Never Have Colourful Outfits Heralded A Hivemind Incursion
By Mr. Scade
Chapter 9: Memetic Defeat
A group of six people was huddled tight in a small alcove at the back of a small house. They had been inside, enjoying a game of Scrabble, when all of a sudden their neighbours started chanting some nonsense word loudly. When they poked their heads to see what the commotion was about they saw an army of leotard-wearing maniacs making their way towards their house. Closing the doors didn’t work as the zombies (they had started calling them zombies) broke windows and poured inside in a traditional Evil Dead fashion.
Quickly the six people ran upstairs and hid. They had been there for over an hour and were starting to cramp when they heard feet shuffling outside.
The door flew open and before they could react a set of hands started pulling them out and away. Each person was separated from the others and pulled into a private corner where the zombies started to chant happily and touch them in their private bits.
Fear gave way to anger, and anger gave way to arousal. Arousal was then told to jump into a volcano along with all other feelings and let happiness control everything.
Haigure and obey.
Two girls were kissing hungrily.
They were on their shared bed, simply enjoying the taste of each other’s skin and lips after an arduous day of constant shopping centre hopping. They had ended their day by curiously walking into Metasports and losing thirty minutes of their lives in a degenerated dream-like trance. They only remembered being utterly fascinated by the selection of swimsuits and acquiring several.
Once back home they were feeling extremely frisky. Quickly, they locked themselves in their bedroom and started to kiss and disrobe each other as quickly as it was humanly possible. Their touches were like fire made fingers, fuelling them with the blazing desire of a billion sluts. But something was off. As soon as they were naked, staring at each other’s breasts, they felt that they needed something... fresh. Something new.
They looked wickedly into each other’s eyes and then pulled on their swimsuits. The brunette put on a yellow, thong one-piece with the Arena brand symbol in black on her right breast. It was slippery and slick, with a lustre that could put gold and silver to shame. It rode between her butt cheeks and seemed to push its way into her sex.
She had never worn something so delightful.
The blonde tried on a checker-pattern swimsuit that zipped up her back. It made her look like a goddess of latex, perfect in its imperfection.
Since then they had not been able to pry their hands off each other. Now they were licking at one another’s elevated and moist sexes with the abandon of a starving man eating his first meal in weeks. They felt more lust and desire and love for each other now than ever before.
After hours at it, their minds went completely blank. And soon enough they were filled with new wonderful ideas. Obedience to a terribly wonderful concept, that of ineffable happiness in the form of a memetic virus they had to obey and serve and help spread. Haigure echoed in their minds like a bad pop song that had just made it to the top of the charts. They had to sing it, they had to feel it; for doing otherwise would be like killing the most wonderful thing in the world.
Smile. Enjoy. Laugh. Giggle. Smile. Haigure. Lust. Cum. Smile. Haigure. Haigure. Haigure.
The mantra went on for who knows how long. The lovers no longer cared about time, only about haigure.
Eventually fellow haigure converts found them. The presence of their voices made the two girls scream in carnal desire.
“Haigure and obey!”
Melanie Lore was beaming. All around her people had released their haigure selves. She herself was happy that she no longer had to hide her crimson and brown leotard; although she was a bit sad that hers was so boring compared to others. She saw a man wearing a leotard with a flowery pattern that made his cock look particularly suck-able. A little kid in an Iron Man leotard. An older woman in a leotard that looked like a Victorian dress re-purposed for the commanding will of an ancient god-concept. And so on.
But she was wearing all those leotards, actually. Lore was part of the collective; ergo she experienced everything they experienced.
She passed by a group of kids converting a teenage girl who kept calling out “Brother, brother!” as her clothes turned into a black and white stripped leotard.
Lore smiled sweetly at the girl and the girl stopped struggling and did her very first haigure pose. The world was all right.
Like many more, Lore was making her way to the Yard of Bleeding Soles. Their queen (Lore, like many within the collective, no longer saw Cosette as simply another voice, but as the queen and mother of haigure) had summoned them to a very special place. And they all were haigure, one mind, and one purpose. They all obeyed each other’s orders.
As she walked up a hill, her high heels (she didn’t quite remember when she started wearing them, but a voice inside told her they looked better with her leotard than sneakers) singing on the concrete, Lore thought back to before she was haigure. The memory was unpleasant. Of course, in contrast, everything was unpleasant. A torrent of moaning voices drowned her memories and so she kept on walking.
Bor will join us. Everyone will join us. She thought happily. We will transform Bor, and then fuck him like we’ve always wanted. Lore had to giggle when many female and some male voice echoed their agreement—she didn’t know just how desired her librarian and slow-witted friend was.
Once, before haigure, before her memories were jumbled together with other peoples, she had desired Bor in the same way a lactose intolerant person desires ice-cream. She knew it was delicious and attractive and most likely the best thing for a lonely Friday night, but the possibilities of it doing her more wrong than good was too high.
Lore saluted some haigure sisters, literal sisters; days ago they had been part of a local convent.
All of that was irrelevant now. Everything but haigure was irrelevant. She couldn’t even consider things days ahead. Would haigure triumph? Of course. Will the world go on just with haigure? Of course. How could she question the triumph of haigure! It was unmistakeable.
Eventually Lore found the pub and some minutes later the Yard of Bleeding Soles. In her heels she was safe from the specks of broken glass that shimmered between the blades of grass like a billion stars. She walked onwards, up a tiny mound of grass and soon found herself standing in front of a structure of some ilk. A quick question to the collective revealed that their queen—all hail the queen of haigure—had commanded a structure, a big one at that, be built. It was a stage, of sorts, with a throne in the middle. Four towers made of scaffolding, planks, pick-up trucks, crates and trees were erected around it. Speakers of all sizes and shapes crowded the towers, connected to a little cottage-like room some yards away in which a former sound engineer and now obedient slave to haigure was working. The whole thing looked like a hastily put together reggae music festival.
But that didn’t matter, really. They only needed to be heard loud and far and with so many speakers they would do just that.
Sound, Lore mused, was their best weapon. Haigure was memetic in nature, and just hearing it would drive someone down the gravel road of true joy. In time. This way their conversion of Carrera would go quicker. Whoever had thought it—and Lore knew exactly who—was a genius.
Lore found Cosette idly talking to some men, their leotards the yellow and orange of construction workers. They had lustful and devout looks on their faces. They saluted in a haigure pose and then left. Lore grimaced, “Where’s Amanda?” She whispered and then realized how silly of her it was to have such queries. She knew where everyone was, of course.
Quickly she walked around the stage, glass crunching between three inches of heel and who-knows-how-many feet of soil. She found her haigure sister and mother half-dragging, half-kissing a good-looking yet plump man that had been hiding in a hovel behind a pair of trees. She joined in, greeted her sister, and started to help her.
Lore began by trailing a hand over the man’s chest, much to his kicking disapproval. She then changed tactics and started to undress him, though not all. Her hands found the key places and in no time she had him squirming to her every touch. It was then that Lore and Amanda chorused the glory of haigure upon their crying prey.
He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think, he couldn’t do anything but let these two minxes pull him into something he had, secretly, dreamed about for years.
His conversion took no more than five minutes.
Once done, a man in a white leotard with red hearts skipped over to join on a group searching for more people to convert. He was a happy man now, contrary to what he was minutes ago.
“Amanda.” Lore said with mild amusement.
“I know. He’ll be here soon.” Amanda smiled, her forefinger between her teeth. She had absentmindedly picked up that habit from someone called Jeanne.
“Yes. He’s coming here. We know that.”
They were silent for a while. Birds chirped, and hammers drove nails through wood. It was a peaceful late afternoon, with a nice breeze, clear skies, and that heavy, wet scent of oncoming rain.
“We want to convert him, personally.” Lore added with a moan. Even thinking it made her body rock with pleasure; she had to firmly plant her feet on the ground and push her groin against her hand to control herself.
Amanda smiled, running a finger down her orange belly. “I want to convert him too... I’ve always wanted to.”
Lore looked at her sister and friend and considered two things: how come her sister was using a first person pronoun instead of a third person pronoun? And what colour Bor’s leotard might turn out as.
The latter was hard to answer. The former was near on impossible; as much as they all were connected and loved being in constant chattering oblivion in a collective of thoughts, they were still themselves. The strength of the hivemind was that every person, no matter how devout or mindlessly pious, was still themselves. The only thing that had changed, of course, was that their minds were remade to think of haigure as the most important thing in creation. And who was to say it wasn’t?
The two girls’ eyes went blank, and then turned crimson and orange. They blinked and turned to look at each other, their jaws slack. “Our queen calls us.” Lore said. “Cosette calls us.” Amanda said at the same time.
Jo and Bor were running through a haigure-infested park. Since leaving the school they had not been safe; every convert from Fairmouth to Carrera and to Little Hintock was out to get them. Even if they had been able to hide they wouldn’t have survived for long; they had the seeds of haigure in their minds, much to their despair, and those seeds would soon germinate and call forth an army to destroy their plans along with their free will.
The two jumped over a fence, rolled on the dirt, and kept running. They were starting to feel tired, but you could easily ignore fatigue when you were running to save the world.
Bor patted his backpack, making sure the jar was still intact. He nodded towards Jo, who nodded back.
They rounded a corner and were suddenly aware that nobody was pursuing them anymore. They had lost them, for now.
Panting, sweating profoundly, chests hammering with the power of the internal-combustion engine, they rested against a wall. Bor closed his eyes and allowed himself to enjoy the cool breeze blowing through the street. Jo looked up at the sky and saw black clouds rolling down from the south. Rain would eventually be upon them.
“Where... where are we going, again?” Jo dabbed her forehead with the sleeve of her shirt. It didn’t help much. “I am fucking lost.”
“To the yard... to... to the park.” Bor was silently cursing himself. He was too exhausted from a long bike ride and constant running to do any more. But he had to. He looked up at the sky and the buildings around them. “I don’t know where I am.”
Jo shook her head.
For a while the two didn’t know what to do. Then it occurred to Bor that he had a smartphone. He pulled out his device and checked the map of the town. They were, to his astonishment, three blocks away from the park... if they could walk through walls and buildings. And since they couldn’t, they had to take the back alleys and roads and hope people in beautiful leotards did not swarm them again...
Bor shook his head.
“Through here,” He said grimly and started to walk deeper into the alley.
Ten minutes later they came to an abrupt halt. Rubbish bins were scattered in front of them, and a wall of a couple dozen people in leotards, all crouching slightly and rubbing their hands up and down their groins. They were chanting their nonsense word, and the place was brightened up in a warm, charming wave of pleasantness.
“We are fucked.” Bor turned his head left and then right, his eyes going everywhere.
“We have to split up.” Jo added, she had just noticed a tiny hole under a wooden fence through which a small dog or someone her size could go through.
“We’ll meet... where?” Jo asked, her eyes unfocusing as the hivemind’s words started to drill into her skull. She was suddenly conscious of her clothes being tighter than before.
“Should’ve gotten your mobile’s number.” Bor started to edge towards the fence to his left. The wall of people stared at them with the intent of a lioness about to chase a zebra. “Okay, we’ll meet wherever Cosette is at and, failing that, by the cemetery’s archway!”
The wall darted towards them. Heels click-clacking on concrete, latex rubbing on latex, moans making the very air one giant, booming groan.
Jo darted under the fence and in a quick and swift motion managed to pull herself through just as a hand enclosed around empty air.
Bor had already managed to run several meters, around some corners, and over a fence that clinked in annoyance when he touched it.
The haigure people cursed each other and a message went through the hivemind.
“Convert on sight.” A thousand voices echoed. “Take no chances.”
Somewhere in a small cabin a man was moaning. Why was he moaning? Simple: he was a very important cog in a machinery of fine-tuned mental corruption.
His name was not important. Not anymore.
He was just the digital spokesperson of haigure. His job was to broadcast the glory of haigure to any willing and unwilling ears.
His station reached far and wide, to an audience of thousands. And he was using that power to help disseminate his queen’s and his new nature’s commands.
He didn’t have any music that worshipped haigure, sadly, but he had the next best thing. Once converted, the radio station’s staff realized they had a more important job to do, that they had a duty, a reason to exist. They huddled inside the cabin and, with permanent smiles on their faces, started chanting their obedience to the world.
Jo Kleiner was an intelligent girl. She had always been; although a bit lazy. But when she faced certain inevitability and most likely oblivion of personality, laziness was purged from her personality.
It was her intellect that allowed her to climb to the top floor of an empty house to get a good view of her position. The same intellect that had made her realize she needed to distract the twenty or more leotard-clad people hovering around her position. She threw a bottle of whiskey she had found lying in a cupboard out the window of a second floor and onto a bed of dry leaves on a neighbouring house. The sound of crashing glass pulled in the zombies around her like flies to honey, and the lighter she threw soon afterwards made gave them the primal fear of fire. Or so she had vainly hoped. They were only surprised.
Her plan worked well enough, and with enough converted people immobilized around her to safely get out, Jo started towards the park.
But then she began to feel it. The accumulative shivers, the pleasant feelings on her sex and all over her body, the constant sound of haigure in her ears and, now, echoing in her skull, the sight of the haigure pose... All of it had been building up in her psyche and was finally breaking asunder the bars of the prison she had pushed them in.
Jo was two blocks away from the park and the Yard of Bleeding Soles and Cosette (her queen).
She kept on falling to her knees every couple of steps. Her body weak, her legs trembling, she pressed on.
She rested against a lamppost, tired, panting, moaning as an image began to form in her mind’s eye...
She shook her head and opened her eyes. Jo looked down at her body and saw, in horror, the image in her mind had been real. Her clothes were shiny, so shiny that she was momentarily blinded. Her green, khaki shorts were no longer khaki or shorts for that matter; they had fused with her underwear, turning into an oil-spill-like spiralling rainbow of light green, white and pink; they had turned tight and were more like a pair of bikini bottoms than shorts of shiny latex. Her chest was constricted; her breasts pressed together and out in what were a strangely comfortable, short-sleeved beige latex top that barely covered her bellybutton but was getting to it.
Jo screamed in disgusted terror, but her mouth moaned in utter delight.
“No,no, no, no!” She said, feeling her loins moistening. “No, I have to fight it... I have to... I have to...”
She closed her eyes and her ears and herself.
Haigure was pushing into her mind, pushing into her core. It wanted to corrupt her; it wanted to help her join into the cacophony of mental voices that made it a glorious thing. But, most importantly, it wanted to make her see that she actually wanted it. It was not its desire to force itself upon her; haigure wanted Jo to accept that haigure was wonderful.
What better way to break someone than to make them want their own undoing?
Jo’s eyes flared open. Rage, anger, and a little speck of fear shimmering behind her pupils. She didn’t want to be converted, she didn’t want anyone to tell her what to feel or what to want. Jo was her own person and she wouldn’t allow anyone or anything to succumb.
Jo placed a foot in front of her; it clicked on the hot asphalt. She ignored the sound and did the same with her other foot. Click. She pulled herself straight with the lampspot and managed to get her eyes to focus on something straight ahead. Jo began to walk towards it.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Her shoes made as she walked, each step sounding less like a soft heel and more like a tall, slender heel.
After twenty minutes she stopped, groaning. Her top had grown long sleeves that were just about to cover her hands as if gloves. She tried to peel them away, rip the apart, pull them off... but nothing worked. They kept on growing when she blinked. As long as she stared at them they wouldn’t move, but she had to blink. If she didn’t blink the feelings in her head would go on like a bad rap record.
“No, keep going. Keep going, Jo.” She groaned to herself and willed her feet to move forward.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Jo felt a shiver go down her spine, a cold, unpleasant shiver. She looked down at her feet; her sneakers were halfway transformed into very, very high heels. But they had not moved. Somebody was behind her.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
Slowly Jo turned around, her eyes closed. I know that walk, I know those steps. She could recognize her sister’s walk anywhere.
“Aizan...” Jo muttered when her eyes fell upon her sister’s swirling, starry, space leotard. She frowned and forced her lips to stay puckered and not become a smile.
Aizan was standing just beyond her sister’s reach, like Tantalus’s drink and fruit. She was looking, as always, incredible. She turned the simple act of standing in a brainwashing leotard and a pair of heels into an art worthy of the best seductresses in fictional histories. The passage of time and the growth of the hivemind had only given Aizan Kleiner the tools with which to transform her attractiveness into a weapon with no equals.
“Hello, my dear sister,” Aizan’s voice was a purr that would’ve made a thousand male mammals act in a crazed way. “I come here to thank you for giving me the, oh, means with which to join the glory of haigure and make it as fabulous as I am.”
As fragmented and tainted as her psyche was, Jo could still find the horrific in what her sister had just said. A whole group of connected minds, all sharing a little bit of Aizan’s view on sexuality, personal appearance, and taste for, well, everything made Jo shudder and want to skin herself. And, if things went according to her sister’s plan (and Jo knew that her sister was always planning something) soon enough they all would become like her.
It was a dreadful and terrifying idea.
Jo was suddenly standing straight, energized, and feeling extremely disoriented—it had been the third time in a day when her mind had been snapped free from the hold of an ancient blissful concept-god.
“Aizan...” She said in the tone of someone holding too many grudges for it to be healthy. “You...” Jo found it hard to come up with a fitting word and then it hit her. “You look good.”
Aizan giggled a satisfied giggle. She twirled in place as if she was wearing one of her dresses. But Aizan no longer cared about dresses; she had her leotard on and it was all everyone should ever wear. “Oh, thank you for noticing, dear Jo. And here I thought you were blind to fashion.”
I am. Jo thought, not entirely sure what she was doing. She had to get the park and... and do what? She didn’t have the butterflies and she couldn’t quite help Bor if she was so far down the rabbit hole. She took a deep breath and stood as straight as she ever had. The world looked different when you had seven extra inches to you.
“I am so happy for you, Jo,” Aizan said in a tone reserved only for her bedroom antics. “You’re so close to joining into the glory of haigure! This way you will finally be able to actually listen to me. You will obey what I say because everyone obeys each other in haigure.” She giggled.
Urgh. Jo felt as if she needed a bath. Go on, make it easier for me to not want to join the oh so glorious haigure... Jo’s mind was blank for a moment. Her bikini bottom finally joined with her top. The colours mingled, beige and pink and white and green swirling as if spilled oil.
Jo’s eyes cleared, her vision returning. She blinked and saw, to her dismay, that her sister was closer now, inches away. Her knees were slightly bent, her legs spread wide, her crotch pushed out, her arms outstretched in front of her, her palms framing her outlined sex.
It was the haigure pose; dreaded, horrible, disgusting, and every bit beautiful. Jo felt a deep arousal flare within her very being. Her leotard rode higher up her legs, turning into a thong that drove deep between her butt cheeks and made her ‘oh’ in surprise. The colours stopped swirling and turned into vertical stripes in green, pink, white and beige as the leotard tightened over her moist sex. It covered her neck to just below her chin, and it felt like a first lover’s kiss. Jo had to moan at how good it felt.
“No... no... I have to... resist.” Jo groaned, gritting her teeth. “Fuck, it feels so good.”
Aizan kept driving her arms up and down, the motion pushing her into a trance of her own. She was droning on and on about the glory of haigure and how good it would be for Jo to be just like her sister.
Jo could feel thoughts filling her head, not all of them her own. Jo could feel her desire to bend her knees grow to the point where she did it. She could feel her lips mouthing the word, but she had enough power to avoid saying it.
Around them haigure converts walked, idly going this way and that before all of them turned towards where Jo had been going to. Towards their queen.
Jo gave her sister a look that could’ve summed up all of the sibling hatred throughout human history.
But it was soon swallowed by a look of complete devotion and love to a sibling.
Jo extended her arms before her just as she heard, deep inside her head, Aizan’s voice saying:
“Think like I do.”
And Jo suddenly realised, with diminishing horror, that she wanted haigure to corrupt her very being.
She wanted it.
It was the third time in three days that Bor had borrowed a bicycle. Though it wasn’t so much borrowing as stealing it from an unconscious boy of twelve wearing very tight clothing. At this point Bor Rodriguez didn’t really care about what was right or wrong.
The bike was black aluminium and designed to tame mountain tracks. It had seven gears, and a chain that needed a lot of oil. Bor didn’t much know about bikes besides that they took him to places, and quicker than on foot.
Bor reached his destination mostly uninterrupted and in under five minutes. It seemed, to him, that all of the leotards were walking towards where he was headed, which didn’t bode well. Fairmouth had over two thousand people living in it, and if every one of them was converted then Bor needed more than a bicycle and a backpack to get through them.
“Once this is all over, I am getting a car.” He said, wistfully.
He placed the bike behind a tree, opened his backpack to check that the butterflies were still alive, and set off into the park.
He crouched behind a bench, a small radio still on over it. Bor was concentrated on the structure ahead of him. “Is that... a stage?” He scratched his chest absentmindedly. “Why the sodding fuck would you need a bloody stage?”
Bor was forgetting himself. He didn’t need to know what the thing was, he just needed to find Cosette and... and... and find out how to show her the butterflies. Did they need to show them to her or make them touch her?
Bor wished he had asked for specifics. He usually did.
From where he was he couldn’t quite see what was going on, but he saw that there was plenty of commotion near the stage and—he shuddered—near the archway to the graveyard.
“I need to get closer.” He stated the obvious with a twist of his mouth.
He made to stand when suddenly the radio said something that made him sink back into his crouching position.
“And this one goes to all our faithful and obedient listeners who right now should be feeling the oh so fucking delicious feeling of simply closing your eyes and letting haigure wash over you and make you want it to convert you.”
Bor felt his world shake. They’re spreading through radio... no. They were getting more and more clever as more people joined in, or so Bor thought. What he didn’t know and anyone but a mind within the collective could know, was that they had all been as smart. It was just a matter of how creative they were.
A song, a song of haigure started playing on the radio, making Bor’s mind come up with a better tune. It was catchy and the sort that made you sing it over and over much to your own terror... he kicked the radio away and watched it fall with a crash over some rocks.
He sat there, panting slightly. “I need to get there, fast.” He mused to himself.
“Oh, yes you do, you ass.” A voice behind him made his skin crawl. It wasn’t fearful or so cheerful that it could put a bimbo cheerleader to shame—it was simply familiar.
He turned around, slowly. He thought back to the message he sent with his mobile, to the call he had almost answered...
“Lore...” His voice almost froze in his throat.
“Haigure and obey, Bor!” Lore saluted in her half-crouched haigure pose.
“No. No, no... Not you... fuck.” He started to edge back. He was stronger than Lore, but not faster. He had to get away from her and find Cosette. “I am sorry. I didn’t know...”
“Oh,” Lore said in the hurt tone of someone who had just been told her first painting wasn’t as good as she thought. “You don’t have to be sorry, Bor.” Her voice cheered-up quite drastically. “Thanks to you and our dear queen we know what it is to be truly happy! We are so joyful and delighted that you helped bring haigure into our lives!”
Bor stared. He placed his right leg under himself, that way he could easily dart to the side if it came down to it. “I doubt it.” He said, his fist digging into the soft ground.
“You see, we weren’t into it at first, but haigure has a way of digging into your mind,” She giggled. “At first it is dreadful, but then you love it. Oh, and we love it so much, Bor. I love it more than I ever loved you.”
Lore closed her eyes and let the full power of joy wash over her body. She was happy, truly happy. For the first time in her life she could say that she was happy. Her joy travelled through the hivemind, making everyone feel even more joyful than they already were feeling. She also sent a message that was picked up by some very interested minds.
“Soon enough you’ll be one with us, Bor. You’ll be one with haigure and our queen!”
Bor knew he was cornered but... “Oh, I doubt that, you bitch.”
Lore’s eyes flew open. She eyed Bor with what could’ve been anger but haigure converts didn’t feel anything more than mild, giggling annoyance. “What did you say, Bor?” She slowly edged herself closer...
And Bor threw a handful of mud into her eyes.
Lore recoiled in a shriek of pain muted over by delight. Quickly Bor shot past her crimson-and-brown form and across the park towards a hedge growing dangerously close to the park’s outer wall. He was just about to make it when the ground flew into his face.
Pulling, clawing, desperately shifting his body from side to side Bor tried to pry himself free from whatever force was holding him down. He turned around to see his assailant, and his breath held in his throat when Amanda’s nice smile made his heart sink to the depths of despair.
He felt his trousers growing tight and his sneakers moving like worms on a rotten mango.
“Amanda,” He groaned, kicking at her shoulders. “Fucking let go.”
“Not until you’re one with haigure, Bor.” She giggled, rubbing her breasts on his legs. “Besides, weren’t you always moaning about how I never touched you this way?”
Bor would’ve said touché, but he was too preoccupied trying to pull himself free to make any snide remarks. He saw Lore’s wobbling body walking towards him from the corner of his eye. Bor turned his head towards the hedge, so close.
But he couldn’t pry himself free, no matter how much he struggled. Amanda held his feet in a grapple, the kinds which he had only seen in television. Somehow she had learned to do it. Lore reached for his backpack and swung it off his shoulders in a sweep movement that left his left arm aching profoundly. It clattered noiselessly between some rocks; Bor hoped what lay inside was safe and sound or everything would be lost.
He tried to turn around, to meet his assailants, but Lore’s hands were upon the back of his head and pinning his undamaged arm in a tight lock. He couldn’t speak without getting a mouthful of dirt into his mouth, let alone move his head without twisting it. If he even tried to move his arm he knew he wouldn’t be using it for a while.
For a moment he entertained the idea of trying to fight back, but he realized his friends were using professional moves. He wasn’t going to risk it. He couldn’t risk it.
Bor tried to concentrate on his mission. He thought of all the people he had to save from... from what, exactly? Did they want to be saved? He thought that anyone who was converted against their will would want such salvation but they all looked so happy and content...
“No!” He yelled, twisting, moaning, screaming. They were in his head, they were getting to him. He could feel their tendrils, their slippery latex tendrils in his mind.
Amanda rubbed her breasts on his legs. They felt like a pair of living balloons, fleshy, slippery and so good. They were distracting and gave him a tingling sensation he had not felt in a long time. “Oh, yes, Bor. We are going to turn you, Bor. We’re going to make you one of us, Bor.” Amanda giggled and watched Bor’s trousers growing tighter and tighter until they didn’t look like trousers anymore.
The word started to echo in his head. It wasn’t his voice, it wasn’t even his mind whispering it. The voices that were trying, desperately, to corrupt his mind were Amanda and Lore’s. And they were succeeding. Bor had been strong, had erected a powerful barrier against the onslaught of the memetic virus, but even the best walls would crumble after repeated attacks (the prisoners in Carrera, the army of students, the radio song...). He was losing.
“I will not...” He groaned in despair, trying to pry himself away from the nice feeling of Amanda’s tits on his legs, and of Lore’s hands caressing his back. But he couldn’t—he tried and tried and their hold was too strong.
“You’ll love it, Bor. You’ll really love it.” Lore whispered, her hands moving up and down his back and arms, turning his shirt into a plaid leotard. It was the first plaid leotard she had seen and she couldn’t wait to see him doing his first haigure pose. Oh, Lore was feeling so ecstatic.
And suddenly there was a third set of tendrils in his mind. A third set, slithering faster and quicker than the others, finding gaps where they could slide more easily and deeper. Bor felt her presence, felt her power, and all but howled in pleasure as her shadow fell over his body.
Cosette stood over him like a colossus, like a terribly good goddess. Her feet were beautiful, trapped in her orange heels. Her crotch, so perfectly outlined through the latex, her sex, her fruit... it made Bor want to reach out and touch her, drink her. His whole body wanted to give into her beauty, no, not her beauty. His whole being wanted to give into what she could bring him.
She crouched in front of him, her hand on his cheek. “Oh, poor little Bor. The last person capable of defeating me.” She spoke in her voice but Bor could hear, faintly, under the overlapping of caring tones, a second voice that made him feel joyful. “You were so brave, so strong to fight us. You would’ve succeeded in ridding the world of us, but you made so many mistakes. So dumb of you.” Her finger was on his lips and then his neck. “Luckily for you that will change once you join us. You’ll love it.”
Amanda and Lore were rubbing his body faster and harder. Their touches moving in unison with Cosette’s voice.
Bor tried to groan, to complain, but her fingers silenced him. “Oh, don’t fight it, Bor. Not anymore. What’s the point to fight it if you’re alone? Your friend has fallen, everybody who knew about me has fallen to us, to haigure. Even that amusing Grigori is no more.”
Bor’s heart sank, but it was quickly pushed back to the surface by the tendrils, the oh so delicious tendrils.
“Now, you’re all alone, Bor. Give into haigure, Bor. Give into us.”
“Give into us. Give into us.” The girls started chanting and soon enough the voices ascended to the single, majestic word that could corrupt even demons and angels.
A gasp, a twist of his crotch, a moan in his throat; his whole body reacted to the formation of the leotard. It grew and formed, growing over his trousers-turned-leggings, and it grew as his sneakers turned heels. It was complete and with its completion came a feeling of peace that he had never felt and knew, just knew that could not be felt otherwise. It was like being high, so drugged out of your mind that the whole world was a hilarious cartoon. It was like being high and in love, high and in love and in a place in your life where everything would turn out good, regardless of the world around you. It was a simple, pleasant feeling with such power that he couldn’t fight against it. Bor could not fight. His will broke, his desire to free everybody slowly flickered like a dying flame. He forgot about the butterflies, he forgot about what laid beyond the hedge, about Jo and Grigori and everybody else. He forgot about everything but haigure. Haigure.
Oh, it feels so good. He thought, feeling his friends’ bodies finally getting off of him.
Bor turned around, slowly, enjoying the feeling of latex rubbing over all of his body. He pushed himself up and almost crashed back in pleasure as the latex rubbed his sex. But he pushed himself up, pushed himself up and stared at his friends with the happy smile of gratitude only a train wreck victim could give his rescuer.
Lore and Amanda watched with expectant eyes, with giggling smiles, with crouching legs and extended arms. They watched and haigure and loved each other in their minds. Bor’s knees bent, his arms shot out in front of him, and he chanted, he chanted a single word that became the only truly important thing in the world.
“Haigure!” His voice echoed all over the park.
In that moment, the hivemind rejoiced.