The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Well, we were still not on the third floor, but we were in the ship. The stealth suits worked like a charm and now we could just walk through walls and doors. Through the use of something similar to sonar in bats and dolphins, we were able to map out the place in no time. Molly and the technical branch of Girls-are-Us had pegged them down where we could study them at our leisure. They had already tried to leave, only to discover they couldn’t energize their shield. We were sure they were pushing their pet scientists, somewhere on the ship right this very minute, for answers to why they weren’t moving.

Mesmer Power, or Animal Magnetism, turned out to be the simple ability to force the conscious mind to relax its conscious control over the wakened brain. The brain has a built-in defense mechanism to handle high-stress situations, situations it finds too horrendous or painful to cope with. It zones out in a trance-like state and forgets the entire traumatized incident. Amnesia is the tag that most psychiatrists put on it. Our Super Men could induce that state and manipulate it like a hypnotic trance.

Mesmer Power forces the brain to enter that stunned trance-like state, something similar to the effect known as road hypnosis brought on by fatigue. This allowed them to reach the subconscious mind any time they want to. The Power to force a Normal’s mind into that altered state we call hypnosis. They couldn’t read minds, or put thoughts in your mind for that matter, but you would always trust them and want to cooperate with them. You would always accept them as your best friend, your trusted best friend. The person you most want to please.

Induced Traumatic Stress Hypnosis; Theory and Application

As a side note, Becky found that the CIA, NSA, and several other branches of military intelligence, in a joint task force, had done a lot of research on what they called, “Induced Traumatic Stress Hypnosis”. Test subjects, actual agents that were fixing to wash out of the training program anyway, were paired as male-female teams. They were then given what they thought was a real assignment, allowed to bond with their male partner, then lead into traps and captured by the supposed enemy, which was really their own people. Once captured they were lightly tortured and threatened with what to them were near death experiences. Finally, the male partner was made to appear to be horribly, brutally murdered right in front of the female partner. The technique they finally devised seemed to work better on females for some reason.

In 70% of the tests, the women subjects went into a deeply stunned, catatonic, shocked, fatigue state. 20% of the women remained catatonic and had to be institutionalized, 80% entered a state similar to what is achieved with good hypnosis. In 50% of that 80% a skilled hypnotist was able to gain complete control of the test subject and have the subject remember or forget anything he wanted. In 40% of the test subjects, he could regain control if he was able to isolate her again at a later date. In 35% of them, he could plant trigger phrases and retain complete control over the test subject making her the perfect double agent, without her even knowing it or tripping a polygraph.

It was also accidentally discovered by one group of supposed interrogators and covered up by mutual consent of the upper brass, that the female subjects could be made into perfect sex slaves once their minds were forcefully taken this way. Unlike simple hypnosis this conditioning was permanent, and there was no choice involved after the psychotic break was achieved. Also of note was the fact that no drugs were used to achieve or maintain these results, which makes it highly unlikely anyone will be able to detect these changes in the test subjects after the conditioning.

Even Becky was unable to find out what was done with the subjects of these tests since they were just a number in the case file. She is still working on it though.

Most of this research came to light, believe it or not, when a particularly brutal and sadistic organization of kidnappers and rapist operating in Washington DC itself, were finally caught and exposed publicly by an anonymous tip to the Capitol Police.

The anonymous tip came from a small-time Internet billionaire, Becky eventually found out. The billionaire lets call him Jim, had a crush on a former Arizona high school head cheerleader, let’s call her Candy. Jim had sold his killer App to one of the major cell phone manufacturers and retired before he graduated from Arizona State Technical College. Candy attended the same college, and took a job as an aide to an old established Arizona senator and went off to DC. Jim soon found an excuse and followed her there.

Jim was still trying to get up the nerve to approach Candy when she disappeared. Jim noticed her disappearance and broke into the building’s CCTV camera system. Running the security tapes back he saw the well-organized snatch of Candy by a five-man team, as she was exiting her car in her apartment building’s private parking garage.

Being obsessed with Candy, Jim had violated at least half a dozen state and federal laws on invasion of privacy, but was able to follow electronically where they had taken Candy. Their destination turned out to be a large swank hotel on the Virginia side of the DC line. A hotel within easy walking distance of Capitol Hill itself. There the signal just disappeared something that should have been impossible Jim reasoned.

Jim was in a quandary over what to do. He should take action he reasoned, but what kind? He personally was no James Bond even though he was a brown belt Karate student. If he rushed in right now he didn’t know where she really was. If he went to the police they would demand proof and he would look like a stalker. He’d probably be arrested on the spot for his trouble he reasoned. So he finally called in what he had witnessed to the local police from a pay phone, (Yes little Johnny, DC still has some pay phones) wearing a hoodie and baseball cap.

The next day she still hadn’t returned, but no police report showed up on his scan of the Internet either. He was still debating with himself what to do when she showed back up three days later for work. Since Jim was already into her iPhone he could listen to her conversations with her friends. In no time he knew that something was terribly wrong. She claimed to all her concerned friends to have had a slight case of flu all weekend and had stayed in bed the whole time.

In for a penny, in for a pound, as the saying goes, Jim finally reasoned to himself in the end. On the Dark Web, anything is available “For a Price”. In days Jim had the devices he needed, and a decent tool kit to get into Candy’s room or past any lock or security system he was likely to encounter. The A/V devices he intended to use were as thin as ten-pound cat gut fishing line, almost invisible, about thirty-six inches long, with something like a glass bead on the end that contained the fisheye lens and microphone combination. They were supposed to be woven into the material of a dress or blouse like a loose thread and would continue to record audio, video, and GPS tracking data for months. That recorded data would automatically download to Jim’s modified iPhone when he transmitted the right code burst to them if they were in range to receive it. Until that time they were passive and virtually undetectable by any routine scan.

With these devices, Jim was able to discover that the hotel was just one of the many secret entrances to a large super-secret subterranean government covert installation that was under the Capital itself. An organization that was slowly taking over Capitol Hill one congressional aide and congresswoman at a time.

The Project, as originally conceived by the Agency, was only to target foreign deep cover agents working undercover in the States and turn them. Agents that would not be missed for three days or so. The Project had proven very successful, so successful in fact, that certain influential senior senators on the intelligence oversight committee in charge of seeing they didn’t violate the American citizen’s trust had called in some favors. Soon they had some of their own people given the “Treatment”, as it had come to be called by this time. After all, a staff member could never be too loyal, ha, ha.

At first some of the more timid of the “Good Old Boys”, and now some “Good Old Girls too” for that matter, that had been added to the exclusive club the Senate oversight committee had become hesitated to use it on American’s. Let’s face it they hesitated because the “Treatment” was far from 100% successful in every case. But after it was demonstrated, to the committee’s complete satisfaction, that the short term memory of that 3 day weekend could be easily removed if the “Treatment” didn’t take, all the objections disappeared. After that nobody objected any longer.

“No loss, no foul Senator, throw that pretty little aide back in the pool and get a new one for us to try the “Treatment” on. I’m sure there is no shortage of raw material to chose from in your great state, and satisfaction is guaranteed.” He was told by the four-star Air Force general in charge of the Program.

In the end, Jim did the right thing by Candy. Jim planted dope, and several of the more brutal bondage and torture videos he had edited together of the Senior Senator from Arizona and his kinky playmates in the senator’s congressional offices. The tapes and DVDs showed the Senator and his major supporters along with various other playmates in compromising positions. There was also footage of this in the van that the team was using to kidnap their next group of victims.

With the push of a button the van with another group of kidnapped victims was disabled at the toll booth and a call to 911 was made. This time a bogus APB on the van went out on the official police channel, along with a tip to the news media this time too. In minutes the kidnappers were in custody and the kidnap victims all released. All of them now giving statements about their harrowing kidnapping at the hands of these five thugs claiming to be NSA Operatives. The interviews to CNN and the more radical elements of the free press made headlines for weeks.

Weeks later, after his arrest while out on bond, the Senator became a never drink and drive statistic when he hit a concrete highway divider at 120 MPH in his BMW, answering the age-old question of the irresistible force and the immovable object again. The kidnapping team was later convicted for a couple of hundred different major felonies, given ninety-nine years on each count. When added all together it worked out to a little less than a thousand years, each to run concurrent, no chance of parole. They never talked and the no-name-organization, they were never proven to have worked for, quietly faded into the woodwork finally disappearing like the Cheshire Cat. The committee itself launched a cover-up of the Project and their little indiscretions. Suddenly Candy and a lot of other staffers were out of a job. Nobody at the time even knew who gave the tip that led to the convictions.

Becky, ever a romantic at heart, believe it or not, put it all together for us. The real target had appeared to have been the Senator she reasoned. If he was, then the next logical question to ask was, who had he wronged. A hunch led Becky to Candy, who Becky found and interviewed. If you knew how to read the signs, Candy had been the Senator’s unknowing sex slave Becky figured. Knowing that Becky found her now happily married to Jim, expecting their first child.

The Hive checked and is satisfied that other than using the triggers to make sure he got that first date he hasn’t abused her. In fact, Candy confirmed he had told her about the kidnapping on the second date, and she didn’t believe him till he used several of the triggers he had overheard on her. Becky found out that several of her triggers were fun on a date.

Candy thought about it, and decided in the end, that he had evidently loved her for a long time, and been too shy to do anything about it in high school. She is willing to admit that she wasn’t even aware of his existence in high school, and would never have dated him. After all, he was a geek, far below her social standing at the time, but what he had done for her now proved his love. Just look at how far he’d gone to protect her.

On reflection, she figured he was smart, evidently had plenty of money, and she decided she could certainly bring up his social standing. After all, he would be dating her now. Of course, right now he didn’t have a clue what any of that even meant. He was a little taller than she usually liked in her men at 6 foot 1 maybe 2, but wasn’t overweight or flabby by any means, which counted for something she guessed. Right now he wore glasses, but laser surgery was always an option, or maybe she could just get used to the glasses, something smaller, maybe wireframes. Her sex life had certainly become more interesting after he had shared some of her hidden triggers with her. Life was good she finally decided.

When the Race is Run and We Lost.

It’s funny to think that Homo Superior could be the end of Homo Sapiens like Homo Sapiens and Cro Magnon man was too poor old Neanderthal 30,000 years ago. Just as fatal to us in the end as the black hole ever was to our sun. Yes, the Girls and the Builders agreed that Homo Superior’s genes, call it to mind control or Mesmerism it didn’t make any difference in the long run, would take over the gene pool in the end. There was no way for a Normal, yes the name had already stuck, to compete with them.

I personally would like to think that society could handle the challenge, but the realist in me says Hell no. I mean just look at how well we’ve handled an addiction to recreational drugs and HIV. I mean think about it, Homo Superior’s sperm was just plain superior. Every time the race was run his sperm reached that vulnerable zygote first.

His Mesmer Power would guarantee that every woman would allow herself to be fucked by him. Every woman he fucked would conceive a male child that would have those same genes, and pass them on to all his male children, who would, in turn, pass them on too. There was even cause to believe that even the common birth control pills and implants would prove ineffective against his superior sperm after all Olivia still had her implant when we checked.

In mere generations, the balance would shift and Homo Superior would rule this world too, just like on the world they came from. It would wind up another world dominated by males fighting each other for superiority. There would be no World War III. No Apocalyptic event, just more males being born every year and fewer females, until the trend could not be reversed. Think of it a world full of these males and no females to mate with.

I had read several proposals by CDC and others to control the birth rate of certain annoying and harmful insect species by the introduction of the so-called super female who is sterile, but this is by the male that is more virile. Even if I warned the world leaders right now do you really think they could stop it? Would they have the guts to stop it even if they believed me?

Pain Conquers All

By now we had control of the ship. Pain had proven to be an effective counter to Mesmerism. As long as we had somebody monitoring us remotely, somebody that they couldn’t get to. Someone ready, I even think happy, to zap us if we even started looking distracted. Mesmerism didn’t work if you were in pain it appeared. Well, they couldn’t fully take control of us anyway. When we finally cornered them and it came to the shoot-out it was no contest. Our EMP guns knocked them unconscious and a drug patch kept them that way. By the way, our patches bond with human flesh and can only be removed with a special solvent, or wait 48 hours for them to dissolve, they are biodegradable.

Then came the realization of the enormous burden we had inherited when we searched the ship. For twenty years they had been working on this Project. That was 250 girls in school every year, say 240 days or 8 months gestation time, twins each time they were impregnated. That comes out to be roughly 13,500 babes, plus or minus a few hundred. All in their very own little individual self contained stasis chamber in suspended animation. Removed surgically from their mother’s womb prematurely, they were now just waiting to be born. The chamber was a deep black capsule two feet in diameter and three feet long. We had just inherited over 13,000 infants.

Aside from Olivia none of these school girls were even aware they had even been pregnant, and I wasn’t about to tell them. The Hive wasn’t about to tell them either. The girls in school were too young, the girls out of school didn’t need the extra baggage. None of this was their fault.

Since there were small children involved now, I called in everyone to discuss what to do with our Super Men and the babies. Even the King was consulted on this issue. It turned out that these were not identical twins as we had originally thought. Identical twins are the result of a single egg or zygote getting fertilized and splitting. In our case, these were fraternal twins. Multiple eggs getting fertilized at the same time. And just like we had thought, it had been done in Vetro. At least they were a matching pair of one boy and one girl, and no we were not sure they hadn’t bought eggs on the open market. I mean we didn’t know if they were brother and sister, or even related to each other for that matter. Their record keeping left much to be desired we discovered.

By this time everyone was aware of what a threat our Super Men posed to the normal human race. A small percentage of Girls-are-Us voted to sterilize, mind wipe them, and then release them back out into the world.

A larger majority of our members voted to just outright kill them, no sugar coated terminate with extreme prejudice or other cute terms, just kill the sons-of-bitches and make damned sure the bodies were cremated where nobody could duplicate them again.

Another group wanted to study them. The argument for study went that these were just 13 of a whole planet full. It was possible we would encounter them or something like them again. We needed to know more about them, especially how to resist their power. The only way to do that was to keep them alive, well, and isolated for study.

The Mesmer Power, in and of itself wasn’t so bad, Helen for one argued. It might even be useful the Hive reasoned if we could reproduce the effect. All this was over my objection I might add. It was the Power, added to their ability to breed true that was dangerous. The ability to only produce males, and that obsessive, even financial will to breed one more of their kind that would destroy the world as we knew it.

When we had set up PFEDAMS I didn’t know anything about Mesmer Power, or the so-called ESP genes the paranormal researchers had located, for that matter. Now that we knew what we were up against, I thought it would be the right place to study these Masters of the Universe. I just wasn’t sure Jane and company were the people for the job.

When we did a little checking we found that literally hundreds of mainstream universities were doing research into those same genes and doing gene therapy on them too. Among the researchers were the usual 10% of true believers. The dreamers that believed man could be better than he was. On the other hand, there was the other 10% that believed they could discover and eradicate all the bad out of man by manipulating those same genes. They believed that all criminal behavior like, rape, violent assaults, and murder were the result of defective genes. Like the Phrenologist of the last part of the 19th Century used to think that the Mark of Cain could be read in the shape of the skull, our modern researchers believed a person was predisposed to a life of crime with some of those same genes.

Then there were the Penologist that studied how to contain those same criminals that society produces. If we were going to run a prison planet we were going to need some of our own to control the population eventually. So we started recruiting for all positions. We were not aiming for the top people in the fields, in fact, we were aiming for the ones that felt they were being held back by all the rules and red tape. We were after the black sheep of the tribe, the ones that would break those rules if given half a chance.

In no time we had a list of the rogues in the different fields we wanted and were prepared to make our job offer, well pitch anyway. Of the 500 we expected to recruit, 375 were males under 29 years of age, and 125 were females under 29. All of them were unmarried at this time and not particularly close to their families or friends anyway.

The job offer was to move to KSA and agree to work in a closed community, with no outside communication for a period of five years on an as yet undisclosed project. They would be provided a salary package well above anything they could expect to make outside the Project itself. These were not the glamorous fields that demanded the big bucks after all.

Each lead researcher was offered the chance to recruit their own staff or team, according to how you looked at it. Of course, it was understood they would have to agree to the same terms and background investigation as their leader. If they couldn’t or wouldn’t we would provide a staff for them out of a pool we were going to establish. They would be provided any equipment they needed to complete the project. Most readily agreed to the terms.

The ones that didn’t agree were evaluated and replacements found when possible. Of course, if they were ruled accentual to the Project other arrangements were made to acquire them. There are approximately 7 billion people on the Earth at this moment, there are 11 deaths every hour, a large percentage of those deaths are caused by accidents. We have already made arrangements for our needed scientist to become part of those statistics. On PFEDAMS we would handle their complaints about their early demise.

Since we had 500 more Mad Scientist that we needed to support. We needed a staff to cater to their needs. Jane’s crew had led a Spartan existence on their little island up until now. When the supplies in the cafeteria ran out we supplied them with Russian MRE, better known as “meals ready to eat”. We had found that it seemed every country, and agency for that matter, in the world now had their own field rations. MRE’s had actually become ethnic foods, who knew. They also had their own favorite names for them too, though I personally had always enjoyed them.

Anyway, I gave Ann orders to recruit a staff for our prison planet and she did. Prostitution is considered the second oldest profession on Earth, solder being number one. Most countries, even the United States, has some form of legalized prostitution, whore houses, bordellos, whatever. Sex trafficking has always existed and will probably continue to exist forever. I could make the argument that marriage is just compensated sex.

Of course, the Japanese have taken it one step further with their Enjo-Kosai, or “Compensated Dating”. This is the practice of young schoolgirls dating older men for compensation, the form the compensation takes being the open question. One UN study went on to claim that as much as 30% of the mainstream Japanese population agree with the practice and 13% of all Japanese schoolgirls now engaged in the practice in some manner. The study also points out that both of those numbers are steadily increasing

Other than enslaving their sex workers with the always readily availability cheap addictive drugs at first very little has changed in the sex trade. That addiction to those drugs and their rising price are now forcing the sex workers to continue to work for them was the backbone of the industry. Nothing has really changed in years. All of this, for the most part, is voluntary, with very little coercion or actual violence involved. In most of the modern industrial nations today it is business as usual to addict their workers to the cheap readily available drugs.

A Message Sent, A Village Collected

Of course even today there were still bitter wars of “Ethnic Cleansing” going on around the world. Most of them so old that neither predator nor prey even knows anymore who had first started it. In most of them, you could pick and choose those you wanted to collect if you were not too picky about the condition of the product collected.

The product being women and children that for the most part had experienced the worst that humans can do to their fellow man. Women, well really no more than children, that had lost everything. Women that had been raped and beaten repeatedly, and were too malnourished to even carry a child to term anymore. These were the hopeless ones that Ann and company sought out and offered an escape of sorts.

They weren’t recruiting sex slaves, though sex was a part of it, an expected part. They were really being offered membership into the Hive. A place, a home, that would take care of them, nurture them, and offer them shelter from the storm raging around them. All they had to give in return was their loyalty and trust, which was more than some could give after being betrayed so often.

Since 2014 Serbia has been negotiating its EU accession with the perspective of joining the European Union by 2025. It is a member of the UN, CoE, OSCE, PfP, BSEC, CEFTA and it is acceding to the WTO. It was originally part of Yugoslavia under Tito after WW II, and it’s record on human rights leaves much to be desired.

The ancient mountains in the southeast corner of the country belong to the Rilo-Rhodope Mountain chain system. A rough isolated area inhospitable to outsiders. Elevations there range from the Balkan Mountains at 7,000 feet to some of the lowest near the Danube river at Prahovo. That same rugged topography that has kept it from urban development has also protected it from major invasions. That was where the village of Vojvodina lay, with a population of maybe 1,500 at last count.

Doroteja Milutin, that was her name, and Doroteja meant “gift of God”, which she had always been proud of until now. It seems there’s some kind of rule in Serbia that says all good Serbian names must have a magical meaning. She was also said to come from the line of the last Veliki Vojvoda (translated as “duke” or “prince”) that had held the old rundown derelict castle perched high on the edge of the narrow gorge above the Danube river that flowed through this isolated valley. Her father had been the last of a long and proud line of robber barons.

The family had also later been the border guard of the realm and nobility at one time under a Polish king. She guessed that she had inherited the title now since the whole village had been overrun by the Albanian Gangsters this morning and everybody but her and a few other women were now dead.

They had been caught completely off guard and driven like dumb cattle into the town square in the middle of the village at gunpoint. There they had all been forced to watch as all the males were butchered. First machine gunned down in the open market square and then bayoneted with cheap knockoffs of AK47 rifles to make sure they were all dead. Then all the old women had followed the males into death. Finally after much argument among themselves all the smaller children, and even infants, were forcefully taken aside and killed too. All that was left of her village was maybe a hundred women from the age of 11 to 40. Of the over a thousand that had existed this morning only a hundred were left. They had then been made to watch as the bodies of their loved ones were bulldozed into a deep gorge just outside of town and the mountain above it was dynamited to fill it, removing any hope that some of their loved ones might have survived.

Now she huddled with her two best friends, Borislava, her name meaning “Glory in Battle”, and Aleksandra, her name meaning “Defender of Men”. They were the last of the providence’s line of župan, or the city’s hereditary councilmen. The duty to lead her people had fallen to her and her childhood friends only because they still lived. She could only pray that they survived this ordeal, thoughts of revenge and vengeance would have to come later if ever, she grimly thought.

They had all been stripped naked, even their shoes taken. All their clothes and possessions put in black garbage bags. The bags were then thrown onto the back of the old British Paladin armored car the Gangsters had. They were all forced to walk before it and were beaten if they faltered, or fell too far behind. Two women had already been shot because they tried to run away. They didn’t bother to even try to chase them down. The sniper that rode on top of the Paladin, with his long sniper rifle across his chest, took them down before they got a thousand yards. So far nobody else had refused to continue the forced march or had fatally wandered too far from the group themselves yet. That was three days ago and still, none of them could figure where they were headed or why they were still alive.

The Gangsters finally allowed them to stop after it became too dark to see. While they were stopped they passed out bottled water and some kind of hard biscuit which they all wolfed down as fast as they could. Any pretense of dignity long since forgotten as they huddled their naked bodies together for the animal warmth they provided each other.

It was RE that brought us information about these women and their fate. He knew we needed warm bodies and him and the Organization of Assassins needed to send a strong message to the Albanian, Kosovar and Montenegro extremists the Gangsters were working with. This was an exploratory raid for the well organized criminal organization. If it succeeded actual war would break out again soon and the whole area was just recovering from the last one. This was not the time for a subtle surgical strike or even a blunt heavy handed smash for that matter.

RE and his four girls had given this a lot of thought and little Darcy had suggested that they use us to deliver the message. Three independent twenty man brigades were operating in Serbia at this very moment. All three must disappear at the same exact moment without even a whimper, and no trace of them must be left behind as to what happened to them. We must make them all disappear at the same time while RE is confronting their real Master in Moscow. RE must convince him that the Organization of Assassins is responsible for their disappearance, and the same thing will happen to any force he sends in after this.

Ann and Becky wanted to prove how good they were as my bodyguards. Molly, on the other hand, wanted to prove how good her team’s new stealth suits and armor were. I just wanted to get it done without anybody getting hurt. The armor was the new smart fabric that could be anything. It could mimic a mini skirt or become a space suit in the blink of an eye, but it literally drank the juice. Without the power pack, it was just the last thing it mimicked and was certainly not bulletproof.

For combat conditions like these, there were also foam plastic inserts to protect critical areas of our delicate human bodies. Yes, the smart material could stop the bullet, but there was still the momentum and inertia to pay for. The foam rubber-like material these inserts were made of had an interesting property, it absorbed the force of the blow and shed it at right angles to the vector of the blow. A blow that would have no doubt cracked ribs, or broken bones, and possibly damaged the heart, or a kidney for that matter, became just a large ugly blue bruise. A bruise that was painful but survivable, as the blow was spread out over a large area of that delicate body. The clock part had just been added along with a bigger battery pack.

Once there our new EMP guns, thanks again to Molly and company at Girls-are-Us, would take care of any opposition we were likely to encounter from these sixty well-armed Gangsters. The problem wasn’t them, it was the six Chinook helicopters they were waiting for. Six helicopters that belonged to a well known American charitable foundation and were not supposed to be here. Six helicopters that were going to disappear and cause a huge international scandal.

The town of Prahovoica had been chosen as the meeting place because of the wide open wheat fields there. I’m always impressed watching an echelon of six big Chinook sweep in and land on the wide fields like this in classic echelon spearhead formation. As their rotors were winding down the flight crews jumped down expecting to see the Gangsters and their prisoners. What they saw instead was me, Ann, and Becky suddenly just standing there, appearing out of the blue. I could have had the Girls create an Xmen uniform, but instead, we had chosen simple computer-generated camo utilities.

We didn’t waste any time putting them all down, even the pilots. We now had everyone. Sixty Gangsters, over a hundred something women and children, and now the pilots and crews of the Chinook were all asleep too.

Soon the other Girls Ann had chosen to help us on our little adventure joined us. One group to fly the choppers, one group to apply the drug patches and load the bodies and another group to man the radios and other communications gear. All we were waiting on now was the signal from RE that he had issued his ultimatum to the Russian oligarchic that was really running this thing.

How do you make all this disappear you wonder? The King of Saudi Arabia helped us of course. The King provided us with air tankers to refuel in midair, which extended our flight range. He also allowed us to park ours with his own vast fleet. Our few disappeared among his many. I have plans for those six choppers, even if I have to create my own humanitarian relief agency. An agency which will be convenient in the future to collect more volunteers.

RE thanked us for our help and inquired about what was going to happen to them. Ann took over the show at that point. She explained that all the men were going to get a complete mind wipe. They would lose all their memory of who they were but retain all their muscle memory. The Pilots would remember how to fly the Chinook, but not how they learned it. The same went for the other men, they would remember any skills they had, but nothing else. They would be joining the labor pool on PFEDAMS, never to see this planet again.

“I notice that was the men Harry, what about the women? More sex slaves for Master.” RE wanted to know.

“They’ll be given a choice of course. We hope they all decide to join the Hive, but even if they don’t they can’t ever go home. We’re hoping they can all face the harsh reality of the world they wake up to. We’re also hoping that they can become the jailers our prison planet needs.” Ann stated flatly.

“Of course we’re offering them all the full nannies package, even the clearly underage ones too. We’ll try to keep all of them together as a package. Maybe it will lessen the trauma they’re naturally going to suffer if they’re kept together speaking the same language and all.” I interjected.

“We’ll see Harry.” Ann put in hopefully I think.

It turned out that it was very easy to chemically erase an entire personality. To erase those chemically coded long chain molecules we call long term memory. To create a condition similar to amnesia, but permanent. Though they lost who they were, they didn’t lose any of what they were. They were still potty trained, thank God. Hey, I was really worried when Ann and Molly first broached this idea to me. If they knew English before they still did. The same went for all those other skills we learned in childhood and take for granted as we grow up. I didn’t want to use the nannies and I certainly didn’t want to waste the time reeducating them, but I could see the reason we needed the manpower on PFEDAMS.

Discussions on Eden

“How long can they last in those tube things Molly.” I wanted to know about the children we had inherited.

“In theory forever. In reality, until the battery dies.” Molly laughed.

“So no time soon?” I questioned.

“Well, I’d like to get them all out of there as soon as possible Harry. After all, we don’t know what the long term effects are really going to be.” Ann jumped in with hers and the Hives concerns.

“Will somebody mind explaining what our Super Men were trying for here Ann,” I asked

“This is Stela Russell and her assistant Haley Smith who we just recruited. I think they can explain it best Harry.” Ann finished directing the two women standing by her now to take over.

“These, so-called Super Men of yours, came from another dimension that produced their gene mutations. We also have reason to believe they were genetically modified and not a natural mutation. They were designed and built by their makers, Sir. I know that everybody laughs and jokes about slow swimmers and pinheads, but in this case, it is a truism. These mutants produce sperm that is almost all male and are twice as fast and active as normal sperm. This is important too, they live longer...noticeably longer in the female uterus making it more likely the female will conceive by them.” The one with the name tag Stela Russell paused and looked over her audience for questions. Tall, at over 6 feet, long deep black hair, cut to fall around her heart-shaped Asian face. In a V-neck T-shirt with “I Love Berkeley” written across it and stretched to its limit by well shaped upturned breasts, along with a pair of short shorts that I swear I could see her camel toe poking out of. All of it wrapped up in an open white lab coat that almost swept the floor. I’m in love I thought to myself.

«Nohing new there Master.» came back from the Hive in laughter.

“How about the birth control thing?” I finally thought to ask.

“Once again, “NO FORM OF BIRTH CONTROL IS 100%". Murphy’s Law is in full effect here. If they can they will if they can’t they probably will anyway I’d say.” She shot back, with a musical laugh and smirk.

“How about this slave race they are developing,” Becky asked.

“They seemed to be aiming at the so-called ESP genes, Becky. Their researchers, whom we have questioned, believe that they can make those genes recessive and get rid of them entirely eventually. Thus breeding a subspecies of human that would always breed true. Of course, they wouldn’t have the Power. In fact, none of their offspring will ever have the Power, even if they conceived a male child by one of these Masters of the Universe, no Power. They would always be obedient and docile too. They were also breeding for beauty, intelligence, and longevity too.” She finished up.

“Do you believe their plan will work?” I asked Stela.

“Let me answer that Stela.” her assistant Haley Smith said, stepping forward. Haley was a short slim breastless little thing, with extra long shapely legs, and a buzz cut of black brisling hair that stood straight up like the crest of some bird. The only thing delineating her from one of the boys was the voice. It was a voice that you would never mistake for a male.

“As I’m sure everyone is aware all our DNA is constantly mutating. Most of those mutations don’t survive very long, but some become useful and are passed on as useful mutations to the next generation. In this case, I think we can safely predict that yes their plan would have worked. They created a large enough pool of those specific genes to breed true for countless generations to come. The simple answer is Yes it would have worked.” Haley put in.

“And Olivia and the other girls,” I asked.

“Most of the girls, women, what have you, were going to be recalled for a class reunion, posthypnotic suggestions would have seen to it that they all came back, just before they finished the Project and prepared to leave. At that time they would all be graded. One group would remain in suspended animation as breeding stock for the Masters when one of them died or needed to be replaced. The other group would be sterilized, hysterotomies performed, and used to educate and train the next generation after they were removed from their tubes at their final destination.” Haley finished.

“They were going to be the Mothers of the next generation.” Stela put in.

«Now what is going to happen?» they both demanded on our link. Until now I wasn’t sure they had been given the nannies.

“I’m Candy Sir, we took this problem up with the King. As I’m sure you are aware he has become much more...more...progressive...more...I guess the word I’m looking for is, tolerant since he knows now that the West will never completely irradiate his people and their way of life from Earth. His great vision has given him a new outlook on life. He has even granted equal rights to all the women of the Kingdom and relaxed the dress code the women live under. The King agreed the old policies were too restrictive in modern society. I mean, my God, who doesn’t drive today.”

“He has also set the infamous Muttaween, those zealous volunteers of the religious police, religious fanatics really, known as the Committee for the Propagation of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice, the task of reining in the males that are abusing women for a change. He said, and I quote him now, “If they are protecting female virtue then let them start.”

“I’m not saying we aren’t having a few problems, but we are making progress. We also gave the King some nannies, without his knowledge I might add, and he’ll probably last another twenty years or so at least. We figured it would have been a shame to get him all broken in and lose him to old age.” Ann put in.

“Anyway, we were thinking that we could just take them all to PFEDAMS. Decant all the children there and pass them off as the children of foreign workers over there. You know the single mom thing. One Girl multiple adopted children. We could pick up the entire school and bring it over there for that matter.” Becky took up where Ann left off.

“We’ve done a lot of thinking on this and can find no precedence for educating 13 thousand infants at one time. The closest thing we can find for an example is the Israelis Kibbutz after WW II. It’s a good thing we have time to prepare for this.” Ann laughed.

“The King at first wanted...no make that demanded is more like it, that they all be raised Moslem, he wasn’t too thrilled when we brought up the Jewish Israelis Kibbutz ideal, but we objected to his suggestion. We finally all agreed that they would not be taught any religion until they were old enough to ask for instruction themselves without outside influence. I mean this is going to be a stable population of over thirteen thousand, evenly divided between male and females. A population breed for intelligence, beauty, longevity and a few other things we didn’t bring to the King’s direct attention, but we can’t rule out he hasn’t already guessed. These are going to be wonderful citizens for any country or nation that gets them in twenty years or so. Enough to start a wonderful colony on any planet we chose for them.” Becky added.

“As for the Masters of the Universe, they are in their own individual stasis tube awaiting a decision, and before somebody suggests giving them a simple vasectomy, I would like to point out that things...you know...those things...things down there, can grow back.” Candy finished up lamely.

“Say nothing is 100% Candy.” Harry laughed.

“As your so fond of saying Master, “If it can go wrong it will, if it can’t possibly go wrong it will anyway.” Ha, ha.” Ann put in.

“It’s good we don’t have to choose then right now.” Harry chuckled as he walked away leaving the problem for another day and somebody else to take responsibility for.

Even though our 13 Supermen were on ice right now they were still a constant reminder that there was a whole planet full of them still out there. Even if they never discovered a way to get off their world there was always the possibility of them being discovered by some unlucky Smuck like almost happened to us. Their fanatical need, no genetic imperative, to breed being the “Kiss of Death” for the entire human race as we know it.

Imagine the end of the world being one old man, THE ONE, dying of old age. The last Homo Superior on Earth just dying of old age. Talk about going out with a whimper?