SCI Files - Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – Mesmero

No one noticed the man in the exquisitely tailored suit, with the long, black coat, wearing black balaclava, sunglasses and a beret, of all things. In fact, not a single eye turned to follow him as he walked briskly away from the Bank of New York Mellon branch in Tribeca. That the Bank of New York Mellon, located only blocks from the World Trade Center, had just called the cops because they were robbed was alarming, to be certain. When the police simply drove past a man in black, carrying a briefcase full of cash, walking away from a bank robbery, one might think something was wrong.

Of course, none of the people who thought that would know that the man in black was the supervillain known as Mesmero. Oh, it wasn’t like he was invisible. Far from it, in fact. The entire reason for the balaclava was because he was most certainly NOT invisible.

However, the only things that noticed him would be cameras. It hadn’t been hard, actually. A mental projection sending images of ‘nothing wrong, nothing out of the ordinary’ allowed him to simply walk through security checkpoints in the bank without the guards, staff, or customers ever knowing he had been there. No one ever even noticed when he used the bank manager’s keys and the code (which he had lifted from the man two days ago) to open the vault. None of them so much as blinked as he filled the briefcase with just over $2,400,000 in $100 bills, all nicely bound and stacked.

Of course, the money was just a pleasant bonus. His true goal was the contents of safe deposit box 2353, which had, thankfully, been out of view of the security cameras. Those cameras saw him enter the vault, but they didn’t see what had happened inside. The documents he took from that safe deposit box were, in truth, far more valuable than the money. While it was true that money solved all problems, if you had enough of it, and used it in the right way, the documents he had taken would provide him with leverage, which was far more profitable in the long run.

The SCI had him listed as a Rank 2 Mentalist Threat, he knew. They thought his parlor tricks with mental images and the like were all he could do. And they were truly parlor tricks. The average human simply didn’t have the mental defenses in place to defend against simple mental illusions like he used, and he was never so foolish as to announce where he would strike ahead of time. Oh, some supervillains did things like that, but they were the egomaniacs who preened on showing the world how superior they were. They eventually got sloppy, and that is how they got caught.

In truth, these sheep were not worth playing with. Not right now. New York City’s own SCI-controlled team of superhumans, the Defenders, would be running quickly to the scene of the crime, now that he had passed far enough away from the vaults for people to suddenly realize that the vault door was standing open. Their Mentalist, Psyonique, would scan for mental powers in the area, and it simply wouldn’t do for them to find me. Fortunately, two ‘long’ blocks brought him to the Park Place subway station, and when he dropped his projection no one even noticed another businessman bundled up as best he could against the winter cold while still being ‘presentable’. After all, he wasn’t even the only person wearing a balaclava going through this turnstile, much less on the platform.

Two superhumans from the Defenders looked at the crowd gathering around the Bank of New York. The news that there had been a daring mid-day bank robbery, in this day and age, was a source of much gossip, especially since word had already spread that the perpetrator had somehow escaped without a single eyewitness noticing he had ever been there. That reflected badly on the NYPD. The fact that it was clearly a matter of some superhuman abusing his abilities, and therefore reflected even worse on the Defenders, did little to calm the frayed nerves.

Lady Victory tried to look calm and collected for the cameras in her red, white, and blue spandex outfit, but it was hard to keep up the act when they were clearly going to catch hell about this. “This is the fifth incident in six months, Psyonique! And this time he took more than he ever had before! He’s escalating, and we still don’t have any clue what his real name is, much less how to find him!”

Psyonique shook her head. She wore her sapphire-colored costume well, and it matched well against her eyes. “I can only tell you what I know. The ‘Mesmero’ card has been left where the money was taken from. No fingerprints, and no psychic trace. All I can sense is that he does indeed have mental powers. We may need to consider bringing in outside help. I can read minds like a book, but an unfamiliar mind is a book I haven’t read yet. I can only guess at what it holds. We need someone who has some training in these matters.”

Lady Victory grit her teeth. She hated asking for help, but she knew the mentalist was right. “Fine, I hear you. I have that session with Doctor Morden this afternoon. Because of the whole Black Star incident. He’s got clearance from SCI, so I can talk to him after.”

Psyonique nodded. “I wish I could help you instead of Doctor Morden, but there are rules about how and when someone may take… those kinds of measures. And you should never do it for someone you know, unless there is no choice. That level of intimacy can quickly turn to violation.”

Lady Victory sighed. “I understand. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

A half hour after the bank robbery, Alfred Morden walked into a distinctly nondescript office in a fairly normal building in the Financial District. The rent was not cheap, but he could afford it. After all, as the premiere psychotherapist on the East Coast who dealt primarily with superhuman clients, he was far from bad off. The pretty bimbo he had as his receptionist smiled vapidly at him as he took off his balaclava.

“Welcome back, Sir. Did you enjoy your lunch?”

Morden smiled at the woman. “Yes, Sandy, it was a productive time. Do I have any messages?”

“Yes, Sir. Miss Jenkins called to confirm her 2:30 appointment. She also inquired whether you would be available for a consultation on a police matter, as well. Something to do with the bank robbery downtown, I believe.”

Morden looked at the watch on his wrist. It was only a little after one. “Are there any other appointments for this afternoon, Sandy?”

“No, Sir, Miss Jenkins is the last appointment for the day. You do have that black-tie fundraiser for the Battered Women’s Shelter tonight at seven.”

“Excellent, then I think I could do with a little relaxation before Miss Jenkins arrives.” His voice changed, no longer the kindly psychologist, becoming one of command. “My office, pet. In your uniform.”

Sandy’s eyes devoid of any real intelligence beamed as she lost her professional secretary look, and she began pulling off her clothes in front of him. “Oh, thank you, Master!”

Morden simply smiled. “Good girl. Come to me when you are ready.” He licked his lips in anticipation as he entered his office, hanging his coat on the rack by the door. Sandy was certainly an attractive woman, with curves in all the right places, enhanced by a healthy regimen of diet and exercise, keeping her fit and attractive without getting too muscular or too soft. Having her as his devoted secretary was quite the score.

Of course, it wasn’t like he relied on luck for that. Sandy had originally come to his attention when he was donating some of his time to the Battered Women’s Shelter, pro bono. Many of the women there were suffering from addiction and all had been abused in the past. Devoting his Fridays to providing free counseling for the women did quite a lot to increase his standing in the community, and it was a not insubstantial boon to his tax return as the ‘charitable donation’ of his donated time (at his normal hourly rate) added up quickly.

Sandra Wellington was not one of the broken little sluts he found at the shelter. None of those types were worth the time to and effort to truly twist to his needs. No, she was another volunteer. Bright-eyed and idealistic, straight out of some liberal arts college with a degree in Women’s Studies and a stridently vocal feminist, she was actually surprisingly intelligent despite that, and even with her decidedly unsexy clothes, he could tell that she was a real beauty.

She had been easy enough to ensnare. He simply had to ask her for a bit of help. Nothing that would undercut his own position, but simply asking her to help convince a reluctant woman that she needed to report her abusive boyfriend to the police. She was so animated in persuading the young woman that she never even noticed his probes into her mind, setting hooks in her psyche. He could have broken her then and there, but that was a foolhardy, sloppy move. No, he simply influenced her just enough that she was willing to have a couple drinks with him after they left the Shelter for the day.

A couple drinks became a drink too many, and that led to a cab ride to her place. I helped her up the stairs to her flat, and unlocked the door with her keys. The next morning, she awoke to find me sleeping on her couch, still the ‘perfect gentleman’, while she was on her bed, still dressed, and perfectly unharmed. Smiling shyly, she had made me breakfast as a thank you.

Sandra never even realized that, after he had put her to bed, that he had broken her will into tiny pieces and rebuilt her mind to better suit his needs. As we talked over breakfast, she was all to happy to accept the secretary position in his office, ‘until she got on her feet’. She also discovered a new fantasy worming its way through her mind, the idea of being a bimbo slavegirl to a powerful master excited her. It was so wrong, so… backwards, but the more she looked at him, the more she wanted to submit, to just… let a strong, dominant man make the decisions. And slowly, she changed.

The door to his office opened, jolting him out of his introspection. Sandra Wellington was dead, for all intents and purposes. Sandy Daze was all that left, and she was standing in his office wearing nothing but a leather collar with a leash attached to it, clearly showing off her pierced nipples. She stood with her feet apart, and her hands clasped behind her back, proudly showing off the implants she had bought with her money (but at his command). She had no hair below her neck, having it all permanently removed. From between her legs, a set of eight silver rings pierced through her tender flesh were held together by a chain, with small lock. On that lock was engraved, “Property of Sir”. He possessed the only key to the lock.

“How may I serve, Master?”

I smiled, and motioned to the ground in front of me. “On your knees, slave. And if you do a good job with your mouth, then I will allow you to use your pretty little butt as well.”

The look of joy on Sandy’s face as she sank to her knees was heartwarming to see. The loving way she pulled my stiffening rod out of my pants and began to worship her master was perfect. Yes, Sandy was one of my better finds, a perfectly obedient little slave that I no longer needed to use the slightest effort to control. Her entire world revolved around pleasing me in any way that she could, after all. Better yet, she never got jealous, since she knew she was unworthy of all of my time. A man could not ask for a better slave in this day and age.