Super College Ch. 02

Author's note:

Hey presto, the sequel. Yes, sequel. Please read the first, if you haven't already, or you'll have no idea of what's going on or what the setup is or the rules, or why anything is happening.

Some may find this darker and less erotic. This is intentional and integral to the story.

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There was a seriousness to the girls' study that had not been there before.

Where before they had only really thrown themselves into the subjects they enjoyed (combat and tactics for Kimberley, law and human/parahuman relations for Megan) they now dug grimly into anti-villain studies, counter-villainism and mind-control resistance.

The entire class were avoiding each other, although Kimberley and Megan had cautiously grown together again over the four days until classes resumed again.

On the first lecture after the test, there had only been 14 chairs, arranged in a tight semi-circle, and they all tried to avoid meeting each other's eyes.

Their lecturer was a wiry-thin psychology professor whose lack of parahuman abilities did not make students respect or fear her any less.

When she spoke, they followed her every word for fear of missing one, and they could hear inverted commas dropping neatly into place whenever she introduced new terms.

"There are three basic types of what we refer to as 'mind-control'. Name one - Kimberley!"

Kimberley swallowed, her cheeks already burning. Answering would reveal to everyone what had happened to her, but not answering was not an option. Trying to come up with a novel answer was not, she suspected, going to be a good idea at all.

"Controlling the body," she said, trying but failing not to mumble.

"Speak up!"

"Controlling the body!"

Professor Wittger turned to write on the board. "Known as puppetry - not control or dominance of the mind at all, puppetry involves controlling the body through hijacking of the nervous system or relevant areas of the brain.

"Puppetry can involve actual puppetry, where individual limbs must be moved individually, referred to as 'catatonic puppetry' after the psychiatric disorder of catatonic schizophrenia, in which some patients can exhibit lack of conscious movement combined with 'waxy flexibility', which enables the patient to be placed into poses which they will maintain, and 'controlling puppetry,' the type most people assume, which involves giving orders that are carried out to the letter but with full ability by the puppet.

"Controlling puppetry obviously makes it easier for the puppeteer to use the puppet as a slave, but can involve the old 'agreement with the devil' difficulty of having to be very precise in commands, because the puppet may only respond to what is said, not what is implied - known as robotic puppetry.

"On the other hand, the puppet may interpret commands based upon their unconscious desires and prejudices and there is a forensic usage for this, to determine true habits and attitudes. This is referred to as guided controlling puppetry and has an obvious overlap with more commonly understood conceptions of mind control."

Kimberley sincerely wished the floor would open up and swallow her.

"In either type of puppetry, the puppet may be fully unconscious, in an altered state of consciousness, which is often used in the puppet-making process, or fully conscious and in a locked-in state. If you wish to know more about that, research 'locked-in syndrome.'

"What is the next type of mind control, Jules?"

Jules, a slight and introspective boy turning reluctantly wiry at the College and struggling to master his parahuman powers of teleportation, swallowed convulsively. "Brainwashing," he said in a low but carrying voice.

"Which means?"

"Changing how you think," he said at the floor, but loudly enough to be heard.

"Correct. This technique, which can and has been accomplished using simple and well-understood behavioural conditioning techniques, is also not mind-control per se, but involves changing the subject's attitudes and beliefs until they will choose to follow and obey the conditioner. Prisoners of war who are released expressing full support for their captor's ideology, and the much more common instance of fiercely and unquestioningly loyal cult members, are both instances of what the public came to understand, in the late fifties, as 'brainwashing'.

"There are two categories, but they are so closely related some taxonomists question the distinction. For the purposes of clarity, we will use it. Type one is 'adoration', where brainwashing focuses on the subject desiring to make a person or group happy - through adoration, love, doting, or fear of them not being happy.

"Type two is 'disciple brainwashing,' where the subject quite simply believes that whatever a person or group says, is absolutely true, right, correct and desirable.

"Contrary to popular misconception, neither gender of parahuman is more likely to employ one or other of these types, and neither gender is more susceptible in any way.

"The Stockholm Syndrome, wherein a hostage comes to fixate on their captor, is an accidental form of brainwashing resulting from the unintended application of some brainwashing techniques combined with certain psychological traits in the captive.

"As a psychological technique, brain-washing is easily reversible and, in someone who has not made a conscious commitment to the process, expires on its own. Parahumans can make it almost permanent, and against the subject's will, but it is always reversible.

"What is the third technique of mind-control, Stacey?"

"Subversion of consciousness." Stacey answered clearly and levelly, but even her self-discipline could not prevent the rigidity of her posture being evident to anyone who dared look at her.

"Known as 'psychic hijacking', the third technique is the only true instance of mind-control. It involves subverting, destroying or suppressing conscious will and replacing it with an artificial obedience to everything the controller orders. There is a continuum from simple robots who need precise instruction, as in robotic puppetry, referred to as 'roboticisation' or 'robotic dominance,' up to drones who have some or all of their original memories or skills, can reason through simple or quite complex tasks, and may even be able to pass for original. This much more sophisticated and dangerous form is referred to as 'drone dominance' and the best mind-controllers can create sleepers who pass for unchanged for years or decades at a time but are instantly and supremely loyal when required. Obviously, only drones have an identifiable personality.

"Subjects may have varying levels of consciousness but, unlike robot puppetry, if they possess consciousness they are fully and wholly committed to their master and therefore there is no risk of them fighting back.

"Obviously, there are many shades of grey and overlaps, and taxonomical researchers are still arguing over where some famous cases fit, and whether some old cults are evidence of early cases of parahumanism, not just manipulative charisma."

The Professor drew a line under the three numbered labels on the board.

"These three represent increasing levels of difficulty and danger. Puppetry is easy to do, but exhausting to maintain and requires constant attention, and puppets require constant supervision.

"Brain-washing is difficult and either energy- or labour-intensive, the subjects are still acting as autonomous beings, albeit loyal autonomous beings, and even from the most powerful parahuman, there is a risk of spontaneous or gradual recovery.

"True mind-control, psychic hijacking, is extremely difficult or requires immense power, is dangerous to the psyche under assault and can be quite difficult to undo. The success rate for healing the victims of some Villains, without the Villains' cooperation, is as low as 5%."

Several students swallowed convulsively, looking briefly, starkly, terrified.

"It is official policy, official policy! That if you are facing a confirmed, registered psychic hijacker, you are allowed to disable first. They are placed in maximum security when captured, and kept under constant observation while studying at the College. They are taken to the College immediately upon identification, not allowed to mature in age or powers first. Many lives have been ruined by hijackers before they are aware of their powers."

The Professor turned around.

"You have the readings, you have all the additional learning resources. Read and study them all. I am quite serious about that. In one week, at this lecture, you will hand me a full assessment of the mind-control episode you experienced last week. Analyse the full taxonomy, describe the experience in detail, analyse your reactions and outline a brief list of ways you could have responded more efficaciously following capture and disablement.

"Eight to 10,000 words, no deadlines, no exceptions, failure to hand it in will result in expulsion from the College. I suggest you begin now."

She walked briskly out of the room, leaving 14 students too stunned to move.

#

In the week since, a week without lectures, the year-group had been uncharacteristically quiet and studious, an annual event the College staff looked forward to with wry amusement.

Stacey was no longer the only one regularly seen lying in the quad with a book. Alex was no longer the only one regularly seen in the library, head bent over a book and note-taking hand poised.

The gym and other sporting facilities became the most popular spots to unwind, or at least distract, but there was a careful, unplanned but studiously maintained roster so there was never an overlap between the group. Everyone else in the College, save the first-years, had seen every inch of them, but none of the 14 hid, although heads were down and walks rapid. Gradually the air of support and empathy from the older students wore through the shame and returned relations to at least a state of working cordiality.

Towards the end of the week, Megan began joining Kimberley for her spare-time workouts in the gym, entirely without comment or words exchanged, exchanging her preferred swimming for work on the bags or sparring dummies.

After the first two sessions, still without comment, they moved onto the sparring mats.

Their combat was fierce, brutal, no holding back, no powers but no restraints. They fought silently, only grunts of exertion or of pain heard over the thuds of flesh on flesh and the occasional deeper thump as one or both hit the mat.

Within minutes they each had an eye swelling shut, and there was blood from noses, cuts and abrasions before they finished.

As they staggered off, both limping, Megan gritting her teeth and cradling her right arm, blood oozing into Kimberly's sports bra from a deep scratch on the exposed upper slope of her left boob, the steriliser robots rushing out to clean the mats behind them.

They showered, eyes healing, bleeding stopped and Megan's elbow moving freely, got dressed without meeting each other's eyes and then spontaneously hugged, fiercely, crushing each other for a long, long time.

They left the gym laughing, finally, a giddy, high feeling of release making them giggle and lean on each other like first-time drunks.

The evening they handed in their essays, the entire year-group went to the campus bar and, quietly and diligently, inhaled five shots each of their favourite spirit.

The next day, normal classes resumed.

In the afternoon, Megan found a copy of the Parahuman Legal Primer and retreated into the furthest recesses of the library to prepare for an in-class exam in two weeks' time.

Despite the reconciliation with Kimberley, despite the cathartic process of writing the essay, she was not feeling healed or restored inside herself.

She opened the text, found her place by memory, opened her notebook to place because she had a marker between the pages, clicked her pen and checked it.

She was trying to drown herself in subjects she knew well, driving herself to get top marks on this upcoming exam as she had dominated the subject to date. It was very important to her self-esteem that she do well on this exam.

She took a deep breath and then closed her eyes with a sudden flash of psychic pain she felt referring to the pit of her stomach.

She shook her head violently, opened her eyes to look at the page again, focusing on the formal typography.

Last year's course had been about the legal history of parahumans. Now, they had to learn the current legal situation in-depth, with knowledge of how each law made its tortuous way to reality

"There are detailed and explicit distinctions in liability law," she read, "between the scenarios where a parahuman Hero is seeking to defeat a Villain, or; seeking to save civilians from the actions of a Villain directly, or; seeking to save civilians from the actions of a Villain indirectly, or; seeking to save civilians in a situation not affected or effected by a Villain."

Save from a Villain ...

Fuck! She swore at herself. Pull yourself together!

She angrily unscrewed the top off her water bottle, took a swig, conscientiously replaced the top, scribbled down the four distinct categories in her notebook.

The memories of that day continued to haunt her. She had not asked Kimberley about her experience, and neither had volunteered.

"Brainwashing," she had written in that essay, "subtype: adoration." At first, she had barely been able to get herself to continue writing, but once the shivering had passed she had poured it all out onto the page.

She shuddered, sitting in the dry and sterile library, remembering how she had felt so completely and utterly in love with the most beautiful boy in the whole world, who had just been there when she woke up, lying on a bed, somehow dressed again in a loose blouse and short skirt, making her, briefly, confident, secure, dropping her guard - a boy whose existence she had not even questioned, who she had not questioned, a pretty, delicate, shy boy who had been interested in her - her! - although he could have won the hearts of any girl at the College, he was so wonderful, a boy who had, shyly, blushingly, asked if he could - perhaps - just this once - see her, her, her breasts?

She had been so ecstatically, overwhelmingly happy to hear his request, so overjoyed he asked her, so eager to undo her blouse, suddenly shy when the last button parted, suddenly fearful he wouldn't like her enough but emboldened by his rabbit-like timidity.

She had ...

Argh! She hammered her fingertips into her temples, shook her head again, took another swig of water, strove to banish those memories from her mind, closed her eyes and recited, in a whisper calculated to not carry beyond the confines of her cubicle, the four categories of action.

Good. She remembered.

She read through the historical precedents for the categories, their evolution and how the distinctions had been fought through after years of court cases.

The structures and the distinctions were neatly falling into place in her mind.

She had a sense where it was going, could see ...

Could see herself pulling her blouse open happily, proudly, almost defiantly, exposing her braless breasts, rolling her shoulders back and pushing her chest forwards to accentuate them, standing in front of his eager, still shy, gaze, so happy to see his eyes light up, her nipples puckering in response.

She had taken a step forwards, softly said "Touch them," her skin tingling deliciously in anticipation, suddenly craving his hand on her flesh.

He had shaken his head, said with barely restrained eagerness "Let me see ..."

She had pre-empted him, dropped her blouse behind her, reached back to unzip her skirt, feeling a sense of smugness at the way it pulled her breasts tighter, higher and apart, then pushed it off her hips, the movement giving her confidence, making her bolder, letting her stand for a moment striking a pose in her white panties before hooking her thumbs in the waistband and slowly sliding them down, uncovering her pussy a millimetre at a time ...

No! She almost shouted it, every muscle in her body clenching in denial.

She felt flushed, hot. Almost as hot as she had felt when he had, blushing, asked her to masturbate, said he had not wanted to touch her until he knew what she liked, what ...

She needed air.

She packed up, moving quickly to try and still the trembling in her whole body, working methodically and, at the end, picking up the textbook and cradling it protectively as she headed straight for the stairs, hurrying down to ground level staring fixedly in front of her, stopping only to check out the textbook at a self-service booth, avoiding any interaction with librarians, barely noticing when it beeped at her a reminder this was a priority text, 2 hours maximum.

She moved with purpose when she left the library, eyes flicking from side to side, still cradling the textbook in front of her, at one point ducking behind a tree and taking several deep breaths as she saw a year-mate, then headed to the edge of the College, around the back of the service buildings, not deviating or slowing down until she opened a door marked "Maintenance only," stepped through, and a pleasant-seeming man in overalls and leather gloves lowered the book he was reading, said "Ah, good, my bait has caught a fish," stood up, held his book in front of her, said "Read this," and all remaining personality drained out of her face.

The man gently retrieved the law text, closed it fondly, and moved behind her to lock the door.

She did not move even to blink, staring fixedly at the book he had handed her, in the time it took him, leisurely, to strip off his overalls and sit back down in his seat, in jeans and a black T-shirt. He did not take his gloves off.

"Slave," he said softly.

For two minutes she did respond, while he waited patiently, then she lowered the book and said, tonelessly, "Yes, master."

"Close the book, and put it on the table next to you."

She did so.

"Put your bag on the floor."

She did so.

"Take two steps forwards."

She did that, as well, moving with a stiffness born of exact and absolute obedience.

He leant back in his chair, folded his hands in his lap, one leg crossed over the other, his ankle resting just above his knee, and contemplated her.

She stood upright, poised but slightly lifeless, in dark slacks, a loose blouse and, quite clearly even under loose fabric, a bra. She was dressed like someone who was used to being sexy, to flaunting her sexuality proudly, but was struggling with the consequences of being unable to protect herself while doing so.

He felt saddened by this, but also unsurprised.

"It's a good bit of bait, this," he said softly, lifting up the law text.

"It was a normal book, once, an unremarkable product of the publishing run.

"It can be read by thousands of students without effect. It only has any effect at all upon someone who is tormented by inner demons, and isn't entirely concentrating, but is susceptible to thoughts of weakness, subjugation - many variations upon that theme."

He put the book down on a shelf next to his chair, tenderly, almost lovingly.

"It appears to have served its purpose rather well. It simply hijacks its victim's sense of purpose, of intent, and redirects them while diverting any self-questioning into self-reflection and self-criticism. It works, I have found, astoundingly well."

He folded his hands in his lap, steepling his fingers.

"You see," he continued, softly, "the easiest prey are always the weak-willed. The distracted, the fearful, the insecure, and the meek. And here, in the College, finding them is always so much more fun."

He smiled, a nostalgic look flickering across his face.