The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Long Game

There were just the two of them in the front of Lily’s car: Lily Wright in the passenger seat and Andy Jordan behind the wheel. It was late in the evening but not yet fully dark although the street lights were on, or at least the ones that worked were. Detective-Inspector Wright seemed to be staring sphinx-like out through the windscreen at nothing in particular and even though she hadn’t said a damned thing for at least five minutes, Andy knew better than to disturb her train of thought.

Detective-Constable Jordan tried to concentrate on the panorama presented by the dimly lit street but found that his concentration was beginning to slip after an hour or so of watching nothing in particular. The meet had been set up for nine but Lily, being the suspicious woman that she was, had insisted that they should park-up early and observe the rendezvous point from a distance.

Andy sighed: he’d begun to take notes on who was around and who was doing what but Lily had told him not to bother. “Waste of effort, lad.” She’d said after he’d been at it for ten minutes. “You’ll know when something’s going down.”

He glanced at his boss out of the corner of his eye: she hadn’t moved and was still sitting there like a menacing statue. “Besides, this is a ‘meet’ not surveillance so just relax and keep watching.”

Dusk had gradually turned into night yet still nothing was happening that he could see. Sure there’d been the odd dog walker and the occasional passer-by, all of whom seemed to be going about their lawful business. On one occasion a tart had ‘set up shop’ by leaning against the lamppost on the street corner but she hadn’t been there long before a posh-looking BMW had pulled up. The window had rolled down, words were exchanged and the girl had climbed in: the car pulling away soon afterwards.

On another occasion a young male, obviously selling drugs, had made a few trades with other passers by before moving away to his next point of sale. Andy had wanted to call this in but Lily had stopped him. “Last thing we want is uniforms from response turning up and putting the kibosh on things!”

“Ma’am?” Andy had snapped rather more angrily than he had intended.

But Lily had just chuckled. “They might start noticing other things, mightn’t they?” She said but didn’t enlarge on her rather cryptic answer.

Andy had just sighed an gone back to watching and daydreaming.

Then about twenty minutes after the drug dealer had moved on Wright broke her silence for the first time in ages. “Okay, Andy, let’s pull around the corner and meet up with her Ladyship. We ain’t going to see anything else worthwhile if we stay here.”

“Oh?” Andy Jordan had enquired as he started the car’s engine.

Lily had chuckled again. “Not with that goon standing in the furniture shop doorway we ain’t.”

Andy had turned his head slightly to take in the shop that she was referring too... I on the other side of the road but could just make out the man lurking in the shadows. “How long’s he been there?”

Lily chuckled again. “About twenty minutes: he moved into the doorway when you were watching the drug dealer. Three to one he’s working for the lady!”

Jordan drove the car around the corner and even though they arrived at the designated meeting place several minutes early, the woman that they were due to meet was there by the rear passenger door almost as it rolled to a halt. The door opened and she slipped inside. Andy recognised the sophisticated-looking brunette who had been at the conference at Droitwich... How long ago had that been? He wondered.

“Well! If it isn’t my favourite social worker!” Lily exclaimed without turning around.

“Good evening, Inspector, you are well I trust?” The woman said in a quiet, emotionless voice.

“Fine!” Snapped Lily. “What can I do to assist MI5 on this pleasant evening?” Then added. “You know DC Jordan, I take it?”

Then, after what passed for pleasantries, they got down to business. “Okay, Mr Jordan can you just drive?”

“Where too?” The young copper asked.

“Anywhere, just drive.” The MI5 Officer instructed.

“Ignore her, Andy!” Lily interjected. “You take orders from me, not her!” She spun around to glare at the back seat passenger. “Now you either tell me what this is all about or get the fuck out of my car!”

When the woman made no move either to get out or to speak Wright smiled. “O-kay how about you start off by telling us who you are?”

The woman smiled back. “I’m Mary Smith, and like I said, I’m with the Home Office. I suggest that we drive around for a bit to make their surveillance more difficult: that group that snatched you is pretty advanced and to be frank, we just don’t know what they are capable of.”

“You’re bloody paranoid!” Lily snapped.

“Aren’t you?” The MI5 officer asked quietly.

There was a pause. “Okay, Jordan, you heard Mary Smith: just drive...” There was a pause... “Actually no: do a loop around the Harborne area—there’s something else that I want to check on. We can do that while I listen.”

The woman who called herself Mary Smith smiled wryly and began a quiet dialogue almost as soon as Andy pulled away from the curb. “Okay, we’re pretty sure that there is some sort of organised crime group operating and it’s already quite extensive and is growing. They seem to be into the usual things such as people-trafficking and the sex trade, but oddly enough, not drugs.”

“Not odd!” Lily interrupted. “Drugs are pretty well tied up by established groups like the ‘County Lines’, as they call themselves. Anybody new wanting to move into drug dealing is going to face a stiff fight.”

Smith nodded and said. “May be.” But she didn’t sound convinced. There was a pause. “We’ve been working with Border Force...”

Lily’s cackling laugh interrupted her. “Border Farce? Those wankers couldn’t find their own arsehole with both hands, a map and a torch!”

“Yes, well...” Smith said as her face reddened somewhat. She tried to continue. “...are you going to let me get a word in edgeways, or are you going to keep barging in whenever I say something?”

Lily turned and starred our of the windscreen for a moment—mainly to hide her wry smile. Andy Jordan sighed, he’d seen Lily do this several times before and knew that she liked to annoy people on the off chance that they’d say something that they didn’t mean too. He saw Lily glance at him out of the corner of his eye so he took up the conversation. “So how did the work with Border Force go, Ms Smith?”

Mary Smith calmed down slightly and continued. “Well we have had a few successes, despite what you read in the papers. However the fact that we’ve put a couple of groups out of action means that there are business opportunities which the lot that grabbed Lily will obviously try to exploit.

“The emphasis used to be on the sex trade but recently it seems to be shifting over to slave-labour: probably because there’s more money in it.” She said quietly.

Lily suddenly cut in again. “Take the next left, Andy, and then slow down.”

“Is this necessary?” Smith demanded.

“I just wanted to do a drive-by of a couple of small clothing factories—curiosity more than anything.” Wright said quietly, suddenly back in full police-mode.

The MI5 officer sighed but said nothing as the small clothes making firms were just the sort of thing that she’d been investigating.

They were driving through a small industrial area which was pretty dingy even though it wasn’t all that old. Both sides of the street were lined by anonymous, windowless factory units, many without name boards and all shabby-looking.

Lily’s eyes seemed to be looking everywhere as her head continually swivelling and her eyes darting from industrial unit to industrial unit. Suddenly she told Jordan to stop. She spun around and asked Smith. “What do you notice?”

The woman began to look around desperately... Her gaze moving from block to block but as many of the street lights were dark, there wasn’t a whole lot to see, other than the odd parked car. She frowned... “Umm, nothing.”

Lily chuckled. “Andy?”

The young copper smirked. “About a third of these places seem to be running a night shift... There’s a tiny amount of light spilling out from around doors or through holes in the metal cladding.”

“And a night shift in the middle of a recession is more than a little suspicious.” Lily said with a smirk. “So, Mary Smith, Why did you ask for a meeting in the arse-end of Birmingham at this ungodly hour. So far you’ve told me nothing that I didn’t already know and you’ve revealed nothing that couldn’t have been said over a mug of coffee in a nice warm office back at the nick.”

“What the hell are you on about?” the MI5 woman suddenly snapped. “It was you that asked for the meeting!”

Upgrades

F22 now found itself working under Monitor Raksha more or less full-time. It missed its sisters from its own hive, it missed its old controller too. Still F22 had new sisters to work with and a new controller to look after it and so it still felt fulfilled. Still there was one familiar face... E22, had been transferred to the little group and they were now working alongside each other on the new task.

Don’t you think this is odd? A voice inside F22’s head suddenly asked... It didn’t interruptF22’s thoughts as the thrall hadn’t been thinking of anything in particular: still the internal voice came as a surprise none the less.

This one is working, Emily. What is odd about that? The silver woman demanded, her brows knitting slightly.

Emily lapsed into silence for a few minutes which caused F22 to relax. The vestigial persona that shared its head had been quiet for sometime and it had hoped that the unwelcome presence had gone away. The Thrall carried on monitoring the computer display while the doctor, her old ‘friend’ #17MD, made another tiny incision into the back of the Director’s neck.

Suddenly F22’s head swivelled away from the computer screen and it found itself staring at E22 who was working with several of their sister-thralls as they struggled to subdue another Director: one who clearly objected to being strapped into a surgical support frame. It had a vague impression that it had been Emily who had caused their head to turn.

So what are you and my friend, Debra, doing at the moment? The voice demanded.

This one thought that you had gone! F22 answered mentally as it redirected its gaze to the task in hand. It frowned. Who is Debra?

Don’t you remember your best friend? Debra, the beautiful girl with the long red hair? Emily asked, and added. We grew up together, Remember?

She did remember, at least she remembered E22/Debra momentarily. There was a sudden flash-back to children playing in the warm summer sun. They looked about six, the two girls. One was a red-head, the other a brunette and they were organising a tea-party for their assembled dolls. They were laughing. The sky was blue. The little girls had names: Debra and Emily...

F22 closed its eyes to hold back the tears that were beginning to form. Go away! You are making me unhappy.

Me? You referred to yourself as ‘Me’. Emily pointed out.

“Go away!” F22 shrieked out loud which attracted the attention of the medic who she was assisting. The woman paused and stared at her.

“Are you okay, Kid?” #17MD asked in a concerned voice.

“I... I... This one would benefit from taking a break.” F22/Emily said, their voice unsteady.

The medic reached across and grasped F22’s wrist to check the Thrall’s pulse: it was rapid, which caused the doctor to frown momentarily. “Hang in there, Kid, let me just close this incision and we’ll knock-off for a bit and take a breather.”

She sealed the cut in the back of the Director’s neck with a dab of superglue and was about to report the thrall’s errant behaviour when she was distracted by a scream that came from the other side of the room. The struggling Director had somehow managed to jerk an arm away from the Thralls who were attempting to restrain her and was flailing around at her captors.

“Stay here and keep your eye on things.” The Medic ordered as she strode over to the source of the disturbance.

F22 forced herself to focus on the computer screen and on the data displayed there. At least the Director that she had helped restrain was still quiet. Heart rate... Blood pressure... Respiration... They were all well within the normal parameters for unconsciousness. She gave a quiet sigh and relaxed.

So, what are we doing? Emily suddenly asked.

This one is assisting in the upgrading of The Collective’s Directors. The Thrall’s mind stated coldly.

They don’t seem too happy about it, do they? Her alter-ego demanded wryly.

Their feelings are irrelevant as the upgrades are for the benefit of The Collective. F22 answered but then realised that the answer wasn’t all that convincing and added. “It is necessary!” Suddenly the Thrall gasped as it realised that it had spoken out loud.

The work that needed to be done to upgrade the Directors took most of the day and was intricate as, once healed, no mark could be allowed to show on their silky-smooth bodies. Incisions, such as the ones that were made to the backs of necks were small and any tiny scars that might result would be hidden by the women’s long hair. They had had to complete all work within the space of a single day: Monitor Raksha had been most insistent on this.

Hornets had collected the women from their quarters where each had been having sex with her principal Drone-Adjunct. The Hornets had thoughtfully waited until each of the women had orgasmed before entering their apartment and taking control of them: a pair of Hornets, ably assisted by the Drone-Adjunct had been more than enough to subdue the bewildered woman and then it was just a matter half carrying, half walking the naked Director to the elevator and then out into the conversion room that had been specially equipped for the task.

The women had objected once they realised what was happening and had screamed at the Hornets guarding the lift doors up on the floor where they lived. They had ordered the sleek, black-clad women to come to their aid but the Hornets had stood unmoving and just stared ahead into space: as far as they were concerned, the Directors had ceased to exist.

Once inside the special room they were strapped immobile to the waiting surgical frames and lightly tranquillized: there had been objections, many curses and finally appeals to the better nature of their assailants—all of which were ignored by the Thralls and Drones tasked with carrying out the work.

Director-Kirsten, the Board Member responsible for security, had provided them with an unexpected problem. The woman, a former British Army Captain, had managed to overcome the drugs which she had been given and get an arm free: felling Thrall C99 in the process.

They had heard Monitor Raksha curse and launch herself on top the partially free woman so as to assist the Thralls in securing her more thoroughly. Then after administering a stronger sedative, she had gently inserted a hand between the woman’s thighs and rubbed her pussy to calm her while the drugs took effect and she became pliant once more.

“Why?” She had gasped between quiet moans as the drug sapped the last of her will.

“You Directors are losing some of your free-will and are being being converted into the equivalent of Monitors.” Raksha had purred.

“Why?” The woman had repeated and then added that Mistress Marjory had assured them that this would never happen back when they had assisted her in establishing The Collective.

“The Collective lacks direction and when Director-Ursula instructed me to ‘go and do whatever it is that you need to’, I realised that she had ordered me to take whatever steps were necessary to correct the problem.”

“But... But...” The Director tried to say as the suppressant drugs finally began to act. “Why are you doing... To me?”

“For the good of The Collective.” The Monitor said quietly. “We need a new Mistress, but this would have gone against your conditioning and you would not have accepted her.”

“Who?” The Director demanded. “You?”

Monitor-Raksha had smiled gently as she began to fondle the woman’s breasts. “You don’t need to worry about who she is: but she will need you to worship her for the good of the whole Collective.”

The Director sighed and the Monitor leaned over and kissed her tenderly as she slipped into unconsciousness.

Command and Control.

On hearing the MI5 woman claim that it had been herself that had asked for the meeting, Lily had told Andy to stop the car and had then ordered him to swap places with her. After he had climbed into the front passenger seat, his boss had gunned the engine and headed out of the industrial estate at something above the speed limit.

“We could in big trouble, Andy, get on big air and ask for back-up.” Lily said as she headed back towards the city centre before doing a ‘U’ turn at a roundabout and heading on out once again.

Radio’s dead, Boss.” Andy said a minute or so later.

“My phone’s dead also,” Smith called from the back seat, “can’t get a signal.”

“Andy?” Lily demanded.

“Both of my phones are too!” The other copper confirmed. “Something’s interfering with the signals”

“Shit!” Smith hissed. “Head for Edgbaston.”

“Fuck off!” Lily snapped. “It’s too far; there’s a nick in Quinton, we’ll head for that!”

Wright’s driving, never brilliant, became positively erratic and reckless as she made sharp turns in an attempt to dodge pursuers that Andy couldn’t see any signs of. “For Christ’s sake, take it easy, Lily! You’ll kill us at this rate!”

A couple of sharp gasps came from the direction of the back-seat as the woman calling herself Mary Smith was thrown around within the confines of her seatbelt. She screamed as Lily cut across a red light without stopping, narrowly avoiding a couple of approaching cars.

Suddenly they were in another industrial estate: an older one, this time: one that was all dirty narrow alleys and shabby1960’s brick buildings. Suddenly Lily braked hard, lurched to the right and headed in through an open loading bay door before coming to a halt inside one of the anonymous buildings.

The door closed behind them and the only light was from the car’s own headlamps that spilled back from the concrete wall some ten feet in front of the vehicle. Although this too vanished when Lily turned them off.

Andy Jordan looked around frantically but could make out nothing at all. From somewhere behind him he heard the sound of a car door opening. He hesitated... Stay in the car or take his chances out in the darkness? He flung his own door open and dived out—there was a clatter as he landed on top of something or other. Cursing, he tired to get to his feet and move away. Suddenly a pair of strong arms grabbed him and lifted him off the ground. He struggled but it is difficult to fight against something that you can’t see. He struck out, his fist contacted something soft—there was a yelp and he was dropped and free.

There was another clatter from somewhere across the room: obviously Lily or Smith had had the same idea, No! Not Lily! He thought. Lily drove us in here. What’s she up to?

Suddenly he heard a woman’s anguished cry and dropped down onto his hands and knees and began to crawl in the general direction of the door—or at least where he thought the door was. He moved slowly... very slowly... quietly too. Then as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness he began to make out shapes or rather, well not exactly shapes but patches of darkness that seemed less intense than the background. And while he crawled he listened for anything that needed to avoided.

A foot scuffed against something over to his right...

Was that the sound of a heel on concrete from behind him?

Something metallic click-clicked up ahead...

Oh God! He quailed. Please not a gun being cocked.

Suddenly he felt something rub against his shoulder which was followed by the sound of a box being dragged across the concrete floor—only it wasn’t being dragged: he’d bumped into it and pushed it. He heard glass shatter and moved away only to feel something dig into his left hand, something sharp. He yelped.

“Oh for fuck sake, Jordan, stop crawling around on the floor like a baby!” It was Lily’s voice from somewhere close by.

Suddenly the lights came on and he was dazzled. Strong hands grabbed him and, struggling, he was hauled to his feet. He tried to look around but was having to squint against the bright lights... There was a figure right next to him, a tall man who was holding him.

He lashed out and the figure gave a high-pitched grunt of surprise—Only it wasn’t a man...

His hand had sunk into something soft—it was a breast, a large one.

He squinted again and thought that he made out three or four black-clad figures—female-shaped figures. Andy wasn’t a small bloke, but they seemed to tower over him.

“Keep still, Andy!” Lily instructed and then added. “Look at your left hand.”

He did and as his vision adapted, he saw that it was bleeding, he realised that he’d cut it on the broken glass while crawling around on the floor.

Another figure approached, one dressed in pale blue medical scrubs. Then, while she cleaned and dressed his injured hand, he did what he was trained to do he took a good look at his surroundings. He was in something like a small warehouse, but unlike similar places that he knew in the area, this one was clean and, except for the bottle that he’d broken, was tidy.

He wasn’t alone. Lily Wright was there of course as was ‘Mary Smith’, although the latter seemed to be unconscious and was being being supported by a couple of women identical to the ones that were holding him. The women were familiar(ish) and reminded him of the dead women who had been recovered from the crashed minibus...

How many weeks ago had that been? Tall, black-clad women with shiny suits that seemed as if they’d been sprayed on: the only difference being that the ones that were holding both him and the MI5 woman were bald... No wait! He thought. Wasn’t the dead one in the minibus wearing a wig?

Yes, that’s right... The pathologist on the scene had pointed that out. He sighed and relaxed slightly, but the black-clad women didn’t relax their hold of him. Then there’s the one dressing my hand—she’s wearing scrubs, just like the other dead woman, the one in the back of the minibus. All it needs is a few silver ones and the scene is complete.

He looked across at DI Wright. Odd, she’s just standing there... Andy Jordan frowned.

Suddenly he became aware of someone approaching from behind and turned his head to look: there were two of them, both women. One was dressed in a smart skirt and blouse: just like any professional woman, say an accountant or an estate agent. The other one, however, caused him to sigh because she was obviously naked, bald and silver—the nightmare was complete.

Jordan shuddered. But what was the thing that ‘silver’ was carrying? He wondered. It looked like dog collar. Why am I not surprised: this place is a fetishist’s wet dream, after all.

The newcomers separated and things began to happen once more. The ‘business woman’ headed over to where ‘Mary Smith’ was being held while the silver one walked straight up to Andy and, reaching up, clipped the collar around his neck. The collar sort of tingled and the copper relaxed. He didn’t want to relax—he wanted to remain tense and to leg it as soon as a chance presented himself—instead something made him relax.

“Collar?” He mused in a quiet dreamy voice.

The big women in the shiny suits released him and stepped away. He just stood there, looked around and smiled: watching admiringly as they formed themselves into a square and marched away in perfect lock-step.

Over to one side, one of the shiny black females holding the MI5 women effortlessly scooped her up and, cradling her like a baby, followed her marching sisters.

Lily followed them after a quick word from the professional woman. The latter then half turned and nodded to the silver woman who was still standing next to Jordan. She in turn looked up at the copper and instructed him to follow her, which he did, but not before his collar sort of tingled.

Andy was still feeling bemused: something obviously wasn’t right but he just didn’t seem to be able to put his finger on it. All of a sudden the world had ceased to make any sense. No that wasn’t right either... He was copper... The world never ever made sense... He wouldn’t have a job if it did!

Still part of his job involved finding patterns in the chaos that surrounded him.

Take the black, shiny women... They made perfect sense—kind of. Well they would if they were security officers... He’d taken a good look at them: the most that he’d seen in any one place were the six he’d seen in the loading bay. Six women: shiny black from the neck down, dressed in suits that looked as if they had been sprayed on... Their boots too, with their six -inch heels, well they joined the suits without any sign of a seam. How do they get them off?

The only skin that any of them were showing was that of their hairless heads and that could be any colour from IC1 pink to IC3 black and many shades in between. He’d initially thought ‘right-wing-weirdos’ but that lot tended to be rabid racists—what ever their ethnic group.

He’d noticed other things about the storm-troopers who’d grabbed him: they seemed to be wearing tight fitting chastity devices—he’d noticed similar on the silver women that they’d ‘rescued’ from the wrecked minibus. There was one more thing... Like the ‘security’ women, they also wore collars. Collars with identity discs... Identity discs with numbers... Does my collar have an identity disc? He wondered aimlessly.

Realising that his mind was beginning to drift, he tried to find something familiar to focus on but there was nothing other than Lily Wright. He tried to concentrate on the arse of the silver woman who had told him to follow her... It was a nice arse... It would have been nicer still if its owner wasn’t dressed in that silver cat suit. He was just admiring how it moved from side-to-side enticingly when it dawned on him that she’d told him to follow her and he’d obeyed without hesitation.

This is wrong... Since when does she give me orders? He stopped dead: or rather tried too but his legs kept on working as he marched along behind that enticing silver arse.

He gritted his teeth and managed to force out the word. “No!” It took an effort but he managed it.

“No!” He snarled again: not that it made any difference to his feet which were still following the small silver woman. He followed her out of the loading bay, through a sliding door and into a wide corridor, past a trolley piled high with boxes of tinned food that was being pushed in the opposite direction. Through another door and finally into a room that looked remarkably like an office—a modern paper-free office.

“Stop!” Instructed the silver woman, and he did so.

“Face me!” Ordered another female voice and once again Andy Jordan did as instructed. This time he found himself facing one of the desks and the normal-looking woman who was just sinking into the seat behind it. She was the woman from the loading bay, he could tell because of her red hair. He stared at her and she stared back unblinking.

There was a pause during which Andy tried to gather his wits... There weren’t all that many of them in the office... The only one of the black security women present was the one still holding Mary Smith. Lily was there, standing motionless somewhere to his left and there was the little silver woman too, he hadn’t seen her leave. His mind began to drift and it was now that he became aware of the smell: it wasn’t strong but it was there in the background. It was a musky, pleasant feminine smell: suddenly it dawned on him where he’d come across it before. It was the smell of sex.

The woman behind the desk suddenly moved her gaze towards Lily and demanded. “Who is this male?”

“He is Detective-Constable Andrew Jordan, a CID officer.” Wright answered quietly.

“You were instructed to bring the woman, not the man as well.” The woman replied mechanically, her voice lacking any inflection. She turned to the silver woman who had moved to stand beside her desk. “Take this male away and dispose of it.”

Andy felt a chill run through him and tried to run but his feet still wouldn’t move. “No!” He managed to force out.

“No!” Lily said more forcefully than he could manage.

The woman’s head snapped around, a look of surprise on her face. “No?”

“No!” DI Wright repeated, more forcibly this time then added. “Disposing of this male could produce problems for The Collective as there would be a massive police investigation. He could be useful to us.”

The woman’s face twitched with annoyance. “Males are difficult to process and we will not require any more husks for a considerable time.”

“Not as a husk.” Lily said, her voice determined.

The woman behind the desk looked bemused. “As what then? Males are totally unnecessary, feminizing them is time consuming and we lack the facilitates to hold it prisoner.”

“It can serve us as an Infiltration Drone.” Lily answered quietly. “It would need some investment but it will be useful.”

The woman looked surprised. “That will take several days. They will look for it.”

“No, I will phone in sick on his behalf, I will say that I had to take him to his home because he was taken ill. They will accept that and provided that hr is fit for duty within seven days then no questions will be asked regarding its absence.” Wright said her voice determined.

“This is highly irregular! The Collective has never inducted males as anything other than Husks before!” The red-headed woman, who was clearly in authority, had retorted.

“You are out of touch, males make up the bulk of the Police Service personnel,” Lily snapped, “it is time that they were also utilized. Jordan here is one of my subordinates... I feel responsible for his safety: he is a good copper and will prove useful to us.”

Andy watched as the woman seemed to freeze. She stared at Lily who stared right back.

Suddenly the woman made a decision. “We have the facilities to process it right here: the woman will go to Gloucester but the male we can deal with . Yes! Your solution has merit!” She looked down at the computer on her desk and began to type furiously.

Andy frowned. Lily’s just saved my life! But for what?

The Raid

Eighty-six miles away, in another inner city area, a pair of vans rolled into a similar looking industrial estate without anyone being any the wiser as to what was happening. The vans could have belonged to anyone as they were unmarked, their drivers parked them but remained inside as did everyone else who was riding in them. The vans, bog-standard white Ford Transits, could have belonged to anyone but didn’t as they were the property of the newly established Manchester Unit of The Collective.

The tactic was a tried and tested one: it had succeeded every time that it had been used... Every time save one that is. However the failure in Birmingham last year had led to a re-think and now, whenever this method of acquisition was employed, a back-up team accompanied the raiders as The Collective always learned from its mistakes and by adapting, it grew stronger.

Meanwhile, three streets away, a police car drifted along slowly, it’s occupant seeming to look everywhere at once in that nosy way that coppers have while driving through hostile territory. The copper in the car looked and listened for anything out of the ordinary, almost as if her very life depended upon it—which, thinking about it, it probably did.

Night fell and the occupants of the vans remained motionless.

Three streets away the copper parked her car next to one of the mobile tea wagons that still plied their trade in industrial towns and cities. The copper strolled over to the tea van, the side of which was open to reveal a counter behind which a hulking bearded man lurked.

“Evening, Ernie,” the copper said cheerily, “how’s tricks?”

The van’s proprietor grinned. “Hi, Jilly, can’t grumble.” He said and began to pour tea into a large, off-white mug, the tea was strong and a dirty brown colour. “Things quiet, are they?”

“Shh! You’ll put the mockers on it.” The woman said in mock-anger. Coppers, just like everyone else living on the edge, tend to be superstitious and know that the best way to end a peaceful spell is to say just how quiet things are.

Ernie grinned, gripped the mug in his massive paw and handed it to the copper. “Yeh, well... Have this one on the house!”

Jilly accepted the mug of dark brown steaming liquid and sipped it... It was strong to the point of being bitter, especially as she always took her tea without sugar. She glanced at Ernie and took in the fact that his apron, once white, still had the egg stains that it had acquired last week. She ignored this and drank a mouthful of the hot brew.

“Seen anything odd lately?” The copper asked.

Ernie chuckled. “Everything that happens around here is odd. Take that grey van for instance...” He cocked his head to one side to indicate a parked vehicle. “...that one parked-up twenty minutes ago, but they haven’t come over for tea. In fact nobody’s got out at all, they’re just sitting there just like they’re waiting for something.”

Jilly nodded and placed her tea mug down on the counter before glancing at the van, she could just make out the vehicle’s reg. number in the glow from the nearby street lamps. Ernie grinned as he saw her press the stud on the radio that was clipped to her stab-proof vest: she gave her call sign and then requested a DVLC check quoting the van’s registration.

She must have got an answer as he saw her nod and heard her mutter something else into the radio. Then without saying anything she turned and ambled over to the van and tapped on the drivers window. The window was wound down, words were exchanged and Jilly wandered back and picked up her tea mug again.

A minute or so later Ernie noticed movement over by the van and looked up to see two figures climb out and amble over towards his wagon. He was used to reading people—survival in the rough end of Manchester depended upon it: these two were tall and moved with a confidence that tall men often have. Only they were women, not men.

They were identically dressed and despite the chill in the night air, were only wearing jeans and polo shirts. The necks of the shirts were open and revealed that something black and shiny was being worn underneath: they were both wearing black high-heeled boots too, the feet of which were visible beneath the cuffs of their jeans.

They came over to his van where one said. “Two teas, please.” And handed the bearded man a five pound note.

“Anything else?” Ernie enquired gruffly.

The woman who had spoken seemed to fix him with a cold stare before answering. “No!” After a pause.

Ernie shrugged and poured their tea out of his large brown enamelled pot: still there was something identical about them and despite one being black and the other one white, they seemed to have the same expressions expressions and body language. Ernie handed them their tea and stepped back. Yet despite the fact that they were both pretty and Ernie definitely wasn’t gay—they didn’t attract him in the slightest: quite the opposite in fact as there was something almost mechanical in the way that they stepped back and drank their tea in synchronised silence.

He’d heard about something called ‘the uncanny valley’. Which was the name given to the unnerving affect that human-like robots had on people... The more life-like the robots became, the more unsettling they were...

Are these two actually robots? He wondered, because they sure as hell were unsettling him.

Three streets away, things were beginning to happen...

A minibus had turned into the street and parked outside one of the shabby industrial buildings, which despite it being half past ten, still seemed to be working. A man climbed out of the front of the vehicle and walked briskly over to the small roller door which he banged on. The door opened, another man stepped out and together they looked around: then when nothing untoward was observed, one of the men turned back to the door and made a motioning gesture to whoever was inside. And shortly afterwards a knot of women emerged and moved towards the minibus.

Suddenly the two white vans that had been parked just up the street roared into life and within seconds had bracketed the minibus and the gaggle of surprised women.

Things began to escalate as one of the men reached for something from inside his jacket. The vans doors burst open, objects were hurled out that landed near the two men and the women... The objects exploded with a series of brilliant flashes and loud bangs startling everyone into momentary inactivity.

Dark shapes of half a dozen Hornets poured out of the vans and surrounded the group...

Three streets away the copper heard the series of small explosions and spun around and returned her tea mug.

“What the fuck was that?” Ernie asked.

“Fireworks?” Jilly suggested.

“In April?” The man demanded.

The copper shrugged and pressed the call button on her radio and ducked her head down to speak into it. After the preamble Ernie heard her say. “I’m by Ernie’s tea wagon at the edge of Trafford Park Industrial Estate and I’ve just heard a series of explosions.” There was a pause and she said. “No nothing’s happening where I am.” Then another pause and. “Yeh, sure I’ll do a drive around.”

And at that she walked over and climbed into her car although Ernie could swear that the direction that she drove off in was not the one that the bangs had sounded from.

Almost simultaneously the other two women placed their half empty mugs on the counter, turned and marched, lock-step, over to their van, boot heels clicking on the concrete road surface... The van then vanished into the night.

Three streets away the two white vans also drove away leaving only two confused men staggering around, stunned but unharmed outside the factory unit.

Of the gaggle of women, there was no trace save a scatter of discarded possessions abandoned on the floor.

A Week Later

“How you feeling, Jordan?” DI Wright asked as the young constable came in through the CID office door.

He smiled and glanced around. “It’s good to be back ma’am.” He said as he sank into the chair behind his desk and eyed the paperwork that had piled up in his absence—there was a lot of it, still, from experience he knew that ninety per cent of it would be crap. The Police, like any other bureaucratic organisation, swam in a sea of paperwork. He glanced at it and began to sort it into two piles—one big, one tiny.

Suddenly an envelope with the West Mids Constabulary’s crest caught his eye... He opened it.

“Hey!” He called excitedly. “My promotion to sergeant’s come through. I didn’t realise that my name was so close to the top of the pile!”

“I rate a sergeant as assistant.” Lily snapped. “So you, you wanker, are it!” Then she gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Congrats, Jordan, you deserve it after the work you put in so far on the trafficking job.”

He locked eyes with Lily and something seemed to pass between them... It wasn’t sexual—Andy had completely lost interest in that sort of thing during his illness—it was something deeper: it was almost as if they were reading each others minds.

Director-Ursula looked up from her computer screen and smiled: everything that she did now made much more sense. #099U, her personal Drone-Adjunct, was working away at its desk at the other side of the office, its concentration flitting between the three display screens that were available to it.

The Director smiled again: #099U really was poetry in motion, its head turning as it moved from screen to screen. Part human, part machine but all woman, the Drone-Adjunct seemed to fill the Finance Director with longing. She looked down, she was naked of course: all of the Directors were since their upgrading the week previous: clothes here were an unnecessary encumbrance and were only needed when Members of the Board of Five had to interact with outsiders.

Ursula slipped a hand down between her legs and confirmed that she was indeed wet. “#099U, you will break-off and attend to my needs.”

“Yes, Director,” the machine-woman replied, “this one will be with you in exactly sixty-seven seconds.”

The Director sat back in her chair and began to fondle her own breasts: sixty-seven seconds wasn’t an eternity—it just seemed as if it was. Ursula licked a finger and rubbed her clit, sighing as she did so.

Suddenly #099U stood, it had clearly finished the task in hand, and unplugged the USB lead that snaked from its head-shield to the computer system. It turned and smiled at its Director then began to undulate across the office.

Ursula gasped—the shiny black exo-plating that covered part of the PA’s body was so sexy! The way that its single uncovered breast bobbed as the woman moved was so erotic! Then as the Drone ducked down under her desk, the Director’s knees moved apart to welcome it.

She felt #099U’s tongue lick against her pussy—it had been lengthened at her request—she felt the corresponding jolt of pleasure and her fingers convulsively grabbed the drone’s hair in response. She felt something hard dig into the soft inside of her thigh and realised that it must be the camera that was bolted to the side of her PA’s skull but even that produced a pleasurable sensation.

As she gasped she realised that #099U was far superior to her previous Drone-Adjunct in every way imaginable... Efficiency... Sexual skills... Looks... Movement...

Not only was life within The Collective wonderful but it was getting better!