The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

(XVII.)

Michael Evans managed to avoid Scott for the next two weeks. Thing had gotten seriously out of hand. He felt deeply torn; on the one hand, he needed to confront Scott about his behavior, but on the other hand, Scott Littlejohn had been his best friend more years than he could count. And then there was the guilt he felt, that he had encouraged Scott to use his power, to make things better for himself around school. Apparently his speech had worked too well. Scott was using his power, in spades.

The thing that had upset him the most was Vanessa. When Scott had called her over to him, and she’d gone, smiling, like a love-struck little slave, Mike had nearly lost it. Only shock and dismay had kept him from leaping on top of the kid and bashing in his teeth. Vanessa was HIS love, his girlfriend, the one person other than Scott, that he’d really cared about. He’d stood there in the school parking lot, as he walked away with his date and Mike’s under his arms, laughing. Then, after he’d had time to react, he went looking for them, running up and down the streets, all the way to Scott’s house, where a party was in full swing. He’d made to go inside, when Vanessa pulled him into the bushes outside the house.

She’d never been under Scott’s control, as it turned out. Seeing Scott, knowing what he had done to the school, en masse, she’d simply acted the way Scott had expected her to, to keep him from knowing about the earplugs. Furthermore, she realized that she would be in a unique situation to keep tabs on Scott’s activities if he thought she was completely under his sway. Mike listened dubiously to Vanessa’s plan, not wanting to go along with it, not wanting her in such a dangerous position, but the more she spoke, the more he realized that she was right. Finally, he agreed with her, telling her to stay close to Scott, but not to try and overplay her hand.

Mike had the inside scoop on Scotty’s plans. Now he needed a way to stop him. Not merely content to rule the school, he’d begun plans on spreading his hypnotic message to the entire town via the city radio station. Mike shuddered inwardly at the thought of the entire town, adults and children alike, completely devoted and loyal to Scott, doing whatever he wanted. Somehow, he had to find a way to break Scotty’s stranglehold on town.

“Well, well, well,” Scott Littlejohn mused, glancing up from his spot by the lockers at Mike, as he approached his position. Mike noticed Scott and the small crowd of football players around his locker, but he walked forward resolutely, showing no fear. “I was wondering what I had to do to catch up with you, Mikey,” Scott continued, sliding one step back as Mike began turning the combination to his locker. “You never call, you never write, you avoid me in the hallways. I’m starting to think you don’t like me anymore, old ‘buddy’.”

Mike sighed deeply. “Can we talk somewhere,” he asked, glancing meaningfully at the six boys standing behind him. “Somewhere private, without the ‘goon squad’ lurking around?”

“You watch it, you little shit!” Jake growled, reaching for Mike, only to back away as Scott held up a hand.

“Relax, Jake,” the smaller boy replied, smirking. “My old friend wants to have a conversation with me. You guys get lost; go shake down the freshmen for more loose change, or something. I don’t care.” Mumbling softly, the group disbanded, leaving Scott and Michael alone.

“So, you have something you want to say to me, Michael?”

The black teen sighed, leaning back against the locker. “Scott, man, you can’t keep going like this. What you’re doing... it’s crazy! Insane! Man, you’ve totally gone off the deep end here! Can’t we just go back to the way things used to be?”

“The way things used to be?” Scott laughed sarcastically. “What fantasy world are you liking in, Mike? Do you remember the way things used to be? This time last year, you and I were the biggest social outcasts in the entire school. Nobody talked to us. None of the girls gave us the time of day. The only ones who paid us any attention at all were the bullies... and that kind of attention we could have done without.”

“Yeah... but look at how it is now!” Mike interjected. “Now, YOU are the bully! I watched yesterday while you had Jake and the other guys beat up three freshmen and take their lunch money. Have you forgotten what that felt like? How in hell can you take money from other kids?”

“Very easily,” Scott replied coolly, blowing on his fingers. “I just say, ‘give me your money,’ and if they don’t, Jake and the guys persuade them.”

“That’s not what I meant, dammit,” Mike growled. “How can you pick on those kids? They never did anything to you! The ones that used to pick on us are the very ones you are hanging out with now!”

“Yeah? So what?” Scott fired back. “Those wimps never did anything to me... but they sure as hell never HELPED me either! All of them, just sat by and watched Jake, Big Vinnie, Daryl, and anybody else three inches taller than me shove me face down in the dirt every single day! They’d laugh about it, whisper to their friends whenever I walked by. They would all stare and point. Hell. They did something to me, alright. They were just more subtle about it.”

“Okay. Fine. So you’re getting back at everyone then. I can understand that. But taking over the entire school? The teachers and the faculty too? What’s that all about? You haven’t even had most of the instructors here yet.”

Scott smirked. “Think of it as a means to an end, Mike. If I didn’t put the teaching staff under my control, they’d obviously notice all the ‘fun’ I’ve been having with the students. They’d try to interfere. I couldn’t have that. So... well, you get the idea.”

Mike rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Okay. I guess I can even see that. I can kinda understand where you’re coming from. But Scott... why take over the entire town? I heard about your plan to sing over the radio, to use your Gift to hypnotize the entire city. Don’t try and tell me you’re just getting back at everyone for messing with you. The school, yeah, I can see. But this? Man, you’re really trippin’! Is this what it’s all about now? Having total control, over everything, everybody?” Mike slammed a fist against his locker. “You’ve lost it man! Really!”

“Who the hell are YOU to talk to me this way?” Scott snarled, angrily, grabbing Mike’s collar. “You’re just like all of ‘them’, wanting to hold me back, trying to make me follow the rules! THEIR rules! Well not anymore! Mike, you’re my friend. You’re my pal. But I’m saying this now, once and for all, you’re either with me, or against me.”

Mike jerked away, just as angry. “So that’s how it is, huh? Your way, or the highway? You know what Scott, to hell with you then! You try to make it seem like YOU have suffered so much, like it was YOU that everyone picked on. Let me remind you, pal—everything that they did to you, they did to me! When your head was getting slammed down in the dirt, I was eating grass right beside you! When Big Vinnie beat the living crap out of you, I ended up with the same bruises as you! When Jake tossed you into the bathroom and gave you a swirly, I was the one gargling 2000 Flushes in the stall next to you!! I know what you went through, man, and trust me... this ain’t the way! You’ve let this power of yours change you. You’re not even Scotty anymore. You’re... you’re just like Vegeta, a power-hungry warlord, out to conquer anyone that gets in his way!”

Scott listened to his friend, nodding softly. He sighed deeply, then shook his head. “You know, you’re right. I am Vegeta. I’ll probably have the student body calling me ‘Prince’ by next week. I’m the bad guy all right. So, Mike, I guess this makes you Goku, the hero.” He turned and walked slowly away. “I hope for your sake that you’re more successful that he was. Goku never actually beat Vegeta, you know... not by himself. In the end, the bad guy was just too strong for the hero to beat. Still, I wish you luck... old friend.”

Damn, Mike thought, watching his once life-long friend walk away. He really means it this time. Dammit! He won’t listen to reason, and there’s no one I can turn to. Looks like it’s all up to me. He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose again, feeling the beginning of a headache. Me, the hero. But this isn’t some cartoon. I don’t have magical Dragon Balls to save my ass at the last second.

(XVIII.)

Mike’s school life became dramatically worse the next day. Scott knew his former friend better than most, knew him as intimately as he knew himself. He knew all of Mike’s buttons, and how best to irritate and aggravate the boy. He also knew what really and truly mattered to Michael Evans the most.

First period, Mike received back his test scares for the quiz the previous day. He blinked. “An ‘F’? Mr. Rodriguez, are you serious? This can’t be right!”

“I’m afraid so, Michael,” the man replied firmly. “Frankly, I’m shocked at your performance. I expected much better of you. Perhaps if you spend more time studying, instead of watching all those GOKU cartoons, you might do better on the next test.” He walked away, mumbling, but Mike managed to catch his last words: “...not very likely, little creep.”

The next period was the same. An ‘F’ back on his last exam. Michael was starting to grow frustrated. He knew for a fact that he’d done ‘A+’ work in both classes. The remark about Goku had been an obvious taunt from Scotty, letting him know that since he controlled the teachers, he also controlled Mike’s grades. Worse, with Scott in control, and knowing Mike as well as he did, he would take measures to ensure he didn’t change the grades with his PC at home.

“You son of a bitch!” Mike yelled, punching Scott in the nose as he walked into the lunchroom. A dozen boys tackled him instantly, piling on Mike, beating him nearly to a pulp before Scott called them off. Bruised, lip bleeding, eye half closed and swelling, Mike slid back to his feet, glaring at Scott, taking satisfaction in the fact that the would-be ruler looked much less smug with tissue stuffed up his nostrils. “You’re screwing with my grades, you bastard!” Mike growled, barely holding his anger in check. “I always knew you were upset that my GPA was point zero one percent higher than yours, but come on! It’s not like you even have to go to classes anymore. Still afraid I’ll beat you out as valedictorian, huh?”

“Oh, not at all,” Scott rasped, gingerly touching his fractured nose, and wincing. “I just wanted to screw with you, that’s all. It’s a villain thing, you know. Torture and torment the hero just before moving in for the kill.”

Mike took a step forward, only to get yanked back by two football players, each holding an arm. “Let me go, you punks! Too much of a wuss to fight your own battles, Scott! You have to send all your girlfriends to fight for you?”

Scott gestured, and the boys flung Mike, hard, into the wall. He hit the concrete with a soft thud and slid to his knees, gasping. “Not a wuss, Mike. I’m just too SMART to fight you that way. You’re bigger than I am. Stronger. You’d have the advantage. I choose to fight you where the advantage is more to my liking.” He snapped his fingers, and Jill Masters, one of Michelle’s friends, stepped forward, holding a cordless radio. “Michael Evans, report to the Principal’s office, please,” he said with a smile. “I repeat, Michael Evans, report to the Principal’s office, at once. That is all.”

“This isn’t over, Scott,” Mike growled, regaining his feet. “You’re not going to screw up my life! Two can play at this game! You want to screw around with my future? Well, let’s see what kind of future you have when I alert the FBI about what’s going on in this town!” Scott’s expression showed surprise, then rage, causing Michael to smile evilly. “You’re own worst fear, eh, Scott? You don’t seem to smug when faced with the prospect of a life spent as a lab experiment!” He turned and walked out of the cafeteria, not even bothering to wait for a response.

Vanessa was waiting for him outside the school fence when Mike was finally released from detention. He gave her a weak smile as he greeted her, but the frustration and anger he felt quickly overcame all pretense. Vanessa sighed, wrapping an arm around him. “How’re you holding up, Mike?” she asked softly.

“I didn’t expect this,” he said after a moment, “though I probably should have. My biggest dream was to graduate with a high enough score to get a full scholarship to some place like MIT. I wanted to be an engineer, a scientist, someone who makes things for the betterment of mankind.” He chuckled ruefully. “Sounds kinda silly, huh? Michael Evans, the great savior of humanity. Still, it was always my dream to win the Nobel Prize for something I’d invented that would someday be used by everybody.” His expression turned sour. “And now Scott’s screwing up my grades, trying to keep that dream from becoming a reality.”

Vanessa squeezed him tighter. “Well, try not to worry about it too much. It’s Thursday, and there are only two more weeks of school left anyway. Even if he gives you an ‘F’ in every class from now till the end of the school year, it can’t lower your average too much.”

“Oh, he can do much more than that. He’s as big a computer geek as I am, remember? We used to joke about how easy it was to break into the school records system and change our grades if we wanted to. I don’t think he’s going to be satisfied with bringing my average down to a ‘B’, Vanessa. With the teachers in his pocket, he can pretty much make my GPA whatever he wants it to be.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Vanessa replied, moodily. They walked a good way towards home before she spoke again. “So, have you figured out how to stop this little prick yet or what? Unless you’re planning on laying down on the ground and letting him run over you, I’d be working on something to stop Scott soon, before he can do any more damage.”

Mike stopped walking, shaking his head. “I’ve been thinking about that for weeks now, ever since that incident at the Spring Fling! I just don’t think it’s possible, Vanessa. He’s like an unstoppable force, a snowball that’s getting bigger and faster the longer it rolls towards you.” He sighed deeply, looking down. “I’m starting to think its hopeless.”

“Bullshit!” Vanessa’s sharp reply make Mike look up in surprise. She stood before him, hands on her hips, her expression dark and angry. “Bull-shit!” she repeated, staring him deep in his eyes. “You’re a genius, Michael, or pretty damn close to it anyway! You’re a whiz at science and computer stuff, you’re good at problem solving, and on top of all that, you know Scott Littlejohn better than anyone else on the planet! If you can’t stop him, no one can!”

Mike felt taken aback. Vanessa, sighing, tried another tactic. “Look, Michael, in my seventh grade science class, they taught us about the Scientific Method, and how to go about solving problems. You’re overwhelmed, confused and rattled by the whole task of stopping Scott and all the people he has under his control. But you’re looking at it wrong. Break down the big problem, and look at the smaller ones that make it up. If you can solve the smaller problems, the big problem disappears.”

Vanessa glanced at her wristwatch. “Oh, shit,” she groaned, seeing the time. “I better hurry. Some of the girls from the cheerleading squad and I are heading over to Scott’s house.” Mike gave her a dour look, but she cut him off. “Now, Mike, you know why I spend so much time with him. I’m a double agent, remember? I’m only doing this to learn what kind of plans he has up his sleeve, so I can tell you about them.” She kissed his gently on the lips, sighing in pleasure as the enjoyable warmth spread from the contact throughout her entire body. “Mmmm. You know, I almost want to consider canceling,” she said shyly, digging into the soil with the toe of her sneaker. “I’ll call you later tonight, okay?”

“Alright,” Mike said, somewhat mollified. “Just... well, just be careful, okay? I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Vanessa gave him a smile, then turned towards Scott’s house, while Mike turned in the opposite direction towards his own.

(XIX.)

Thursday night, Mike sat on his bed in his room, and thought about Vanessa’s words. He realized that she was absolutely right. He’d been looking at the big picture instead of focusing on the real problem. Scott seemed unbeatable, practically invincible, with his power to control the minds of anyone around him. With a few notes of his voice, he could make anyone do whatever he wanted them to.

Well, he amended, anyone NOT wearing the special earplugs that Vanessa and I have on. He sighed deeply, patting his shirt pocket. It had become something of a daily ritual with him, putting in the earplugs as soon as he woke up in the morning, taking them out and cleaning them every evening when he returned home. It had taken him several weeks to adjust to the feeling of having his ears plugged with the things, despite their extremely small size; he’d had severe ear-aches for a while, and had even developed an ear infection before he had grown used to them. Now, he almost forgot they were even there.

Problem: How do I stop Scott, break his control over the town, and return everything to normal again? Hmm. Okay, that’s actually three questions, so its three separate problems. I can’t really stop Scott at the moment. He’s always protected, and almost never alone. Even if I could get him alone, what could I do? Beating the crap outta him would only make him angrier, and he’d take it out on me in some way later. The only way to stop him would be to make him lose his voice somehow. Or to flat out kill him... and I’m not even going to think about that.

Mike scribbled down his thoughts into his notebook, chewing lightly on the eraser as he considered the second problem. Breaking Scott’s control over the town. We haven’t studied psychology or anything yet. I’m still working out my own psyche and emotions, let alone trying to figure out how the rest of the world thinks! I’m no therapist. Therapy. Hmmm. Maybe I could... no, no, Scott already has his hooks into Dr. Hemmer, and she’s the only therapist in town. I can’t think of any practical way of blocking the hypnotic effect of his voice, other than to give the entire town their own earplugs... and even then, it would only keep him from deepening the trance they were already in. Damn.

Pushing the other questions aside for the moment, Mike considered the problem he’d been wrestling with all along. The immediate problem is tomorrow. Scott’s planning on going to the radio station around lunchtime to make his broadcast. As bad as things stand now, they’ll be really bad if I let him do that. But how do I stop him? Warn the station manager? No... he’d never believe me, not until it was too late. Besides, anything they would try to protect themselves on the slim chance they DID believe me would be undone the moment Scott got close enough to talk to them. Damn. Wreck the radio station? Huh. They’d lock me up. Someone would fix the damage, Scott would still make his broadcast, and I’d be sitting behind bars, twiddling my thumbs...

Suddenly, an idea burst into being. Mike sat up, wondering at the imaginary light bulb that clicked on above his head. The idea was brilliant in its simplicity, and he was amazed that he hadn’t considered it before. It seemed like a harsh thing to do to his former best friend, a breaking of an unwritten rule. “Then again,” Mike told himself, “he’s broken every damn rule himself a few hundred times. I might be the hero in this mess, but damn if I’m going to go down trying to be as pure as Goku was.” He grinned wickedly. It was time to play dirty.

(XX.)

Scott was taken quite by surprise when a police office entered his third period class, spoke intently with his teacher for a moment, then came directly to his desk. Concerned, thinking one of his parents had been in an accident, he was even more surprised when his wrists were pulled forcefully behind him, and placed into handcuffs.

“Scott Littlejohn, you are under arrest,” the cop droned, leading the astonished boy into the hallway. Scott glanced down the hall to see several other officers standing around his opened locker, his books and papers sprawled in a pile on the floor. Several students were staring, wide-eyed in shock. The detective escorting him out continued to read Scott his Miranda rights. Passing his locker, he saw another detective holding up a small plastic bag filled with a white powder, as well as a small handgun and what appeared to be a switchblade.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed, jerking around, trying to turn back towards his locker even as the policeman guided him forward. “What the hell is this? That’s not my gun! That’s not my shit! I’m being set up!”

“Well I’m sure we’ve all heard that before,” Mike said, as Scott and the officer passed his classroom. Scott froze, scowling at Mike’s self-satisfied smirk. “Poor Scott. I can’t believe an honor student like you would be caught dealing drugs on the side. Such a shame. Something like this is sure to mar that perfect record of yours.”

“You son of a bitch!” Scott snarled, trying to charge at the young black man, only to be jerked roughly back by the arresting officer. The policeman guided him forward, moving him towards the front door, and the waiting patrol car. “Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me, Michael,” he warned. “We both know they won’t hold me for very long. I’ll be back! This won’t stop me!”

Michael merely shrugged and returned to his seat with all the others. His emotions were running the gamut. He felt a bit disturbed at how easily he’d set up his former friend, yet also strangely exhilarated. He’d turned the tables on the smug little prick, hitting him from an unexpected angle. Scotty wouldn’t be held for very long, that much was true—the gun Mike had borrowed from Scott’s own dad several months ago, when he’d taken the boys to the shooting range to practice. The bag of white powder was simply BC headache powders, which the police crime lab would easily determine. Even if they decided to charge Scott for having a weapon at school, he was sure to be free by aid of his Gift.

The important things was that it bought Michael some time.

At lunch, Vanessa met him at their usual table. “Wow,” she whispered, half in awe. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Mike. That was totally cool. Scotty won’t be bothering anyone for a long time.”

Mike shook his head. “Not as long as you might think. If anyone can talk their way out of a prison term, it’s him. Besides, he’s still a minor. They can’t actually charge him with anything... I don’t think.” He swallowed a spoonful of steamed cabbage. “What about yesterday? What were his plans? I know he planned to skip out at lunch and head to the radio studio.”

“Yeah, well, he said he’d created a special CD, with his voice, singing his message of complete control. He planned to get it from his locker and take it to the radio station. The general manager was expecting a group of students from Chesnee Middle School to come by on a field trip around one o’ clock, and he had planned to slip in with them, unnoticed. I don’t know all the details, but he planned to do something to boost the signal, so it would go out on every station.”

“I see. Looks like I ruined that plan.” He smiled. “Well, assuming the police didn’t take the CD with them when they searched his locker, I think I better go grab it myself, just in case. Hopefully, that will buy me a little more time. In the meanwhile, I’m planning to head out to the radio station myself after eight period and have a talk with Mr. Peyton myself.” He burped, blushing, and said excuse me. “Sorry, it happens when I eat too fast. Anyway, I’ll tell him that Scott planned a high school prank to take over the station, and to be on guard. Hopefully, he’ll at least be on the lookout for him when Scott finally gets out of jail.”

A shadow fell across the table, and Mike looked up into the faces of seven angry looking teens. “We got a phone call a little while ago, Evans,” Jake said, popping his knuckles. “We heard about you setting up Scott that way. That was low, man, even for a piece of shit like you.”

“My man Scott called a little while ago,” David rasped, grabbing Mike up by his collar. “He said he was okay for the moment, but to make sure that you weren’t. He said to pound you into the ground until we reached fucking China!”

Mike saw in their eyes that they were serious. Scott had been pissed, so now they were pissed. Reaching back for his tray, Mike replied, “I see two things wrong with that, David. One, you guys all failed geography, so you don’t even know where China is. As for the second...” He swung his arm forward, slamming the tray full of food into David’s face, dousing the rest of the boys with food in the process. David yelped, letting go of him to wipe cabbage and vinegar from his eyes. Mike beat a hasty retreat as he called back, “And secondly, you have to catch me first, you assholes!!”

Bursting into the empty hallways, Mike looked left and right, trying to find the closest avenue to escape. The jocks were acting on Scott’s orders, which meant Mike couldn’t count on a teacher for help. One mention of Scott, and they’d likely help hold him down while the bullies pounded him! The sound of rubber squeaking on the slick cafeteria floor signaled his pursuers, and Mike turned left, running outside to the school’s central square. The normally busy square was currently empty, which was a relief, but Mike knew his time was running out.

On impulse, he ran to the right, and slipped around the side of the main building, heading towards the band building, which stood separate from the school, on the other side of the parking lot. A glance back showed that Jake, Dave, and the others were following, coming up fast. Mike managed to reach the door first, and slipped inside, gasping for breath, hoping that the fourth period class practicing inside wouldn’t hear him.

He was in luck; the woodwinds section was playing so loudly that nothing short of a bomb blast would have alerted them. Mike slid smoothly into the equipment room, glancing around for a hiding place. An idea, ingenious and yet idiotic, came into mind, and he scrambled up on top of the heavy steel instrument racks, to the ceiling, pushed aside several of the pasteboard tiles, and slid inside.

Thursday, Michael had served his first, and only, day of detention in this very band room, sitting quietly for the entire hour. He’d learned from the whispers of his fellow inmates about the ceiling, about how the band kept the candy and chips from the football concession stands locked up in the far room, but that how the ceiling was hollow. Students often snuck up into the ceiling and into the supply room during detention whenever the instructor went to answer the phone, or use the bathroom. The student whispering this to his comrade emphasized the truth of his tale by pulling out several Twix bars from his jacket, candy taken earlier in the detention from the locked room.

That information served him well. Moments before he slid the displaced tile back over his hidey-hole, he heard the jocks burst into the band room. Dave ran into the equipment room, his face and clothes still coated in dried food. The band instructor had called a halt to the playing, and the noise of their entrance attracted his attention. Sliding the tile open a hair, Mike glanced down at the scene happening just below him.

“What is the meaning of all this?” Mr. Norwood yelled, his normally pink face an angry red. “This is a band class, not a jungle gym! I don’t have time for all your foolishness!”

“Hey, relax, Mr. Norwood,” Jake was saying, glancing left and right. “We’re looking for Michael Evans. We saw him run this way, and I think he might have ran in here to hide. I got a call from Scott Littlejohn a few minutes ago. He wants Evans creamed.”

Mr. Norwood nodded slowly, an evil smile crossing his lips. “Ah. So, Mr. Littlejohn wants this done then? Very well, carry one. But be careful. The school band budget is very limited, and I’d prefer you not damage any equipment if absolutely necessary. I realize you’re doing what Mr. Littlejohn wants, but I’m still director of the band, you know.”

“Yo, Jake, he ain’t in here,” another boy yelled. “Maybe he ran out the back way or something?”

Mr. Norwood snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous! I would have noticed if he’d ran through my band rehearsal. If he’s not hiding here in the equipment room or in the bathrooms, then he’s not in here. The other rooms are all locked, and he didn’t cross through the auditorium. He must have doubled back on you somehow.”

Jake sighed deeply. “Yeah, probably right. Dirty rotten little shi—er, I mean guy. Thanks anyway, Mr. Norwood. Come on guys, he can’t have gone far.”

Mike continued to hold his breath for a full minute after they had departed. Only when the band began playing again did he finally let it out. His nerves were totally shot, and he thought for certain that they would hear the rhythmic staccato beat of his heart. Moving carefully, he worked his way through the ceiling, heading towards the far side of the band room, to the locked set of rooms that Norwood had assured the boys he could not have gotten to. He was nearly at the exit when Mr. Norwood called the band to a halt once more.

“No, no, no! That’s all wrong. Wrong! Okay, low brass, you guys take a break for a while. I want to work with just the trumpets for a few minutes.” Several of the boys and girls in the back row left, leaving their horns at their seats. “Now then, everyone play a middle ‘C’ for me. Alright, ready, play!” The trumpets blew, and Mike listened, amazed at the sound. He’d never really given the band much thought, but being forced to listen to their practice for the past several minutes, he felt a grudging respect for them growing within himself. Mr. Norwood cut them off after a few seconds. “There! You see? That’s the problem. That’s what I’ve been hearing! Resonance.”

Mike frowned. Huh? They sounded good to me. What does he mean?

“...supposed to tune up your horns every day before playing,” Norwood was saying. “I want you to listen to what an untuned horn sounds like. Listen to the note resonate. Alright, ready, play.” The trumpets played, a long note, which Mike noticed wavered, almost pulsing slightly. “Now then, Jeff, slid in your second valve a bit and try again.” They played once more, and this time Mike noticed the resonance—the pulsing wave increased, fluctuating faster than before. The band instructor added more instructions and they played several more times, tuning everyone towards the same note, bit by bit, until at last they played a smooth seamless note, without pulse.

“Perfect!” Mr. Norwood exclaimed. “Now then, let’s try it again from the top. Jeff, remember to turn your horn with my tuning pipe when you come in tomorrow. Alright, ready, play!”

Mike’s mind was deeply involved as he made his way back out of the ceiling, landing softly on his feet. He’d skimmed lightly through next year’s chapter on sound waves in his Physics book, but until he’d seen—or rather heard—it in action, he’d never really considered it. Now, suddenly, everything began to click, and two plus two became four, or in his more evolved brain, the area divided by the radius squared became pi. He needed to get to the radio station as soon as possible.

(XXI.)

Scott’s grandmother used to say that when she got upset she was ‘angrier than a nest full of hornets’. He’d always wondered at that statement, thought it rather quaint in an old-fashioned antiquated sort of way, the kind of expression the older generation used. When he was finally released from the city jail and allowed to leave, Scott felt as mad as a dozen hornets’ nests. The jailing itself had merely been a distraction, a mere formality. He was too young to be convicted of a crime, even something as serious as having a gun at school or selling drugs. Scott had to respect Mike for setting him up that way, though; he never knew the guy had the balls for it. It had actually turned out to be to Scott’s benefit; his Gift had brought the police chief, and all of his officers under his sway, adding to his growing army of loyal recruits.

The thing that irritated him, that nearly made him scream out his frustration, was that he’d been delayed just enough that he’d missed the field trip to the radio station. If he wanted to gain access to the city’s transmitter he’d have to resort to more direct methods now, calling unwanted attention to his activities. He wasn’t quite sure Mike had been bluffing about calling in the Feds; while he felt pretty secure taking on anything the city and state could throw at him, he worried incessantly about federal government involvement. His plans to entrance the entire city in one fell swoop had been delayed, perhaps indefinitely.

“Dammit!” he growled, kicking the side of the stone steps in anger as he paced back and forth in front of the station. “Damn little shit! I can’t believe it. He really is fucking Goku! I counted him out, and damn if he didn’t find a way to screw me after all!” Mike’s timing had been no less diabolical, hitting him at the worst possible time. Of all the rotten luck.

“Hey, babe,” Michelle Adams yelled, as he came into view. “I left a little early to pick you up. What happened? Are you okay? What did the officers say?”

Scott sighed deeply, slipping into the driver’s seat, forcing Michelle to slide over into the passenger side. “What else could they say? ‘You’re free to go, Mr. Littlejohn. We’re sorry for the inconvenience’. Damn that my plans are all ruined now. I have to admit, ‘Chelle, I underestimated Mikey on this one.” He put the car into gear and zoomed forward, peeling rubber despite the several officers standing around in the parking lot. “I’ll tell you this, Michael. I’m through playing around with him now. No more Mr. Nice Guy. He wants to play hardball, I’ll play hardball.”

Michelle nodded softly, looking down, quiet rather than her usual boisterous self. Scott noticed immediately, and asked her as he pulled over next to Lisa’s house, waiting for the other girls to join them. “Is there something wrong, lover?” he asked, anxiously. “You seem... distracted. What’s the deal?”

She look up, but still avoided his eyes. “Well, Scott, uhm,” she began hesitantly, stopping altogether as Jill, Sharon, Lisa, and Vanessa piled into the back seat. “Uhm, Scotty, love, maybe I can tell you about it later... it’s kinda, uhm... personal.”

“Tell me now, ‘Chelle,” he said simply, ignoring her discomfort. Sighing, head dropping forward, Michelle did so, spilling the big secret.

“You’re WHAT?” Scott said, slamming on the brakes, nearly sending them all through the windshield. He gripped the steering wheel so hard he felt the plastic covered wood shudder, nearing its breaking point. He looked at her, wide-eyed, mouth agape, waiting for her to tell him it was a joke, a mistake, something other than what she had just uttered.

“I’m... pregnant,” she repeated, whispering, the fear and sadness evident in her eyes. “I’m sorry! I just forgot to take the damn pill that one time. Then last week, I was late. I went to the doctor and... and...” She couldn’t finish her sentence, seeing the stricken look he was giving her. She felt like slime, like sludge. She’d disappointed the most perfect man in the world, her beloved, her kind, adoring Master. She felt worthless.

Scott’s mind went into overtime, trying to come up with a plausible denial, and failing. Michelle was his, his total and complete sex thrall. He had delved so deeply into her psyche, into her mind, bending her bit by bit into his ideal woman that he knew no one else could have possibly slept with her. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck! he thought furiously. This is not happening! I’m way too young to be a dad! Shit! Why me? Why now, of all times? Fuck!

“Scott?”

Lisa peered up at him, meekly, breaking the silence. Michelle had dissolved into silent sobs, turning inward in her grief, and the others merely sat in stunned silence. Seeing her Master and her best friend at a loss, she finally exerted herself. “Scott, c’mon. Let’s get out of the middle of the road, okay? We can talk about this later, when we get back to your house. Believe me, it’s not the end of the world. We can figure a way out of this.” She managed a small smile. “After all, you’re the Master. You’re the man in charge. You can do anything, Scott, anything at all.”

The car moved forward, slowly at first, then faster, until they were back at their normal speed. She’s right, Scott thought to himself. With my Gift, I have nothing to worry about. I don’t want an abortion, but that doesn’t mean I have to tie myself down with a little bastard kid. Heck, I can go up the bank anytime I want and make them give me as much money as I like. Or, I could make someone look after the kid for me, make them even think it was their own. Slowly, Scott’s fear diminished, replaced by the cool, calculating demeanor he had been developing for the past several months. A smirk curled his lips, and by the time he pulled into his driveway, he’d already settled the matter in his mind and moved on.

Inside, his parents went about their daily duties, ignoring their son and the five boisterous cheerleaders heading upstairs with him to his room. Scott slid onto his bed, lounging, watching intently as four of his girls slipped immediately out of their clothes. Vanessa, a bit nervous, followed suit a moment later, until she was clad in only her bra and panties. Scott chuckled softly.

“Ever the shy one, eh, Vanessa?” he said, shaking his head. “You know, we go through this every time. I think we’ll dispense with the formalities this time, however, and just proceed to the main event.”

Vanessa frowned. “M... main event? Uhm, Scotty, I don’t understand. What do you mean we do this every time? This is the first time you had us to strip down up here in your room like this. And what do you mean by, uh, the ‘main event’?”

Scotty laughed, as did all the rest of the girls, making Vanessa even more uncomfortable. “Oh, Vanessa, you are truly priceless. I know why Mike is so in love with you now.” Settling down a bit, he looked her straight in the eyes. “I know you’re a double-agent, Vanessa,” he said simply, to her shock. “I mean, I’m not an idiot or anything. I’m well aware that you have been giving Mikey information about me, about all of my intricate little plans, trying to help him bring me down.” Vanessa, wide-eyed, shook her head. “Oh, don’t bother to deny it. You always lie so poorly, it’s a shame to see. The problem, dear Vanessa, is that I’ve known since the first night that you were sent to spy on me. YOU told me yourself!”

Vanessa thought her blood had turned to ice. She wanted to run, to scream, to cry, but she could only stand there, stunned, while Scott gloated in her face. Somehow, deep inside, she knew that she had screwed up, that she’d give herself away, but for the life of her, she didn’t know how.

“Still don’t remember, Vanessa?” Scott said, walking over to the semi-nude girl. “Oh, yeah, that’s right! I told you specifically not to remember until I said it was okay. Let’s see if I can jog that memory for you then. The night of the Spring Dance, I asked you to kiss me, and you did—very well I might add. Your lying may need work, but your performance acting is superb! Later that night, I watched as you pulled Mike aside and whispered to him. The next day when I brought you back here, I had Jill and Lisa here hold you down while I removed these from your ears.” He held out his palm, showing Vanessa the earplugs she thought she still wore in her ears. Her hands went to touch her ears, not fully believing her senses, but they were indeed hers.

“I then sang you a little tune, putting you under; in return, you sang for me, spilling your guts about your idea to be a double agent. I thought it was kind of amusing, so I decided to let you play your part... with a few changes.” Scott smirked, sliding a hand over the paralyzed girl’s skin, making her gasp in surprise and arousal. “I told you every night what gossip to spread back to old Mikey, and what NOT to tell him, while you told me every little move Mikey made. Afterwards, I’d fuck you silly for hours on end, or maybe let one of my loyal“ he said with emphasis, “girls have a turn at you. Then, I’d make you forget all this until the next time, and send you on your way.”

The block on her memory shattered, and Vanessa gasped as her complete memory flooded back to her. For nearly two months she had been Scott’s mind-controlled slave, spreading false information to Mike, helping to keep tabs on him, becoming the unknowing instrument of Mike’s destruction. Her nights had been spent pleasing Scott’s ever-demanding pleasure, fucking the teen or one of his harem at his discretion. She recalled very clearly the night he’d taken her virginity, groaning in pure pleasure and lust even as what remained of her mind rebelled at losing the gift she’d planned to give to Michael. Horror clenched her guts, twisting them, and she thought she’d lose her lunch on the floor.

Scott laughed again. “Ah, looks like you remember now. As I said, the kid gloves are off now, Vanessa. I’m sick of playing games with Mike. From now on, it’s hardball, with every low down dirty trick I can think of.” He slid a hand deftly between Vanessa’s thighs, and despite herself, felt her juices begin to trickle forth. “It seems to be that there’s no better way to hurt Michael Evans that to go after the ones he cares for... and care for no one as deeply as you, my dear Vanessa.”

She slapped him then, hard as she could, jarring his teeth together. Tears ran down her cheeks to know she would be used to hurt Michael yet again. She would be unable t help it, unable to control herself, unable to apologize, but for now at least, she had her own mind, and her own will. She slapped him again, hard, drawing blood from his lower lip before two of the naked girls grabbed her wrists. “Damn you, Scott Littlejohn!” she screamed. “Damn you to hell for this!”

Scott glared back at her, licking the blood from the corner of his mouth. He smiled at her again, caressing her lovely face. “Hell, like life, is what you make of it, ‘Nessa,” he said softly. “Now its time to make my dear friend Michael’s life a living hell.” He opened his mouth and sang a little Metallica:

Oh poor twisted me, oh poor twisted me...

I feast on sympathy, I chew on suffer, I chew on agony,

Swallow whole the pain, oh it’s too good to be...

That all this misery is just for, oh poor twisted me...

Vanessa’s eyes glazed over, her mouth frozen in a wide ‘O’ of pleasure, feeling her Master steal her mind once more with his devilishly angelic voice. Once again she surrendered to the intense ultra-eroticism that always accompanied submission to the Voice. Her thighs ran with her explosive juices, and her body, were she aware of it enough to notice, vibrated with the effects of her orgasmic release. Her body and mind were separate, however, and Scott cleverly played the one while he whispered softly, programming the other.

Vanessa’s eyes rolled deep up into her head, as finally her frozen paralyzed body responded enough to utter one final word: “YEEEESSSSS...”

(XXII.)

The sun was nearly set by the time Michael left the public library. The public access computer system there wasn’t nearly as impressive at the setup at the high school, or his own personal PC, but for a job as simple as copying and burning a CD, it was more than suitable. Pocketing Scott’s homemade CD, he gently placed the gold plated copy in the CD case, slipping it inside his book bag. He fished out his earphones, and his mini MP3 player, and keyed up a few of his favorite Smashmouth tunes as he made his way towards the city radio station. It was a good three mile walk, but Mike felt he was in good shape. With a little luck, he would be able to slip in and out without anyone even noticing him.

He wished fervently that he could return home for a quick visit, to let his folks know he was alive and well, but he knew he dared not. He’d pushed Scott, provoked him, and one of the first ways he’d retaliate would be to take control of his parents. No. going home without concluding things would be pointless. Besides, he couldn’t bear to face his mother and father once they found out the worst.

Expelled. Damn. I’d expected the principal to pull something after everything else that’s happened to me. Detention, yeah. Even suspension I could deal with. But to be expelled from school with less than two weeks to go? That’s crazy. It has to stop. I have to end this once and for all. Tonight. He patted the set of computer discs in his pocket, and the physics book in his book bag. Hopefully, I’ll be able to end it all with these.

Mike was still deep in thought when he entered the station parking lot. He frowned at the lack of cars, and the completely black windows. “Where the hell is everybody?” he wondered aloud. “It’s only a little after eight. There should still be a few people here broadcasting at least.” That proved to be the case, as the front door remained unlocked. Michael moved quietly down the hallway, inching past the security guard’s post. He might as well have run screaming down the hall for the lack of attention the man had paid him. Glancing through the window, he saw the man eagerly engrossed in the high school basketball game.

Of course! Mike thought, smacking his forehead. It’s Friday night. Everyone’s out covering the basketball game. It’s the region semifinals. Moving a little less cautiously, he snuck his way down the hall, finding the main booth occupied by one of the part-time student workers. He moved on to the next room, the alternate recording booth, finding it unoccupied. He slipped inside, locked the door, and switched on the lights.

“Man, oh man,” he whispered in glee, looking at all the electronic and digital equipment. “If I don’t like Engineering that much after I start college, I might have to go into Broadcast Journalism. This is da’ bomb!”

Slipping the original CD into the player, still wearing the MP3 Player’s earphones, Mike turned on the stereo. All the dials lit up, and the sound of Scott’s singing voice filled the air. Mike glanced through the physics book, reading, then re-reading the section very carefully, before turning back to the board. Checking the output gauge the entire time, he slowly moved dials, one by one, to zero, canceling out different band frequencies. The speakers went dead within a few dials, but the output gauge still fluctuated. Mike grinned. Just as I thought! Scott’s so-called Gift is some kind of subsonic vibration his vocal chords produce whenever he sings. Now, if I can just isolate it.

Several minutes of broad band adjusting and fine tuning, and Michael had the signal isolated. All the words and speech patterns had been eliminated; what remained was a pure and simple subsonic wave pattern. Clicking off his MP3 Player, he gently slid the one remaining dial up to three.

Thong.

A shiver went through Mike, as if his entire being was resonating with the single tone being emitted from the speakers. His entire body seemed to dissolve, and his vision went blurry. His thoughts seemed to stretch out, riding that lazily bouncing wave of sound, spreading on towards infinity faster and stronger than his weak feeble mind could generate them. His hand trembled as his quickly melting consciousness struggled to make them work.

Muuuuusssssttttttt.... tttttuuuuurrrrrrrnnnnnnn... iiiitttttttt... oooooofffffffff!

When Michael’s head finally cleared, he found himself lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He glanced up at the clock, certain that several centuries had passed, but in reality he’d only lost half an hour. He got back on his feet, glancing again at the small wave pattern, this time with much respect and a lot of fear. Whoa. Now I see just how he fries their brains, he thought, ruefully. We’ll have to see what we can do about that.

Over the next half-hour, Mike read, and calculated, and adjusted, maneuvering the wave pattern numerous times, as he taught himself advanced Sonic-based Physics. He soon found out the exact frequency that the wave vibrated at, and mapped out its amplitude. He then calculated the inverse frequency, and the amplitude needed to cancel out the wave. If I hit the first wave with one of equal magnitude and in perfect phase, they’ll combine, and become more powerful. Ah, but if I rotate that same wave’s frequency one hundred eighty degrees... yes! They cancel each other out completely! That’s the wave pattern I need.

Mike saved the two altered patterns, one at twice the normal power, and one at the inverse frequency, on his disc. Then, for good measure, he opened his MP3 Player, removed his mini disc, and copied the inverted wave on that one as well. Just in case, he thought to himself, as he packed everything up and switched off the lights. Better to be safe than sorry.

The security guard was waiting for him in the hallway.

“Shit!” Mike yelled, slamming the door. The guard banged on it relentlessly.

“Hey you! Open up in there right now! You’re not getting away!” The rattling of keys sounded, and Mike thought furiously, as the deadbolt slid slowly towards open. The lit up board caught his attention, as did the wave pattern still in memory. Crossing his fingers, he turned Smashmouth up full blast, and keyed the board, turning the signal back up to two.

“Freeeze youuuuuuuuuuuuuu—” the guard said, as he stepped into the door. A look of complete emptiness settled over his face, and his gun slipped from his fingers, clattering uselessly to the floor. Mike knelt and picked it up, sliding it gently back into the guard’s holster, then turned off the board. The guard swayed where he stood, still deep under the spell of the subsonic wave. Michael walked over to his side, and quietly whispered in the man’s ears.

“You’re going to forget everything that just happened now,” he said softly. “You decided to make your rounds, thought you saw something in the booth, but it was just your imagination. There was no one here, so you decided to sit down and take a little nap.”

The man stared ahead blankly, motionless, but Mike knew well enough that his words were heard, filling the huge vacuum caused by the wave, insinuating themselves into the man’s consciousness, until they became the truth. He figured he had half an hour until the man snapped out of his trance, but after the close call, Mike was more than ready to get out of there.

A sharp blow to the back of his head sent him out cold before he even hit the ground.

“Wakey, wakey, old friend.”

Mike’s eyes came open with a gasp, and he sat up, rubbing the back of his aching head. He was lying on the floor in the middle of the school’s basketball court. The gymnasium was empty; the crowds of cheerful fans had long since departed. Motion to his left alerted him that he was not completely alone. Scott stepped slowly into view, accompanied on both sides by the cheerleading squad, including Vanessa. Mike regained his feet, not sure of what was going on, but nervous nonetheless.

“What’s going on?” Mike asked. “How did I get here? Why the hell did you bring me here to the gym in the middle of the night?”

“Why indeed, Mike,” Scott said, walking right up to his former friend. “Well, its obvious that my boys and I found you coming out of the radio station earlier. Doing a bit of research, it seems,” he drawled, holding up the gold plated disc containing Mike’s augmented wave patterns. Mike’s eye went wide, then narrowed, as he gently searched his pockets. The other CD was still there, along with Mike’s MP3 Player; Scott had evidently searched the book bag first, rather than shaking him down personally.

“What’s on it, I wonder?” Scott mused, tossing the plastic up into the air, catching it, then tossing it again. “You’re top secret plans on how to break my control over people, perhaps?” he said, glancing meaningfully at Vanessa. He shook his head softly. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Mikey. We can’t have that. I’m afraid this will have to be destroyed.” With that, the threw the CD hard into the wall, where it shattered into several pieces.

“NO!” Mike yelled, despite himself. “You fucking little prick!”

Scott laughed. “Oh come on, Mikey, surely you can do better than that. Why don’t you charge me again and try to beat me to a bloody pulp. That’s what you’re itching to do, isn’t it? Go one. Give it a try, pal.”

Mike clenched his fists, but didn’t move. He knew Scott well enough to know that he always had some kind of escape planned, that he very likely had help lurking back in the shadows, just waiting for him to make a move towards the smaller boy. He gritted his teeth, but remained still. “Sorry, Scott. I’m not buying it. I know you too well. You’re not going to trick me into fighting you, here, on your home turf.”

The smaller boy sighed, shaking his head. “Well, you’re a bit smarter than I gave you credit for then,” he said, gesturing to the shadows. Mike turned to see several policemen emerge, each gently tapping their batons lightly against their palms, and he knew he had made the right choice. “It doesn’t matter in the end, you know,” Scott said, turning back towards the girls. “I’ve won. You’re precious little plan has been thwarted, and mine has succeeded. Face it, pal, you’ve lost.”

Now it was Michael’s turn to laugh. “Your plan? Hah. I know all about your plan to hypnotize the entire town with through the radio station. I foiled that little plan. I took your CD while you were downtown, getting mug shots taken. You might have me now, but at least I beat you, Scott.”

“Beat me? Me? Michael, you poor stupid little retard! You haven’t even got a clue just how badly you’ve lost!” He turned to Vanessa, who smiled, licking her lips seductively. He leaned into her as she granted him a deep, long, passionate kiss. Mike’s jaw dropped, and his fists clenched tight once again. Despite the policemen waiting for him to make a move, Mike was seriously tempted to charge his former friend now.

“He’s right you know,” Vanessa purred, rubbing her scantily clad body against Scott’s. “Scott has had you played from the very beginning. I was a double-agent, Michael... but for HIM, not for you! He had me after that first night,” she said, sliding a hand underneath her colorful skirt, showing the lack of panties underneath. “Mmmm... yeah, that first night, the second, twice the third night, and every night after that.” She laughed softly at Mike’s stricken expression. “He had me feed you false information, giving you just enough to keep you occupied, and distracted.” She sighed softly. “If I hadn’t been so deeply in my role of trying to ‘help you’ I would have simply let you flounder, instead of helping you to get yourself organized. I never actually thought you’d come up with having him arrested, or breaking into the radio station yourself!”

“Vanessa,” Mike cried, hurt, angry, and sad, all at once. “No. This can’t be happening. Tell me this is a joke, tell me that you’re just pretending. Please, Vanessa, don’t do this to me. Not now... not like this.”

“Oh, its not an act, Michael,” Scott replied, tossing the confiscated earplugs at Mike. He recognized them for what they were, and his anxiety doubled. It wasn’t an act, a desperate ploy to deceive anyone. Vanessa had been taken. Scott groaned softly in triumph seeing the look of utter dejection on Mike’s face. He wanted it to last, so he informed him of the rest. “It gets better, old friend! The idea of transmitting the signal through the radio station was just misinformation. The real plan was to send out my voice over the basketball game being broadcast throughout the city. While you were tinkering around at the station, I put the entire town under my power... not to mention however many others were watching or listening to the broadcast! I’ve done it, Mike. All you did was to tick me off slightly. In the grand scheme of things, you fell far short.”

Two of the men stepped forward, grabbing Mike by his arms. “Now, old pal, it’s time to end this little contest. I’m going to take away your earplugs, then turn you into my eager, obedient little servant, just like everyone else.” Mike struggled in earnest then, finding himself completely helpless. “Don’t worry, Mike,” he said softly, still smiling wickedly. “It’ll be okay. Everything will be like it was before. You and I will be the best of pals again... only now when I saw jump, you’ll say, ‘Yes sir! How high, sir!’” He laughed, finding humor in his own joke. Mike didn’t seem to find it the least bit funny.

“One last little thing though, before I erase your brain.” He snapped his fingers, and Vanessa turned, facing Scott, her back to Michael. Slowly, sensuously, she unzipped her blouse, sliding the cheerleading outfit away from her body. Her shoes followed suit, as did her skirt, shimmying it down her long slender legs as she dance and writhed, imitating an Arabian belly dancer. She stepped out of the pile of clothes at the end of the dance, clad now only in a pair of white ankle socks. Turning to face Mike now, she licked her lips, running her hands gently over her naked body, moaning her pleasure. Finally, she turned back to Scott, sliding to her knees, kneeling in supplication, slave-like, her back straight, her face staring straight ahead.

Scott winked at his audience, unzipping the front of his trousers. Mike groaned, turning his head away, unwilling to watch this final degradation, as his former friend took Mike’s one true love right before his eyes. But such was not the case. “Make him watch,” Scott declared, and one of the men twisted Mike by the jaw, forcing him to face front, while the other man pressed his thumbs against Mike’s eyelids, forcing them up.

Every agonizingly vivid moment of Vanessa’s ‘service’ was burned into Mike’s memory, eating away at the very last trace of his humanity. When Scott finally grunted, signaling his release in Vanessa’s luscious mouth, something inside him snapped. An aura of cold dark contempt settled into Michael. The wild raging emotions inside him calmed, and his mind focused again, working clearer than ever before. Things were desperate, but not hopeless. The gears continued to click away, as Scott straightened back up again. Suddenly, the answer came to him. A slow smile spread across Mike’s lips, matching the one worn on his enemy’s face. It was time to play his trump card.

(XXIII.)

“Remove his earplugs,” Scott barked, warming up his throat. “I think its time we settled this so I can go home and finish up with Vanessa properly.” Vanessa cooed softly, snuggling against her loving Master.

“What about your CD then?” Mike asked, sliding a hand into his pocket when the policemen released them to remove his earplugs. “Your voice was on it, singing. Was this just a ‘prop’, a tool to distract me, or did you actually intend to use it? The radio station idea may have been just a trick, but it actually seemed like it might work.”

Scott considered. His eyes narrowed as he glanced at Mike’s fists, still clenched tight even as he held the CD out as an offering. “A last ditch effort to beat me up, eh Mike?” he said, shaking his head. “Nice try. I gotta give it to you man, you hold on to the very end. I want that disc back, alright, but I’ll let Vanessa grab it for me.”

Perfect “Damn you. Fine. What do I care now, anyway.” Vanessa smiled seductively, chuckling at Mike’s helplessness. As she reached for the disc, Mike grabbed her hand, holding on tightly. “Please, Vanessa, honey, sweetheart, please, WAKE UP! Don’t let him use you like this! You’ve got to stop him, somehow! Remember the plan! Come on. WAKE UP!”

“Get your hands off her,” Scott growled, pulling a stunned Vanessa away. “Can’t you get it through your head that it’s over? She’s not waking up! No one is waking up! I’m the one in charge here, Mikey, not you!”

Vanessa, apparently, had recovered from her shock. “Scott, I have the disc. Can I go and wait in the car? Being around this guy is starting to make me feel ill. God! I can’t even begin to see what I ever saw in him in the first place! Please, baby, can I wait outside?”

Scott waved her off. “Yeah, whatever. Just hold onto that disc for me.” Vanessa disappeared. Turning towards his captive, Scott coughed a few times, clearing his throat. “Tell me, Mike. What’ll it be? Metallica? Green Day? Smashing Pumpkins? How about the Chili Peppers? Or Nickleback? I’ve got a pretty big menu to choose from.”

Mike sneered back at him, still defiant. “What’s the difference? You sing like a damn rusty door. How about something more your own speed, like N’Sync or the Backstreet Boys? Or maybe something easier, like the theme song to Sesame Street?”

Scott scowled. “You know what, Mike, fuck you. How about this then?”

Life it seems, will fade away...

Drifting further every day...

Getting lost within myself...

Nothing matters no one else...

I have lost the will to live...

Simply nothing more to give...

There is nothing more for me...

Need the end to set me free...

He stood there, smirking smugly, until Mike blinked, and grinned right back at him.

“Metallica’s ‘Fade to Black’, hmmm?” he mused. “Not too bad a choice, all things considered. Unfortunate, though, since I don’t plan to go peacefully into that goodnight. I intend to rage, rage, against the dying of the light.” With that, he shrugged, pulling free of the policemen’s grasp, crossing his arms.

Scott, stunned, took a step back. “What the fuck? How? HOW? This is impossible! You should be a zombie! There’s no way, NO WAY you can be doing this!”

“Oh, but there is, ‘old friend’,” he growled, walking forward even as Scott retreated. Any help Scott might have had from his girls or from the policemen was gone, as his song had rendered them temporarily insensate, unable to respond. “You’ll never guess what gave me the idea of how to beat you,” Mike continued, closing in on the now very frightened Scott. “It was the banders. The same group you used to joke about as being even lower on the totem pole than we computer geeks. Turns out, these guys are pretty sharp after all.”

He grabbed Scott by the neck and punched him right in the mouth, feeling satisfaction as several teeth broke, and blood spurted forth. He punched Scott again, this time in the nose, sending the small thin boy to the floor. “Here’s a word for you, Scotty. Resonance. It’s when a sound wave, say your magical mystical singing voice, meets up with another sound wave, of equal magnitude and pitch, but slightly out of phase. The single waves match up, but not exactly. They warble, they distort, the cancel each other out!“ He removed the small pocket MP3 Player from his pocket. “I was prepared, Scotty. I copied my distortion wave onto my mini disc before I left the booth. When your goons let go of my hands, I turned this on inside my pocket. It’s range isn’t very good, but it worked well enough to cancel out your little impromptu serenade.” He picked the crawling boy up by the neck again, glaring hotly. “So, who did you say won, and who lost?”

Scotty jerked free, as Lisa and Sharon began to show signs of life once again. “Lisa, Sharon, quick! Grab him! Get this stupid punk away from me! He’s gone crazy!” To his shock, the two girls merely blinked, then frowned, their expressions showing a mixture of anger and shock, but towards him, not Mike. Mike held up a hand, warning them back. “No, girls, he’s mine first! If I leave anything, you can finish the job.” He turned back to Scott. “Oh, did I forget to mention that this little wave pattern removes the effects of your hypnosis?”

Suddenly, the school PA system blared to life. Metallica’s ‘Where the Wild Things Are’ began playing loudly:

So wake up sleepy one, it’s time to save your world...

Steal dreams and give to you, shoplift a thought or two...

All you children touch the sun, burn fingers one by one by one.

Will this earth be good to you? Keep you clean or stain through?

So wake up sleepy one, it’s time to save your world...

You’re where the wild things are, toy soldiers off to war.

Mike grinned, clenching Scott’s throat even tighter. “Did I also forget to mention that I held the MP3 Player against Vanessa’s hand when I grabbed her, to wake HER from your spell as well? Or that the CD I gave her was another copy of my wake-up message?”

The policemen, and the football jocks guarding the doors, groaned, shaking their heads in confusion. Scott, seeing his plans crumbling to dust before him, seeing his entire future going down the drain, lost it. Completely. Screaming in rage, he shoved Mike away, rushing towards the nearest policeman. He hit the man hard, his small bony frame managing to send the older, still groggy man down. He grabbed the gun from the officer’s belt, and whirled, turning towards Mike.

The first shot went wild. Mike, knowing it had been meant for him, ran, hauling ass for the doors. Scott followed, firing madly, thinking of nothing except killing the rotten bastard that had taken the entire world away from him. The other police, coming out of their fugue, took off in pursuit.

“I’m going to kill you, you fucking son of a bitch! Scott screamed, firing again, barely missing Mike’s head by scant inches.

SHIT! He means it! Scott has flipped out! Mike ducked and ran inside the equipment room, hoping to find a bat, or a hockey stick, something he could use as a weapon, to defend himself. Nothing. The huge steel rack was filled with nothing but balls of all colors and sizes, from baseballs to basketballs. Fuck! I’m toast! Mike thought grimly as he heard Scott jerk the supply room door open.

Mike put up his hands, and backed away, staring down at the barrel of the gun. “Scott, man, take it easy, okay?” he stammered, looking desperately for some way to escape. “Killing me won’t solve anything. It’ll just make things worse when they finally get you. Just put the gun down, okay?”

“Fuck that!” he yelled, firing. Blood spurted five feet into the air from the gunshot in Mike’s right shoulder. Scott laughed wildly, cocking the trigger again. “I’m screwed. Anyway you look at it, I’m done like dinner. I took over the town, Mikey. I forced my will on every person in this whole rotten little town. Everyone, except you. You... who had to ruin everything, you, who just couldn’t get with the program, who had to turn against me, his supposedly best friend! You, the fucking super sayuin hero, Goku!” He took aim, this time at Mike’s head. “Well, hero, this time the villain gets the last fucking laugh in the end.”

It was the kind of thing that happened only in the movies, the sort of crazy, incredible thing that seemed inconceivable to a rational person not fearing for his life. As Scott squeezed the trigger, Mike lunged, ducking his head as he ran forward, hitting Scott just as he fired. His arm rose, and the bullet went high, stroking the heavy metal bolt holding the rack in place. The gun was knocked loose, and went sliding out into the hallway. Mike’s momentum brought him atop Scott, and over, leaving him sprawled facedown on the floor, with Scott lying face up. The bullet-torn metal creaked, then groaned, its weight shifting in the absence of the load bearing joint that supported it. Scott saw it coming a split second before Mike, and yelled simply, “Shit!”

Between Scott’s scream, and his own sense of danger, Mike just managed to roll over, moving the necessary few feet to miss being smashed flat when the rack tilted over and fell. The loud crash jolted every bone in Mike’s body, the sound making his ears ring. Getting to his feet, he glanced back into the room... and wished he hadn’t. Scott groaned softly, his face and body bloody, pinned tightly underneath the heavy metal rack. Hurt, weak, but still alive.

Mike sank gratefully to the ground, sobbing softly, not quite understanding why, as the police finally arrived on the scene, taking in the situation before calling for an ambulance. Vanessa and the other girls joined him moments later. Vanessa, her own cheeks wet, and eyes red, sank down next to him, wrapping her arms around him. Together they held one another, staring at the bloody mess before them, numb to the activity going on around them, as people scrambled to save the life of Scott Littlejohn...

(XXIV.)

Epilogue:

“Hey, Mike, how’s it going, dude?”

Michael Evans nodded, waving back to the boy as he made his way towards his locker. In the past week, things had finally begun to resemble normal life again. With Vanessa’s help, he’d managed to free the entire town from Scott’s spell, playing his altered wave on the town radio, running it repeatedly over the CB, and the school PA systems. He’d even sent a copy of the wave on Compact Disc to the neighboring towns, to their schools and their radio stations, in case any of them had inadvertently received Scott’s hypnotic message. All in all, the crisis had been averted, the day had been saved, and he’d come off looking like a hero.

“S’yup, Mike! How’s it hanging?”

Most of the citizens had recovered fully. A few, like Vanessa, and Lisa, needed intensive therapy to get over the trauma of what Scott had done to them. Some of them, however, had suffered irreparable damage. Daryl Hostings, the former senior quarterback, whose entire memory Scott had erased, had to be retaught, retrained like a preschooler, in the most basic of things. Several years of therapy and patience would be required to rebuild his mind to its former status.

And then there was Michelle.

“Yo, Evans, what-it-is? Looking good, ‘G’!!”

Michelle had endured perhaps the most severe, most constant abuse of Scott’s Gift. Almost daily her mind had been sculpted, trained and retrained, molding her into his perfect little bitch-slut. The augmented waveform had no effect on her; her mind had been so twisted by repeated sessions that no amount of therapy could restore her to her former self. In the aftermath of Scott’s accident, Michelle withered away, refusing to eat or drink, despite the pregnancy. Five days after the incident, she died, slitting her wrists in the bath tub. On the floor lay a newspaper, featuring the court’s ruling concerning Scott Littlejohn.

“Alright, Mr. Evans. Nice to see you back with us.”

And of course, Scotty. The paramedics had managed to save his life. He suffered several broken bones, as well as bruised ribs and a concussion. The falling rack had also solved the problem for police and federal agents, who had come calling once news of the incident hit the national press. The blunt metal edge of the rack’s second self had landed squarely on Scott’s neck, all but crushing his windpipe. Had the rescue workers delayed in freeing him by even a minute, he would have likely died of suffocation. An emergency tracheotomy saved his life, and surgery restored his ability to breathe normally. However, the damage had been severe; it was unlikely that Scott would ever be able to talk above a whisper again, and most certainly would never be able to sing.

Mike arrived at the locker, where Vanessa stood waiting. She had a smile on her face, the first completely pure smile she’d worn since that Friday night, when she’d been freed of Scott’s control, only to remember in lucid detail all the disgusting, debasing acts she’d been put through. Her guilt in her part of trying to bring Mike down had been the strongest; for several days she’d avoided him altogether, while her parents and Dr. Hemmer tried to push her out of her depression.

“Boy are you a sight for sore eyes,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her gorgeous red lips. The thought of a week ago, of watching Scott abuse her sweet supple lips with his foul little penis flirted through his mind, but he brushed it aside. Scott was locked up tightly in the state mental hospital, where he could do no more harm. Mike merely did the same to any such thoughts concerning that fateful night—he locked them away.

“How are you feeling, Mike?” Vanessa asked, grabbing his books for him, mindful of the sling around his shoulder. “Does your arm still hurt?”

“No, I’m kinda getting used to it,” he said, gesturing slightly with the limb. “It’s just a ‘flesh wound’. What about you? How are YOU feeling? Your wounds run a lot deeper than mine do.”

Vanessa frowned, her eyes taking on a faraway look. “Actually, I don’t feel too bad,” she said slowly. “It’s funny. I know what happened to me, what Scott did to me... but now, it doesn’t bother me nearly as much. It’s almost as if it was just a hazy dream, something that happened to someone else, instead of me.” She blinked, and her eyes came back into focus again. She smiled. “Anyway, I’m managing. Are we ready to go now?”

Mike smiled. “Just about. Here, don’t want you to forget your present again.” He slid the MP3 Player from his locker, and placed the earphones on Vanessa’s ears. “There. All set. Now we can go.”

Vanessa smiled, sliding the player ON. A soft glassy look spread across her face again as Mike’s subtle messages slide unfiltered into her mind, entrancing her, helping her through the trauma she had faced. Mike sighed softly, leading his girlfriend along the path, heading for home, trying to come to terms with the fact that his hypnotic messages were as much bonding her to him, making her every bit his adoring loving slave as they aided her in dealing with her trauma.

He was slowly deepening his power over her, sending her deeper, even as he lovingly aided her, taking away the source of her pain and sorrow. In the end, she’ll be more like Michelle, he thought deeply, as he placed his free arm around her waist. Will that make me more like Scotty? Will I become drunk on that power, and try to take over where Scott left off?

He fingered the CD in his pocket, the last Master CD, containing both the original wave, the amplified wave, and its counter frequency. A wicked glint shone in his eyes.

Well, if I do end up becoming the next ‘Bard’, he mused, walking off into the sunset, Vanessa at his side, I’ll be sure to choose some damn better songs.