nice to be able to get all the items in a place when you’re exploring... but I mean REALLY!! What the HELL was I thinking?!? Resident Evil Outbreak, and I pick the damned subway worker for a character?!?” He stood up in his rant, all but dislodging Amber roughly onto the floor. “I should have gone with the damned Vietnam Vet... um, what’s his face... Mark Wilkins. Offense, rather than defense, that was the way to go.”

Amber crawled humbly on her hands and knees, wagging her behind seductively, trying to attract her Master’s attention. “Master is upset now,” she murmured softly, rubbing herself along his thigh. “You’re too tense and stressed out... that’s the problem. Maybe you should let your little amber-slut help relax you... take away some of that pent up anger and stress?” She licked her lips as she asked, fluttering her eyes, turning on every ounce of her female charm.

Alvin, for his part, took a long hard look at the brain-fried little trollop before him, then back at the TV again, before deciding. “Ah, what the hell,” he said with a smirk, lifting Amber back to her feet. “I have been ignoring you in lieu of this video game now for the past five hours, even since Devon and your sister went out to the mall.” Clicking off the TV, he climbed up onto the bed, and gestured for Amber to join him.

Squealing with glee like a delighted child, she literally leaped onto the King-sized bed next to her Lover. Kissing him deeply on the lips, rubbing her achingly hard nipples against his chest, she sighed deeply. Pulling back, she looked at Alvin.

“Please, Master,” she begged softly, he hand moving down to caress her dripping snatch even as she asked, “please take me again. I mean... ‘take me’ take me... with your Eyes. Burn away my mind, my will, my very being! Make me yours... your mindless slave... your blank slate... an empty vessel for you to fill with your pleasure.”

Her words sparked a powerful surge within Alvin, and his cock went instantly hard. Turning to the side, he carefully removes his contacts, placing them in the holder beside the bed. As he turned to face her again, he had the satisfaction of seeing the beautiful girl’s face pale in surprise, before going flat and expressionless. A soft groan escaped Alvin’s lips, the erotic thrill of the moment making his rock hard member jump and throb.

Oohhhh... that’s soooo good, he thought to himself as he gently nudged Amber’s legs apart, preparing to enter her. Mmmm... the way she just melts under my power, her mind just opens up like a door for me, not just raping her mind and body, but that she isbegging me to do it! He moaned deeply as he slid inside her, her pussy hot and wet already. It’s more than just the sex... and she is an incredible fuck. But this... this is about control... about me getting off on taking it all away, every last speck of her control... and on her getting off on having it taken away.

He began thrusting into her in earnest then, the moment and the thrill pushing him right to the edge. He knew he wouldn’t last long under these conditions, but as his Tiger Eyes burned into Amber’s open glassy ones, she began to respond in tandem to his desire, her movements and actions rising to match his own. Nothing existed in her mind now except the pleasure, and the force of Alvin’s will manipulating it.

Alvin groaned deeply, pumping faster and faster, humping the poor girl for all he was worth, Amber moving with him, her body on auto-pilot but responding nevertheless to every touch, every caress, every deep hard THRUST as if her life depended on it. Alvin’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment as the twin sensations of his own body and the feedback of Amber’s pleasure nearly overwhelmed him.

Fuck! he thought dimly, panting with the exertion. Its so good, so good, oh fuck... oh fuck... not gonna last much longer... only a minute more at the most...

One minute.

Devon sighed deeply, shaking his head. When he’d said that he wanted to get out of the house for a hit and head to the mall, he’d thought nothing of having Maxine coming along with him. She was an attractive girl, one he often enjoyed spending time with even before deciding to make her HIS. Maybe it had been his desire to get out and do something more mundane and regular... maybe he’d felt a twinge of lingering guilt over what had nearly happened to Shanna. Maybe he’d temporarily taken leave of his senses. Whatever the reason, he’d decided as soon as they’d set out, that Maxine would be in her ‘normal’ persona while they were out.

Big mistake.

“Oh, like, wow!” she gushed, mouth agape as she ogled the black thigh high boot display in the shoe store window. “Oh... those are like, so totally incredible,” she said, nearly drooling. “I mean, just look at them, Devon! Those would, like, look so totally hot on me, don’t you think?”

Devon shrugged, lifting a shoulder. With all the boxes and bags of Maxine’s earlier purchases, one shoulder was the best he could manage. “I dunno,” he growled, his temper beginning to rise. “Alvin’s the one with the foot fetish, not me. Maybe next time you go wardrobe shopping you should bring him along instead!”

Maxine merely giggled. “Oh, Devon,” she giggled, “you are, like, such a GUY! Don’t you realize that for a girl to look her best, everything has to work together? And these boots would go just perfect with that short black skirt I just got! Ohhh... I’ve got to have them!”

Devon scowled. “Haven’t you got enough crap already? I’ve got sixty, maybe seventy pounds of clothes, jewelry, and accessories here! This was NOT what I envisioned when I invited you to the mall!”

Giving him a dour look, Maxine turned and sashayed into the shoe store. Rolling his eyes skyward, he entered the store after her, muttering softly. This is the LAST store, he thought to himself. I went out to relax, to take my mind of things, to unwind... but now I feel wound tighter than a pocketwatch.

A man dressed in a black business suit watched the exchange. He glanced down at the photograph taped to the inside of his newspaper in front of him and nodded. The boy in the black leather jacket and dark sunglasses matched his photo exactly. He glanced down at his watch and smiled, tapping the bench he sat on twice, two hard clean raps.

Inside the store, Devon barely held his frustration in check. The one pair of boots she’d had to have had turned into a shoelover’s scavenger hunt. Maxine sat comfortably on a small stool, chatting idly with the store clerk who handed her box after box of leather pumps, of various designs and colors. The clerk, a young man of twenty, was openly flirting with Maxine, ignoring Devon altogether, which only added to his irritation.

“...oh and THESE just scream ‘sophisticated’, and at the same time, they kinda whisper ‘slut’,” Maxine giggled. She lifted a slim red heel shod foot, flexing her ankle and wiggling her toes. “What do you think?” she asked the clerk. Would you take a second glance at me if I strolled by dressed in a tight red lyrca skirt and these on my feet?”

The man smiled, all silk and charm. “I’d probably do a double or a triple take at you strolling by no matter what you had on your feet,” he said with a chuckle. “But yeah, those shoes would definitely help you catch a man’s eye.”

“Ahem,” Devon said clearing his throat. “And just how many more shoes do you need, Maxine? You came in here for a pair of boots, not to buy out the entire store.” Turning to the clerk, he scowled. “We’ll take the boots, and that last pair of shoes, and that’s it. Take them to the register and ring them up.”

Maxine, scowled. “But I’m not finished! I need something to go with my other outfits!”

“I said, that’s enough!” Devon fired back, raising his voice. A tall man in a blue business suit, the only other person in the store, frowned. Devon paid him no mind. “It’s time to get out of here, Maxine. I mean it. Get your spoiled little ASS of that bench, pick up some of these damn boxes and bags, and let’s get out of here! I am not spending all of my goddamn night here looking at shoes!”

Maxine, her eyes wide, gasped, a hand to her mouth. The clerk, taken aback by him at first, placed a hand on Devon’s shoulder. “Sir, that’s uncalled for! This lady has done nothing to provoke that kind of comm—”

The boy’s words died in his throat as he stood there, a poleaxed expression on his face. Devon stared hard at him, his sunglasses raised, the fire dancing brightly in his Tiger Eyes... a fire that scalded and burned its way into the poor boy’s brain, turning his thoughts to ash, leaving behind only a vast empty soot-covered space, to be filled with whatever Devon chose.

Lowering his sunglasses again, breaking the spell, he handed the dazed clerk the pair of boots, and the red pumps. “Go, take these up to the desk and ring them up,” he said calmly. The boy turned to leave, but Devon caught his shoulder. Taking a small piece of paper out of his pocket, he placed it in the man’s hand. The clerk peered down at the crumpled newspaper clipping, and his eyes went wide.

“And bring back my change,” Devon added, as the man headed to the register.

Turning back to Maxine, he fixed her with a withering glare. You have forgotten yourself, maxine, he sent into her mind. Remember your place. You are my SLAVE and nothing more. You are not Maxine... she is just an illusion, just a persona you wear like a pair of flashy red pumps... something to wear out in public. His frown deepened, and Maxine paled visibly. I know you were just acting like the vain, egocentric little bitch you USED to be before I changed you... but enough is enough. You are not that girl anymore... just are just pretending. Got it?

Maxine gulped slightly, nodding. Her expression remained passive, even bored, but the REAL her, the ‘maxine’ inside, was quailing. She had displeased her Master. She had angered him! She’d thought she was obeying him, pleasing him, by following his command to “act like her old self while we’re at the mall”. Instead, she had gone overboard, losing herself, albeit temporarily, in her role. It had felt so... natural. For a bit, just a while, she had felt like the old Maxine... had forgotten who and what she really was.

But Devon had reminded her, all too clearly, when he’d removes his shades and stunned the clerk with his Eyes.

“Here are your bags, Sir,” the clerk said humbly, the dazed expression still plastered on his face. “And here is your change,” he added, handing over another small bag. It was filled with the entire contents of the register, as well as the safe in the back. “Thank you for your patronage here at the Shoe Hut,” he said, almost reverently. “I trust you will have a pleasant night.”

Devon grunted. A better night than you’ll have once the manager comes in and finds the money gone. Fucking prick. Next person you flirt with’s gonna be some tattooed bruiser in the same cell with you, named Rocky.

Glancing down at his watch, he sighed. “C’mon, Maxine. Get the lead out. It’s past time to go. I want to get out of here and grab a bite to eat before we head home.”

Maxine sighed. “Okay. Keep your shirt on. Just let me run to the bathroom a moment,” she said, walking into the back. “I’ll only be a minute.”

One minute.

“I would like to thank Colonel Anderson for his help with this next part of the demonstration, by allowing me the use of thirty of his special ops commandos.” He flipped a switch, and the lights dimmed, showing the room on the other side of the glass. Thirty black clad operatives stood in the middle of the room, all armed with handguns, rifles, and knives. “I take it you gave your men the instructions I asked you to, Colonel?”

The ruddy faced man nodded soberly. “I did. I instructed them that they were to kill the test subject as soon as he entered, to take him out with extreme prejudice. To use any and all methods available to them to take him down.” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Until the demonstration a moment ago, Mr. Denton, I thought you had flipped your lid. The idea of a single man, a civilian even, taking down thirty of my own special trained operatives while trapped in a 60 by 60 foot room...” He shook his head. “Now, I wonder if even three hundred men could do it.”

Denton picked up his remote. “We’re about to see, Colonel.” He pressed the button. “Begin the exercise. Protocol one-delta activated. Use of deadly force revoked. I repeat,” he said loudly for the benefit of the military brass, “use of deadly force revoked.”

“Just what are you playing at here, Denton?” General Wilson growled. “You trying to tell me that this Living Weapon of yours can take down a squad of well-trained, lightly armed men by himself, and without killing them?” He shook his head. “You must be out of your mind!”

James Denton scowled. “You know, General Wilson, I remember the last time you told me I was out of my mind. The day you ripped up my company’s military contracts in front of my face. The day my whole world crumbled to pieces around me.” He took a deep breath, steadying himself. He pointed to the glass, as the door on the far side opened and the familiar figure in the silver suit entered. “I now look forward to making you eat those words. Watch and learn.”

Chaos.

In the blink of an eye, Devon found himself blind. No, not blind, he realized, as he held his throbbing head. Blinded. And deafened. He’d caught a glimpse of the small canister as it had tumbled its way across the floor towards him, before the world had gone white. A flash grenade of some kind, he realized belatedly, meant to stun and disorient him.

And damned effective too, I might add, he thought dimly, as he got unsteadily to his feet.

His sunglasses had blocked most of the brightness, a fact that he was very grateful for. Still, his vision swam, his eyes watered, and his head still felt as if he were underwater. He opened the shutters on his mind, opening the fully, scanning in all directions. There was a lot of background noise in his mind, thoughts of the few patrons still milling around in the mall, some of whom curious about the bright flash of light. Devon knew a second attack was coming, but until his vision and hearing cleared up, all he had to defend himself with was his—

...tag him in the chest, take the open shot... someone was thinking. Close by. Devon clenched his eyes tightly, focusing his awareness, trying to pinpoint the direction. The source of the thought.

There.

Devon went limp, dropping back to the floor, just as several darts whizzed by. Striking the wall behind him. He heard the thud, barely, and knew his hearing was starting to return. “Damn... missed... getting back... his feet...”

He turned to his left, seeing a blurry dark shape. Dark Blue. The man in the dark blue suit... the only other patron in the store. Damn! Didn’t even know he was here! he thought, panicking. I’m getting nothing from him. Nada. Zip! Must be a damned Resistor! Scrambling to his feet, he stumbled his way towards the stock room, to buy himself some time.

Ducking behind the shelves, he rubbed his eyes, blinking away the tears. He was being hunted, he now knew. They’d no doubt been watching him all night, using their damned Resistor to follow him so he couldn’t pick up on his thoughts. It was obvious that James Denton had tracked him down, somehow. But how? Hadn’t they been careful? Hadn’t they been discrete in the use of their powers. Hadn’t they damn well watched their backs for any and all threats pointed in their directions?

Apparently not enough. He ran into the back, the thought came from somewhere just six feet away. Damn! This was supposed to be a quick snatch and grab!! He was blind and deaf, and knocked flat on his ass. How the hell did you miss him?

Dumb luck, that’s all, a second thought stream came up, close to the first one. He couldn’t have known we were aiming at him. Unless... shit... the kid was wearing sunglasses! He might have been able to block most of the flash! Shit! We’re fucked! If he lays into us with those damned Eyes of his...

Devon sighed. Fat chance of that. Heck, it might be days before these damned stars fade from my eyes. They think the plan is screwed... so they’ll come in blasting any second. Two norms and a Resistor. SHIT! I need a distraction or something!

Reaching out, he tried to contact the clerk. Nothing. They’d tranquilized him almost immediately as a precaution; he was down for the count. That left only Maxine... and as angry as he was at her at the moment, he wasn’t about to use her as a sacrificial lamb.

As it turned out, however, Maxine chose to act of her own accord. A jumble of confused and disjointed thoughts flowed out from the hunters seeking him, as Maxine began an assault of her own, screaming bloody murder, and throwing shoes from the racks at the dark dressed men. SHIT!! What the... where did she come from? OWW!! fuck... she’s throwing shoes! Dammit, Russ, tranq that bitch! C’mon we... ohh shit!! Security! FUCK!! Lets get out of here! Abort! Abort this goddamn fiasco! Abort!

Devon let out the shaky breath he’d been holding. Saved by the cavalry, he thought dimly. And just in the nick of time. Then his eyes widened. “Fuck! If they found me, then they much know about Shanna and Alvin too!! DAMN! FUCK! PISS!” Getting to his feet, he stumbled his way back through the stockroom door.

“Max!” he yelled, searching out blindly for her. “Give me your cell phone! NOW!!”

Chaos.

That word more than any described the scene below. General Wilson sat there in his seat, utterly enthralled by the strange disquieting scene before him. Several feet below them, inside a sealed room, thirty of the military’s best trained soldiers fought one man, a small, thin, pale, whispy man, more of a boy, really. Unarmed, untrained, the mere thought of such a contest should have been laughable at best. However, laughter was the farthest thing from the General’s mind as he watched the carnage below. Indeed, far from laughing, he felt slightly ill.

Because the thirty well-trained soldiers were losing.

The subject in question moved stealthily through the remaining throng of soldiers, those remaining seven that had learned from their comrades’ mistakes and avoided direct eye contact with their enemy. Despite his seemingly malnutritioned form, he moved gracefully, acrobatically side-stepping and ducking wild sweeps with the soldier’s knives, artfully dodging frantic barrages of enemy gunfire, despite the close quarters. His movements seemed to smooth to the General’s trained eyes, almost as if the boy was reading their movements before they even made them.

Then, with a start, he realized. No, not their movements. That damned abomination is actually reading their MINDS, knowing what actions they are going to take before they take them!

The grip he held on his chair increased. The General bit his lip, keeping his suspicions to himself, glancing over at James Denton. Cocky, self-sure, and arrogant as always, the industrial mogul watched not his creation at work, but the assembled audience instead, checking their reactions, already knowing the outcome of the battle below. Their eyes met for a moment, and Denton’s lips curled back in a feral smile. Unnerved, General Wilson turned his gaze back to the struggle going on below.

During his wool-gathering, the number of combatants had dropped to four. When two of the men accidentally shot each other trying to catch the subject in a crossfire, it became a one-on-one battle. Of all the soldiers, only the squad leader, a tall, stocky man with a blonde flat-top remained to face the prototype soldier. Desperate, more than a bit alarmed at the situation, he pulled a flash grenade from his belt.

“You damned freak,” he snarled as he pulled the pin. “Maybe this won’t KILL you, but it should slow you down long enough for me to finish the job!” Tossing the grenade, he closed his eyes and hunkered down, covering his ears. Seconds later, a small explosion rocked the room, the concussive force stinging him slightly. Drawing his knife, squinting through the smoke, he made his way past his stunned companions to where the subject lay curled up on the ground.

“What the hell is he doing?” Colonel Anderson yelled, pushing past Denton to grab the intercom mic. “Sergeant Thomas! Get back! For the love of God man, back away!!”

Ignoring the Colonel, the vengeance-minded soldier raised the knife high above his target. “Orders are orders,” he said venomously. “We were told to kill you... to show no mercy. To hold nothing back. Sorry pal, but this is war. There are only winners and losers.”

And you, are the loser.

Sergeant Thomas paused, stunned as the words echoed in his head. The scene before his eyes shifted, wavering slightly like the heat rising from the asphalt on a hot summer day, revealing not the stunned, quivering body of the subject, but instead the very flash grenade he had just tossed. That he had THOUGHT had exploded.

“Oh shit!”

The crack and explosion lifted the man off his feet, sending him crashing down to the ground. His face and chest were badly burned from the blast, and blood dribbled from his lip. He gasped, attempting to sit up, then collapsed as the pain overwhelmed him. He gurgled softly, then sighed, lying still.

A loud buzzer sounded, and the doors opened. Denton, still smirking, took the microphone from the stunned Colonel’s hands and announced loudly. “Objective completed. The operation is now over. Repeat, the operation is now over.” Dropping the mic, he turned to stare at his visitors once more.

“As I said, gentlemen. This new prototype weapon is EVERYTHING I promised you and more. It has the destructive power of a small H-bomb, yet it can travel literally anywhere undetected. Its uses are limited only by your imaginations, gentlemen. Think of it. A squad... no, an ARMY of genetically enhanced military soldiers, normal, average, everyday human beings on the outside, yet on the inside, each one a lethal killing machine, capable of taking down an entire army by itself. The perfect living, breathing “smart bomb”, perfectly under your control. When activated, it becomes a mindless robot, obeying its orders and letting nothing stand in its way. When you, the controller, wish it, he returns to his normal state, his previous state of awareness, with completely no memory of what he has done.”

“You’re talking MIND CONTROL!”

Denton turned to stare at General White, his expression almost pitying. “You say that as if it were a BAD THING, General. Come now, we’ll all adults here, right? We all know that the Pentagon has been toying around with mind control since back before World War II. The only reasons why its not widespread is that its too unpredictable, too many random elements to control. Different human minds react to the same stimuli differently, and a process that turned one man into an obedient servant turned another man’s brain to mush.” He smirked. “Or the fact that your control over the subject was never truly permanent, that some subjects would begin to regain control of themselves, or remember bits and pieces that were supposed to be forgotten.” He sighed deeply. “If only the masses flocking to the theaters to watch Denzel in that remake of The Manchurian Candidate knew just how realistic the facts of that movie were.”

General White’s face went red, and he opened his mouth to bluster, but Colonel Anderson stepped forward. “So what you are saying, Mr. Denton, is that your Living Weapons are foolproof, that the control you have over them is complete and total... that there is no chance of the unleashed Dogs of War coming back to bite the hand that feeds them?”

“Yes, Colonel,” Denton replied smoothly, “that is precisely what I am saying. Although I like your colorful euphemism much better. Gentlemen, put aside your squeamishness and your so-called moral outrage. This is no more immoral than developing genetically bred virii to infect enemy countries, or unleashing deadly chemical weapons. Indeed, this is merely the next phase of biological weaponry, where the weapon is man itself. You’ve seen what it can do. You know the potential uses for this weapon. So let’s cut through all the bullshit and start negotiating my price.”

The Pentagon brass turned away, murmuring to one another in a low whisper. Denton merely smiled, checking his fingernails, confident of the outcome. After his demonstrations, it was only a matter time. He’d dangled the carrot in front of their faces, and they simply had to bite.

General Wilson turned, his face ashen but resolute. “Mr. Denton,” he said gravely, “my colleagues and I all agree. Moral implications aside, this new weapon of yours is impressive. Since the whole 9/11 incident, terrorist nations have begun to think of the Unites States as a joke, a little kid they can push around. Well, it’s about time we started pushing back... and your little project may be able to do just that.” He held out his hand.

Denton licked his lips, his arms still at his side. “Just what are you saying, General?” he asked, delighted in making his nemesis squirm. “Are you saying you are interested in my offer? Would you like to do business?”

The General frowned. “Yes, of course. That’s exactly what I am saying.”

“I see.” Denton turned and walked a few feet away, then turned back. “Gentlemen, I am quite willing to deal with you, but you see, I’ve been burned by you before. Old wounds run deep. I have the contracts to the deal drawn up right here with me,” he said, patting his jacket pocket. “But before I conclude this matter, I have one last demand.” Sneering, he pointed to General Wilson. “I want General Wilson to sign the contract... while on his knees before me.”

“Absolutely not!” the white haired man fumed. “You can’t be serious, Denton! You go too far!”

“This is an outrage, Denton!” Colonel Anderson yelled.

“Are you out of your mind?” General White asked, incredulously.

“GENTELMEN!” Denton yelled, silencing them all. He held the contracts in his hand. “I and VERY serious about this! This man laughed while ripping up the government contract I held a decade ago, taunted me with my misfortune! I have never forgotten that day, the day that my entire world came crashing down on me! Piece by piece, bit by bit, I rebuilt what I’d lost, regained my place as the KING of industry in this country, only to have you all return to me like supplicants!” His eyes narrowed. “If you want this deal, you will concede to my terms. General Wilson WILL sign on his knees before me. And don’t think for a moment that I wouldn’t simply walk away and move my operation to a move accommodating place... say Russia? Or China? Somewhere where my genius would be truly appreciated.” He let the statement hang in the air for a moment.

General White sighed deeply, then placed a hand on Wilson’s shoulder. “You always knew there’d be a day when you’d have to sacrifice for your country, Sherman,” he said softly. “I believe him when he says he’d sell out the United States and deliver this Living Weapon of his to another country. We need this contract, Sherm. You know what you have to do.”

The veins in his forehead throbbed painfully as the sixty year old man proceeded to kneel before the industry mogul. His face was bright red, and fire danced behind his eyes as he prostrated himself before his hated rival. Staring up at the smirking, gloating face, he bit his tongue, forcing his fists to uncurl. Wordlessly, he waited, swearing that he would see James Denton ruined for this outrage if it took him the rest of his life. When he finally signed the contract, he rose to his feet, and, saying nothing, turned and exited the room, the other military heads following him out.

Denton laughed, watching them go. “Have a safe trip home, gentlemen,” he said with amusement.

Chaos.

In one second, Alvin had been in the heights of pleasure, all his strength, energy and focus on the chemical release of endorphins, and the next, his mind clearing of the hazy pleasure, all his focus shifted on comprehending the malicious thoughts drifting to him from all around. Just as he stilled, his body frozen in mid thrust, as he struggled to understand just WHERE these minds where, how five enemy minds could have gotten so close to his position without him picking them up, let alone IN THE HOUSE with him—the room turned dark.

Amber screamed. The bedroom door burst open, and if the dim light shining through the hallway hadn’t indicated the intruders positions, the light-mounted rifles they carried pinpointed their position and intent with eerie accuracy. Alvin’s brain was working on overtime, as he read their intent in their minds: Capture and immobilize!. Taking firm hold of the still screaming Amber, he rolled to his side as the enemy mercs raised their weapons, bringing them to bear on him. Time seemed to slow as Alvin and Amber turned, and rolled, the tranq darts whooshing as they traveled through the air towards their target. Alvin heard a soft thunk, the sound of metal piercing flesh, felt Amber stiffen in his arms.

And then Alvin released Amber, falling the short distance to the floor, beneath and behind the bed, and time returned to normal.

“Did we get him?” one of the mercs asked. “I had contact. Did we get the target?”

A spotlight shone on the bed inches above Alvin’s head. “Shit! It’s the girl. Fan out, he can’t have gotten too far.”

Heart pounding in his chest, Alvin searched out with his mind. Amber’s presence was quickly fading, quieted as she succumbed to the tranquilizers. Feeling not a moment’s pity for having used the girl as a human shield, he quickly scanned the rest of the house. After a moment, he located Amanda, huddling frightened in the basement where she had been doing laundry. She had seen the armed intruders a moment before the house had gone dark, and in her panicked state had fled back to the basement corner to hide.

Damn woman! Alvin all but shouted into her mind. Don’t just huddle there, help me! These shithead soldiers are trying to take me away!

MASTER!! Amanda thought back, nearly weeping with joy and relief. Thank God! But... what can I do? There are a lot of them... and they have guns! I don’t even own a gun! I’m so scared! She sniffed. I will do whatever you command me, Master, but... I don’t know how to help you. I’m just one woman.

The light of one of the rifles arced across Alvin’s naked hand. “He’s under the bed!” one of the men called out, stepping forward to take aim from the side. Alvin cursed, sliding deeper underneath the bed, reaching out for something, anything, to use as a weapon. The space under the bed was indeed full of junk, but nothing useful, merely Maxine and Amber’s dolls, stuffed animals, dirty clothes, old makeup, and notebooks.

“Fuck!” he yelled as the sound of darts flying sounded from inches away. Miraculously, he was still unmarked, the stupid stuffed animals shielding him from the rounds fired. His hand closing on the makeup case, a desperate idea took shape. Opening it, he held the mirror firmly in hand, as the quickly sent instructions to Amanda, telling her what he needed her to do. As the gunman on the side of the bed knelt down, Alvin reflected the gunlight back at him, directly into the man’s goggles.

“PISS-SHIT-FUCK!!! My eyes!!” the man yelled, turning away, pulling off the goggles. At the same time, Amanda switched on the breakers from the kitchen, filling the house once again with light. The four other mercs cried out as well, shielding their eyes, firing blindly in the process, taking down two of their own.

Scurrying away from the bed in the confusion, Alvin moved to Amber’s closet. Taking a baseball bat, he swung wickedly, scoring a single on the first intruder, a double, on the second, and cracking the bat over the leader’s head, making it a grand slam.

Sprinting downstairs, Alvin emerged into the kitchen, where Amanda awaited him. Still breathing heavily, wired with adrenaline and fear, he grabbed Amanda by the hand and half-pulled, half-dragged her outside to the car outside. Amanda, still glancing back at the house asked, “Where is Amber? Master, shouldn’t we wait for my daughter?”

Opening the driver’s seat door, he quickly started the engine. “Get in,” he ordered. Obediently, still glancing back at the house, Amanda obeyed. Alvin put the car into drive and sped off before her door even closed. Once on the road, he sighed, letting the tension drain from his body.

Amanda sighed as well. “Master, please,” she pleaded. “We have to go back, we have to go get Amber. We have to go get my daughter.”

Alvin shook his head. “It’s too late for Amber. Those... those fucking soldier boys, they took her. Knocked her out. They have her, Amanda... and if we try to go back for her, they’ll get us too.” He shivered. “SHIT!! I didn’t even have time to grab any fucking clothes!! How in the HELL did this happen? We were being so careful... always looking over our shoulders, checking to see if anyone was following us.” He glanced back in the rearview even as he said it. “My damned senses are always up, and yet they managed to strike the very moment my damned guard was down, when I was at my, er, um, weakest moment... without Devon there to back me up.”

Devon?

“DEVON!! OH SHIT!!!” He yelled, slamming on brakes hard. “FUCK!! If they came after me like this, if they knew where I was, knew I was alone, then they sure as HELL know where to find Devon! We’ve got to warn him!”

Amanda sat there, tears running down her cheeks, still thinking of her daughter. “Master, I don’t understand. Who were those men? Why were they doing this? What did they want?”

“SHUT UP, BITCH!” he growled. “I haven’t got the time to explain or baby you! This is serious shit we’re in!” Jerking her purse from her, he pulled out her cell and tossed it to her. Turning the car around, Alvin drove towards the Town Square Mall. “Dial Devon’s cell phone now! We’ve got to reach him and tell him and Maxine to be careful.”

Amanda nodded softly, dialing the number. As she waited for the call to connect, she frowned. “Oh, and Master,” she asked, thinking, “what about your other little friend, the cute blonde girl... um... what was her name?”

“Oh yeah, I remember. Master, what about your friend Shanna?”

“And how do you know Melinda?” Shanna blurted out angrily.

Jeffrey blinked, dropping his pencil. The question had caught him completely off guard, snapping his concentration. Shanna had been acting a bit distracted earlier, shy, and uncomfortable with his presence. He, too, felt a little uncomfortable around her, part curiosity, part attraction. Melinda’s warning to him had been running through his head off and on most of the day since she’d stopped him on the way to class, and seeing the surprise and anger evident on Shanna’s face right now, Melissa’s words came flooding back up to the forefront once more.

Damn right she killed them... they gave us all some bullshit story about natural causes... but we all knew who had done it... sweet innocent Kitty...

Staring into Jeffrey’s eyes, Shanna heard the words as well, felt Jeffrey’s doubt, his sudden fear of her. Which only served to hurt her even more. Tears formed in her eyes, but as always, refused to fall. “I didn’t kill them,” she blurted out, knowing the question in Jeffrey’s mind. “I didn’t! Melinda was a real bitch, a mean spirited bitch just like all the rest of the girls at the home!” She shook her head as the memories came back unbidden, her life of torment, of loneliness, of sadness.

Jeffery, stunned, shocked at her strange behavior, confused at her unprovoked outbursts, nevertheless tried to calm her down. “Um, Shanna, I, er... I don’t know what this is all about... but well, I don’t think you killed anyone.” Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. I dunno “But its okay. And I know Melinda... I know how she can be.” Sexy as hell, sex drive like a fucking mare in heat, but I could do without the attitude.

Shanna turned away, unable to take the onslaught, the true thoughts behind his words. She closed the blinders of her mind completely, shutting down her senses. She didn’t want to know what was going on in his mind anymore... not now that she knew that he’d been with Melinda. The very thought of kissing the same mouth that had kissed HERS made her physically ill.

Jeffery, taking her withdrawal as disbelief, tried again, reaching out to take Shanna’s hand. “Look, Shanna, I’m not sure what happened here. Things were going okay, We were studying, we were talking... and then, well, I don’t know what happened. C’mon, just relax for a minute, okay? Talk to me. Tell me what I did to upset you.”

Shanna jerked her hand out of his, standing up. Fixing him with a sad, pained look, she reached for her books. “It’s not what you did, or what you said,” she said quietly. “It was what you were thinking.” She sighed. “This was a stupid mistake. I... I need to go, all right? I can’t stay here.”

“What I was thinking?” Jeffery blinked. “Wait! Hold on!” Taking her hand again, holding tight, he forced her to look at him. “Quit turning away from me, okay? C’mon! Just explain. I don’t get it. How could you possibly know what I was thinking?”

Shanna struggled to get free. “Let me go! I want to leave!”

Jeffery held her tight. “I’ll let you go if you just talk to me, dammit! I like you, okay? I really do!” Shanna stopped struggling. “I admit it... I thought you were a little—” weird, freaky, odd, strange— “different, but Shanna, I do like you. I’m not just another one of those guys that just wants to get into your pants,” though damn that would be nice... I bet she’d be fucking hot “I just want to get to know you better.”

Shanna sighed deeply. “You know... I think I get it now. I understand why they do it. If this is what its like when you... are involved with someone... yeah. I think I understand why Devon and Alvin are that way.”

Jeffery frowned. “Who? Shanna, I don’t understand any of this.”

“All right!” Shanna yelled again, jerking free. “I’ll tell you. I can read your mind, all right? I’ve been getting what you’ve been thinking, as well as what you’ve been saying. Okay? I hear what you REALLY think about me, what you’d really like to do to me. Despite all your sweet words.” She frowned. “Don’t believe me, do you? Well fine. When you were five years old, you had a sleepover at your friend Ronnie’s house, and you peed in the bed. You were so embarrassed you called their pet dog Roger over and him on the bed and ran and told Ronnie’s parents the dog peed on the bed. They made him sleep outside from then on, and a week later Roger broke his chain and ran away.”

Jeffery took a step back, wide-eyed. “How the fuck did you know that? I... I never told... anyone... about that!”

“Just like I told you,” Shanna said, lip quivering. “I read it in your MIND!” She turned to leave again, but again Jeffery grabbed her arm. The conflicting, boiling emotions inside her reached their peak, and she glared at Jeffrey. “Let. Go. Of. Me. NOW!” she hissed.

Each word hit Jeffrey—literally—like a punch in the face, the last one sending him to his knees. Shanna stood there, gasping, more shocked by what she had just done now than by everything else that had happened tonight. Jeffery stared up at her from his knees, his eyes wide. Shanna realized then the extent of her powers, that she could have, if she wished it, have melted his brains, turned him into her plaything, eagerly spending the rest of his life on his knees begging to serve her every whim. She could have been his Mistress, kind or cruel, acting on any and every impulse that crossed her mind, and he would accept it. She had only to think it into existence.

Her clit jumped at the thought of it even as her mind recoiled from it.

“I... I have to go!” she cried, turning for the door now, not even bothering to pick up her books.

As her hand touched the doorknob, the lights went out. The doorknob twisted in her hand, and the door swung open. Shanna screamed, taking a rapid step backwards as three masked men, dressed in black, all carrying guns, stepped into the doorway. The leader swept the room twice with his light-equipped gun before locking back on Shanna’s form. “Primary target acquired,” he said. “Appears to be alone. Take her down!”

Three small red dots clustered in the center of Shanna’s chest. She stood, frozen, completely petrified, too scared to even think, let alone attack. The only thing in her mind besides the fear was the thought of her father and mother... that she would see them again very shortly.

“What the fuc—?!?”

The spotlight spun crazily as a dark shape bowled into the three men at the doorway, pushing them aside. “Shanna!” Jeffrey’s muffled voice called out from atop the three intruders. “RUN! GET OUT OF HERE QUICK! I’ll—ugh!” His words silenced as the sound of three soft thuds rang out.

Shanna’s paralysis was broken. “JEFFREY!!” she screamed. The first man regained his feet, taking aim with his gun. He fired, but Shanna was already moving. A louder twack sounded, the sound of plaster and wood shattering, clearly signaled the bullet’s miss. He turned, trying to track her, trying to keep her in sight, but before he knew it she was upon him.

“Shit!” he cried out, taking a step back, trying to avoid eye contact. Shanna, not a fighter by any means, knew the fastest and most effective way to take down a male adversary. With no regret at all, she kicked out, catching the gunman right between his legs. A deep explosion of air, followed by a gasping groan signaled a direct hit, and the man slipped to his knees, then to the floor, the gun clattering uselessly away. The heat and anger of the moment expended, Shanna turned to flee.

Twin darts struck her from behind, taking her down.

Getting back to his feet, Bert walked over to the downed girl. Kneeling, keeping his gun poised and ready, he checked her vitals with his free hand. He sighed. She was down, unconscious, but alive and well. “Hey, Charlie,” he called out softly, “you okay back there? Sounded like you hit you pretty hard back there.”

Charlie, cursing softly, managed to get to his knees. “Yeah... fuck... I’ll live.” He made his way over to Charlie and the girl. “Which is more than I can say for her, if I had my way!”

“Easy Charlie,” Bert replied. “She’s down. We have her. Now we just need to get out of here before they get the power restored. Darrell? Are you ready to leave? Did you get all the missed darts? We don’t want to leave behind any evidence we were here.”

“FUCK!” was his reply, as he grabbed Charlie from behind, shaking him roughly. “You sonofabitch!!”

“Hey!” Bert growled, showing the two apart. “Hey now! C’mon! We’re on a schedule here! We don’t have time for this sh—”

“The fucker brought live ammunition with him!” Darrel growled, holding up Charlie’s dropped Beretta. He glared at his partner. “A little ‘extra insurance’, eh Charlie? In case one of us got ‘turned’ trying to take the girl down? Is THAT it?”

“It wasn’t like that, okay!” Charlie fired back. “It was... just protection. Just in case. You KNOW what we’re dealing with here! C’mon Bert... surely you understand what I mean!”

Bert sighed deeply. “Shit. So much for leaving no evidence then.” He gestured to the unconscious students. “Look, we’re about out of time. Grab the girl, both of you, and take her outside to the van. The boy is secondary, the girl is all that matters, but we can’t leave any MORE loose ends,” he said, stressing the words as he glared at Charlie. “Move it. I’ll meet up with you.”

Standing alone in the corridor, Bert sighed deeply. Things never went the way they were supposed to, but this operation had taken a turn he hadn’t foreseen. It was one thing to be in the jungle, where your enemies were known, where you only had to kill them and get back out alive yourself. In the private sector, however, you had to worry about minimizing your kills, about taking your targets down alive, or when you were forced to kill, making it look like an accident instead of a planned hit. He groaned. The private sector sometimes made the military seem simple by comparison.

Voices coming from further down the abandoned hallway grabbed his attention. Cursing deeply, he grabbed Jeffrey by his shoulders and dragged him back inside the study room. Under ideal conditions, they should take the boy with them, or dispose of him somewhere where he won’t be found. As it was, time being a factor, all he could do was to place him back in the room, straighten up the chairs and books knocked over, and trust that the tranquilizers they’d shot him with would do their job. Hopefully, the boy would awaken drowsy and confused, not remembering much of the entire night; anything that did remain would be hazy and indistinct, something from a half remembered dream.

As long as they left behind no proof of the night to remind him of the details.

The sound of the AC system running alerted him. Shit. They reached the breaker box. They’re getting the power back on. Moving quickly, he made his way back to the far end of the hallway, to the window they had entered, and slipped out just as the lights came back on.

James Denton sighed softly, reclining in his leather chair back at his desk. He held out his glass of champagne and clinked it against those of Dr. Bradford, Dr. Murray, Dr. Bernard, and the rest of the research staff. He held up the signed contracts for all to see. The assembled men and women clapped.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Denton said with flourish, “I wish to thank you all for a job well done. Today’s success will make history... and will reflect very well in each of your paychecks,” he added, getting a chuckle or two. “But don’t get too complacent yet. We’ve still got a lot of work to do to fill the military’s order. We’ve perfected the prototype model, but we still have to perfect the process for transforming normal test subjects into cybernetically enhanced super soldiers. I have several operatives in the field now, bringing back three of the children of the original project, each with the abilities we’ve been researching. I want the lab prepared and ready for them.” He smiled evilly. “Our newest test subjects should be arriving shortly.”

As the researchers left the office to return to the lab, Dr. Bradford and Dr. Murray paused at the desk. Denton raised an eyebrow. “Is there something else, gentlemen?”

The two doctors glanced at one another, then Franklin cleared his throat. “Um, sir, I don’t mean to second-guess you, or anything,” he began. “I mean, the test went just as planned. The prototype performed up to specifications... but...”

“But,” Alex broke in, in his usual blunt way, “we think you may have jumped the gun just a bit. Sure, we’ve got all the bugs out of the prototype... but with HIM we pretty much had carte blanche to do whatever we needed to get him under control. We’re talking about taking average people and altering them genetically, physically, chemically, mentally... hell, practically reinventing them from the ground up! What if the success with the prototype was just a fluke? What if we can’t duplicate the same results in a normal person?”

James scowled. “That’s not exactly the response I was hoping for from you. We have the best scientific minds of the time at our disposal. We have an unlimited budget, curtsey of the United States military. We have the most advanced technology available.” A beep sounded, and he turned, checking the surveillance system as three black vans pulled into the compound. He smiled. “And now, we have three new test subjects with which to perfect the Neuro-Enhancement serum. I don’t want to hear talk of failure, gentlemen. This project is going to succeed. I refuse to accept anything less than total and complete success. Now, back to the lab.”

With a sigh, the two men turned and headed out of the office. Denton shook his head. He knew they were right; the process was far from perfected, and the one success had turned their prototype subject into a mindless zombie, a lobotomized vegetable barely capable of thought on its own. Still, failure was not an option, and he refused to even consider the idea.

“Sir, the prototype has returned to its cell,” Dr. Bernard’s voice sounded through the intercom. Denton switched on his audio/visual console, smiling slightly at the sight of his creation, standing perfectly at attention in its chamber. “We’re ready to run a full diagnostic of his systems to confirm, but I’d say that our boy is 100 percent.”

“Yes, well humor me, and make sure of it anyway,” Denton replied. He watched for a moment as the researchers hooked the young man into one of the diagnostic scanners, then turned away as they removed the boy’s helmet. He found it somewhat disturbing now and again, seeing the boy’s face. As always, his eyes were drawn to the large painting hanging on the wall behind his desk. The artist had done an amazingly good job, showing him, his wife, and his young son, all sitting together in front of the fireplace, despite the fact that his wife had died shortly after giving birth.

His eyes lingered, however, on his son’s face, a face that looked very much like his own. He shuddered slightly, remembering the face of their prototype weapon, the only successful test subject. Now, as often when struck with such melancholy moods, Denton found himself pulled, drawn, to his computer console. Booting up his private interface to the test subject control system, he established a link, and began typing.

]ID Recognized—Denton, James E.

:: Greetings, my boy.

] greet.ings. sir. how. may. i. ass.ist. you?

::Oh, you have assisted me enough for one day. You impressed my audience beyond their wildest expectations.

] thank. you. sir.

:: Are you damaged? Did you suffer any injuries during the operation?

] no. sir. all. my. sys.tems. are. ful.ly. funct.ion.al.

:: Good, good.

Denton sighed softly. His melancholy mood had deepened, not lightened. He knew he needed to end this and get back to work, preparing for the new arrivals. Still, some small seed of guilt drew him to continue on for just a moment more.

:: I am very proud of you today, my boy. Very proud. I always knew YOU would succeed where all our other test subjects failed. You HAD to succeed. It was in your very nature after all... in your very genes.

A slight pause, then,

] thank. you. sir. how. may. i. ass.ist. you?

A pause from Denton’s end. Taking a long drink from his wine glass, his hand moved to log off. Then grunting, he moved back to the keyboard, typing once again.

:: Tell me, do you know who you are?

The response came instantly.

] i. am. test. subject. ze.ro. one. four. des.ig.nat.ion. Pro.ject. Phoe.nix. i. am. the. pro.to.type. mod.el. of. the. ser.ies. i. am. pro.grammed. to—

:: No, no, discontinue. That is WHAT you are. I’m asking, do you know WHO you are?

A long long pause then. Denton felt his hand tightening around the glass, the knuckles growing pale, as he waited. He’d insisted that a backup file be kept of the subject’s identity and as much of his trace memory as possible, despite the warnings of the other researchers. A part of him wondered at his own sense of the macabre, at keeping a ghost alive inside a non-human shell, but despite his misgivings, he felt compelled to ask the question. To know.

] i. am. . . . . my. . . name. . . i. . . I am. . . My name is... Jason.

Denton sighed deeply, sagging into his chair. He drained the rest of the glass.

:: Very good. That’s correct. And who am I, Jason?

The words chilled him to his core, as they always did. James shut down the interface, deactivating the prototype’s lingering consciousness, wiping the unit’s memory of their private little session. Moving to the wet bar, he took out the scotch, wishing that he could wipe his own memory as easily. As he drank deeply, he saw before him not the wooden panel of the bar, but the computer screen, and the prototype’s reply, his last words before he had shut down the connection.

] Of course... you are... James Denton... my father.