First we coerce your brain patterns Collaborate with time-consumin' re-programmin' I apply the flow cannon, the combo's so slamming Atomically reconstruct the whole canvas His logic impress a hypnotic effect Yeah, a latent patent, you could call it a gift Man, he all in the mix, nuclear physicist Genetically tailored every bit of this stimulus **-Deltron 3030, "Mastermind"** ---- "She's waking up." Some words are good to hear when you've spent a night at the discotheque and went home with a handsome stranger. When you've been infiltrating a mad scientist's evil lair, not so much. The cottonmouth was also normal for the aforementioned night, along with a pounding headache. Also present. But as the spy knows - or has read about in her half-crown paperbacks - these are also symptoms of being drugged. And she was fairly certain she had not being to any sort of disco, or spent the night with handsome strangers. At least not recently. (The last one had been a Spaniard. Or at least he had claimed he was a Spaniard. She had not, at the time, been particularly interested in checking his passport.) In fact the last thing she remembered was drinking her cup of coffee from her thermos in the cafeteria. The thermos she had left in her locker before she started cleaning. The locker her target and his security had full access to. In retrospect, probably a bad choice. She forced her eyes open against the sticky feeling and also against the way the light stabbed straight through her skull and out the back. In the stories she liked, attractive young damsels - and ladies who were significantly less innocent - were sometimes tied to chairs, and menaced by the villains, often to serve as bait for the dashing, daring hero. As far as the spy knew, she had no heroes rushing to her rescue. So she'd have to do the work herself. More immediately, she was cuffed - neck, wrist, and ankles - to some kind of cold metal table. She had read those types of stories as well. She didn't like them as much. "There's no need to panic, *fraulein*. And good morning. I assume 'Julie Jones' is not your actual name?" The man who loomed over her was thin, and in his 40s, and clad in a white lab coat, and had a face like skin stretched over a skull. "It'll do," the spy said. Banter. Banter was important. Banter let you gather information. She was in some kind of... operating theatre? Except this one looked rather less *de rigeur*. Most operating theatres did not have a computer nearby, she assumed. The massive, bookcase-sized machine loomed nearby, including the spools of magnetic tape. Operating theatres also didn't usually have two silent, watchful guards armed with submachine guns. And, of course they did not generally have an attractive young lady strapped to a table. *German accent, guards, computers. All I need is the deathtrap and it's like I'm in Doctor No.* "Where am I? Why am I here? What-" She injected a little panic into her voice, which didn't take much doing. "-what are you going to *do* to me?" "*Shhh, shhh, liebchen*. You are here to serve the cause of science. And as to your second question-" He smiled. "-your cover identity had several flaws. Most prominently, why would a highly-educated, upper-class young woman such as yourself be working as a janitor?" "Maybe I have debts to pay." "Maybe you're a spy from my rivals, or even my superiors. Perhaps you're simply a random opportunist. Which would explain why the security cameras caught your attempt to break into the records room." "Cameras?" "Yes they're quite small these days. Don't feel bad. You had no way of knowing that record room was a decoy." "...Which explains why the lock was so easy to pick." "And why so many of the staff knew about the security flaws in the door, yes." "And what science, *Herr Doktor*, could possibly require such security? Energy research? That was what you put on the forms." The doctor smiled, and leaned in close, and whispered "*Nanomachines.*" The spy looked past him, to the bookcase-sized computers in the room, and said "I think you've got a long way to go." "What? Oh not those." He chuckled, slapped his leg. "If you put those next to my new machines, those are like a-a-a Model T compared to a *Ferrari*!" The spy nodded. As much as she's able. "Oh, the problem must be quite simple. All you have to do is deal with power, heat, processors size, and even more impossible things. Why, you should have them all knocked out by, oh, 2020." "2020?" "Okay, 2021. I was being generous." The doctor stares at her for a long minute. "You are...very well versed in the challenges facing experimental technology." *I read.* "I dabble. Like to keep my hand in." "I see. And to answer your question, No, I don't have to deal with those problems." "I'm pretty sure the laws of physics say otherwise." "Well, they will have to be repealed. I have discovered a substance that neatly solves all of those problems. And it gives my machines the ability to reproduce as well." Reproduce? How did that work? "I certainly hope they're willing to pay child support." "They do not reproduce in that fashion. They create new machines out of local materials." "Wouldn't that destroy the local materials? How do you plan to enhance humans if they end up wasting away faster than the Single Girl diet?" "Well..." The doctor looked away. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." "This is mad." She looked at the guards. "You two know this is mental, right?" One of them shrugged. "He doesn't pay us to think." Julie started, until she realized her mouth was drifting open. *Okay. It's time to start thinking of the worst case scenario.* *Which is dying.* *Because no matter what he's going to give me, it won't work like he thinks. At best, it's just water or something else harmless. Then he just gets the guards to dispose of me, because he wouldn't tell me all of this if he was planning to let me walk away.* *Maybe I should just get it over with.* "So where is it?" "Where is vat?" "The needle or blood transfusion or suppository or whatever you're going to use to get your little Robbies into me." The diabolical doctor looked puzzled. "I'm sorry, perhaps I wasn't clear. I injected you-" He checks his watch. "-thirty minutes ago." Julie, somehow, managed not to panic. Maybe because she was too terrified. In a calm voice - she hoped - she said "what are the effects?" "Well, they did not take effect for some time, and varied wildly. I have not been able to isolate the factor or factors responsible." Julie nodded at him. So to speak. What would the heroes in her books do? They would challenge the doctor. Keep him unsteady on his feet so he wouldn't notice her escape attempts. Speaking of which- She tested the straps around her ankles are subtly as she knew how. Not very much play in them. Perhaps her hands were more loosely bound. "And were your previous test subjects anything like me?" "Well, no. They were rats." Julie blinked. "I beg your pardon?" "Rats. *Rattus norvegicus.*" Julie snapped her jaw shut. "And...in these tests, what happened to the rats?" "Well, the ones that survived exhibit enhanced strength speed and durability. Some entered a manic state." "...Are you saying I'll go mad?" "No, no, of course not." Her Germanic jailer blinked. "Probably not." "Oh, that's *quite* reassuring, Doctor." "But enough about me. Let's talk about you!" The doctor scooched his rolly-chair closer to her, and smiled like he was planning to give her a lollypop. "Why investigate, hmm? Resources? Power usage? Who do you work for? MI5? The Home Office? Cambridge?" *I'm actually someone who works at the power company, conducting an unauthorized investigation on my vacation time.* She couldn't say *that*, of course. What could she say? What would they do in the books! Something brave and defiant. She should challenge him again, despite her perilous situation. "I'm not going to let your rebuild the third reich, but I won't let you, you great dirty Nazi!" The doctor stared at her. "I'm sorry, what?" And Julie began to feel like she had made a mistake. "...Nazi?" The dizzy doctor's eyes scrunched up, like he was squinting at something on the horizon. "You think... I'm a Nazi?" Julie's stomach sank. which was remarkable considering that she was already tied to a table and politely menaced by a mad scientist. "Well...yes? with the accent?" Doctor stared at her some more. and quietly, very quietly, he said " I am not German. I am *Austrian*. and it has been 20 years the end of the war. You were probably not even old enough to cross the street. You barely remember it." He leaned in, and whispered. "I do. And I would do anything, anything at all, to keep it from happening again. Why do you think I am working on this project? He should have shouted. It would have been easier to handle if he shouted. He straightened up. "Did you think I was a Nazi, just because you thought I was a German?" *Did I just piss off the chap who has me strapped to a table?* Julie smiled. Or rather, she tried to smile. "There's *also* the whole mad scientist thing." The doctor's brow furrowed. he shot to his feet, and began pacing around the room. Julie's heart beat harder, faster in her chest. Eventually, he leaned on the table and hung his head. Behind him the two guards looked at each other, but said nothing. *What should I do?* The doctor snapped up, and spun to face Julie. "Do you know what Hitler would do with my invention? Hm?" He pushed off the desk, and started walking toward Julie's table. "If I showed him this wonderful, life-changing technology?" Unfortunately, Julie didn't have anything witty to say. "No...?" The doctor snorted. "he's ask me how we could use it to take more meth, and if it could fix his...his-his-his runny *bowels*!" "I'm sorry, but you have me *strapped to a table*!" She emphasized by trying to pull her arms out. The fact that this tested her ability to dislocate her thumb was, no doubt, entirely coincidental. "*These* do not dispose someone to think kindly of you!" "Miss 'Jones', those straps are for your own protection." Jones was silent for a second. and then she quietly asked "what *really* happened to those rats?" "They-" the doctor caught himself, licked his lips, and stopped making eye contact. "well, *some* of them survived." "Are you sure you didn't inject me with *cocaine*?" "Fairly. Cocaine wouldn't let rats chew their way out of a metal cage." "Is that one of the ones that died?" "We hear them squeaking in the vents sometimes. They have evaded all of our traps." the doctor looked up at the ceiling, and swiveled the chair from left to right. "I hope they are not reproducing." "You *do* realize this is *quite* impossible?" "That is exactly what I said. Until-" He gave her an explanation, which might as well have been in Greek. It involved Lagrange Points, and electromagnetic radiation, and wireless, and finally, finally, a meteor. A very special meteor. That meteor crashed to Earth in a remote regions she could neither spell or pronounce, back when London was just a Roman trading post. "A meteor?" Julie said. "Yes," the doctor said. "From *space*?" Julie said. "Yes!" the doctor said. "Are you having a laugh?" Julie said. "No!" the doctor said. "Come off it, doctor! Next you'll tell me your backers are...are little green men with ray-guns and rocketships!" "You are remarkably doubtful. Oh, and the Americans will have their rocketships on the moon soon, I hear." The doctor turned away, folded his hands behind his back, and tossed "Or the Russians." over his shoulder. Julie tugged at the band around her right hand, on the far side of the table from him and the guards. Still nothing. *I really wish I could dislocate my thumb.* And she felt something in her hand. A peculiar not-tingle. And then her thumb slipped neatly out of its joint. The first thing she noticed was the complete lack of pain. In her novels, dislocation was always very painful, yet the hero suppressed it manfully, with the proverbial stiff upper lip. But no suppression on her part was necessary. Her thumb felt fine. ...What about the moment when she needed to get her thumb ba- And her thumb slipped right back into joint. She didn't tense anything, didn't do anything, it just...*happened*. Because she *wanted* it. And she breathed a little faster. *I...**changed**. He **isn't** a nutter! Well, not entirely.* Her heart beat faster. *Which means...I can exploit the nanomachines to escape. As long as I'm caref-* "Am I interrupting something, *fraulein*?" said the doctor from the side of her table. "N-no." "How do you feel?" She didn't look at her thumb, even as something light and hot welled up in her chest, and the future looked a lot more rosy. She gave him a gleaming smile. "I feel *great*," she said. The doctor tilted his head, studied her. "You seem worried." "Do I?" "You're sweating." He patted her on the knee. Like her grandfather. She tried not to flinch. She still needed him to like her. Now that he mentioned it, she could feel a certain wetness at her underarms. A tad unladylike. Not that she particularly cared at the moment. *If I can alter my thumb, what else can I alter?* She shifted her shoulders in her bonds. It made her underarms chafe in a most unpleasant way. Her underarms. Scent. She could work with that. Quite unbidden, she thought of her old schoolmates. A certain other girl had, ah, physically matured a year or two ahead of the other girls, and was quite proud of her new endowments. And - of course - the resulting attention from boys. At the time, young Julianna had envied that classmate. So had many of the other girls. But none of the other girls were strapped to a table with nanomachines coursing through their veins. And so, Julie felt the same peculiar not-feeling. In her chest. *Nonononono-* The problem with panic is that it makes you breathe faster. And when you feel your chest expanding when you don't quite want it to, it becomes something of a self-sustaining loop. Which might be a tad inconvenient if there is a mad scientist a few feet away, watching your every move. And then the feet become inches, as he pulled up a rolling stool and sat down. And Julie thought a word that a spy would *never* say in her books, if only to get past the censors. "You are worried, clearly. I can see you breathing deeply." Oh. So he thought- *Doesn't matter. Need to keep him looking at anything but my chest.* "Why on Earth are you *doing* this?" "Because I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to escape." "No, I mean-" She looked around the room. "-*all* of this." "Well," he began. And he was off. Talking about his childhood on a farm outside of Salzburg. How his parents scrimped and saved their meagre funds to get him into a good school. How he repaid their kindness by getting a scholarship, so he could support them in their old age. How he returned to their farm, to find them dying of a disease with no cure. How he watched them fade away in front of him, say they were proud of him. How he stood at their grave - the only mourner - and vowed to end that kind of suffering. For anyone, ever again. And Julie could not give a monkey's. She was busy focusing on her boobs. And how they would just...not...stop...*growing*. As the doctor gazed wistfully into the past to recount some anecdote from his school days involving a blue-ribbon goat and a flagpole, Julie thought of her boobs shrinking. Concentrated on that image really, *really* hard. At which point her boobs, for lack of a better term, became...confused. The not-tingle became two not-tingles. Two similar sensations with different...purposes? Her boobs felt like the rope in tug-of-war, except one side, the 'bigger' side, was clearly stronger. And she had never realized how uncomfortable it was for the rope. Fine. *Not smaller. Just stop. Just stop, okay? No more growing!* And then her boobs went *Well, why didn't you say so?* And then they stopped growing. And then she exhaled in relief. But not too obviously. At least she knew how to work the nanomachines. More or less. And her underarms were...still sweating. *I need time. More distraction. Use his vanity.* "Where do you get your funding?" she asked. The doctor waved a hand. "Private institutes. Individual contributions." "Is...is there some newsletter about this sort of cutting edge science? Do you take out an ad in a newspaper? I recommend *The Evening News* " The doctor chuckled. "Nothing so pedestrian. I know people. And those people, in turn, know people. And so on and so forth, until some of the people have a few pounds - or dollars, or shekels - to spare." Behind him the two soldiers had gotten a little closer. perhaps it was just professional caution. Or perhaps she recognized the gleam in that one guards eye, and where he was looking. Even if she could shrink her chest to a less noticeable size, he'd notice the lack of noticeability. Under normal circumstances, perhaps, she would find him somewhat attractive, in a soldier-of-fortune slumming-it kind of way. If she met him at a bar, she might consider - seriously consider - favouring him with a smile and offering to get out of there with him. As long as she didn't have work the next day. But not here, and not now. Perhaps it was just her imagination. The same imagination that let her see him grabbing her jumpsuit and ripping it off her body. Perhaps he would take a moment to savour the view of her sweat slicked, whimpering figure. A smile would steal across his face, before he reached for his belt buckle and- This wasn't fun. This wasn't fun *at all*. Even with her new abilities, she was fairly certain she wasn't bulletproof - at least not yet - and she wasn't quite sure how to make herself safe. Ripped the straps out and escape? The guards would stop her. Hold the doctor hostage somehow? Same. Her eyes and nose started to twinge. No, she couldn't. The heroes never cried in a situation like this. *Heroines*, maybe, but only pretend, to lure in stupid guards. They didn't have a twinge around their eyes turn to a burning feeling, until, until- She sucked in her breath. -until it had to get *out*- And that's when the tears started to flow. Quite embarrassing. The doctor - from what she could hear - was at sixes and sevens. Perhaps he had never strapped a woman to his table and watched her break down before. He yanked his hand away, and she was dimply aware of him trying to make comforting noises. Or what he imagined were comforting noises. "M-Miss Jones?" said the not-so-sinister scientist. "Perhaps you should focus on, er, memories, desires! Positive outcomes! What do you *want*, Miss Jones?" Julie blinked, until he went from a concerned blur to only a concerned mild blur. "I-I want to go home." "I'm...afraid that's not an opinion." He coughed, awkwardly. "I believe I had a handkerchief somewhere around here..." What *did* she want? She squeezed her eyes shut. *I want to stop being scared.* And then a voice in the back of her skull that she couldn't identify whispered *Command confirmed.* Wait, wh ---- at? Julianna blinked. What had she been so afraid of? The doctor clapped his hands. "Good! You've stopped crying. I'll see if I can find something to dry your tears." She stared at him. And all of a sudden things seemed much clearer. Ahe had been wrong, she had been fundamentally wrong. She had tried to emulate heroes and look, just *look* where it had gotten her. *Nowhere.* This wasn't a situation for heroes or heroines. What she really needed to do was take after villains. Starting by acquiring her very own evil lair, conveniently pre-furnished. And also minions. It was all so...very obvious. A hero had selfless motives, while villains had selfish motives. She had not investigated the situation on her own out of any sort of altruism, or real concern for others, but for her own ego. For the prospect of - of *acclaim*, of "general ceremony", to quote the Bard. The doctor, by contrast, wanted to help people. Yes, he went about it in a rather inefficient way, but he was motivated by selflessness. That made him the Hero. And that made her the Villainess. Well, she wouldn't make the same mistakes the villains did in her half-crown novels. She had already started to disable her opposition. Now to surprise them. Misdirection, that was the ticket. But how? One of the strange things about losing fear is that it does a number on your impulse control. Images become impulses, impulses become thoughts, thoughts become firmly held moral principles. In this case, it was the imagined image of the guard's...attentions. Of his face in it. He seemed to be enjoying himself, very much. She looked down at her body, in her vision. Noted the sensations. Imagined what he was feeling. Seemed like she was getting the raw deal. And so, in an eyeblink, she returned to reality. She felt the not-tingle again. It moved down from her limbs, toward her core, and more specifically her- Oh. Oh, *that* was interesting. The tingle was coupled with a certain amount of growing heat, which she welcomed, reveled in. And - for some reason - thought of The Avengers. And Emma Peel. And that rather...interesting leather outfit she wore. And Julianna's prior's own laments that her rather slim figure would never- ...would never... *Well, why not? The boys always seem to have so much fun.* Julianna split her focus between the growing heat in her crotch and her underarms. There was a certain amount of rewiring to be done. Unfortunately, it had something of an unexpected side effect. A dark coloration that spread and spread, as she pushed out more and more of her- She *could* keep it under control. But maybe she did not need to. "Doctor?" she singsonged. "Oh, *Doc*tor?" He frowned at her. "Yes, *Fraulein* Jones?" "What's your PhD in?" He blinked. "What?" "Your de-*gree*, doctor!" She forced her eyes wide open, like a curious little girl. "What, precisely, is your field of study?" "I-" "Oooh! Maybe you're one of those geniuses who have several degrees!" The doctor blushed. "Er..." "Or perhaps your *real* skill is in marketing." A thoughtful, mocking pout. "You certainly don't follow any sort of standard scientific process. No control group, and you told the one test subject what was supposed to happen. Haven't you ever heard of double-blind studies?" "I had to take advantage of the opportunity-" "How did you sell this madness to your backers?" She morphed the pout into a smirk. "Did you tell them it was a marital aid?" He shot to his feet, and glared down at her. "My backers are men - and women - of vision! They have the foresight to see what more *conventional* thinkers could not!" "Conventional thinkers like reputable labs and universities? Is that why you're hiding in your secret lair? Couldn't make it through peer review?" "It is *not* an evil lair, you, you-" The doctor's face was quite red. The muscles stood out in his neck, and he closed and opened his fist spasmodically. She smiled up at him. "Don't pop a gasket, professor. It's a nightmare to get a plumber out on the weekends." He furrowed his brow, gathered himself up, and- ...noticed her underarms. Stared at them. His brow was still furrowed, just in a different way. Could he figure it out? He closed his eyes, and muttered "You must be more nervous than I thought." He inhaled, deeply and sighed, patiently. Back to the grandfather act. "You are lashing out. I know you are afraid, but as I told you before-" And at this juncture, Julianna could not restrain herself any longer. Or, perhaps, she chose not to. She giggled. The doctor stopped. "What's so funny?" "*This.*" Something pressed out of the fabric over her crotch. The doctor's head snapped around. Nothing. He turned back to her face, and, just to have a laugh, she made her crotch jump again. This time, he stared much longer. Then realized what it looked like, blushed, and faced her. "I am sorry, *fraulein*, perhaps my mind is playing tricks on me." He rubbed his eyes. "Lack of sle-" She pushed. While he was looking. He stopped rubbing, and his eyes got quite wide. More pushing. The guards looked at each other, and stepped forward, trying to see what was happening. She could just show them everything at once, but where's the fun in that? That was also why she breathed so heavily, thrashed on the table, let out some moans that were exaggerated. But not by much. The guards drew closer, and one went "Sir? Is this an emergency?" The doctor looked from one to the other, jaw low. "I...I don't..." Julianna wanted their attention, *needed* their attention. She let out a particularly loud moan, and thrust her pelvis clean off the table, like that one painting of the chap with tetanus they covered in art class. And as the men watched - with varying degrees of horror and confusion - her crotch kept going, kept pulsating with the strange growth. Until they could see that the...thing that punched through the dark, slick fabric was a rounded cylinder. A rounded cylinder that should've been personally familiar to all of them. Albeit not on a woman. And not in the same color as the fabric, like it was a part of her. And perhaps she had made it a *tad* too large. Phase One complete. All three men stared. "Er..." The doctor looked over his shoulder, took a step back. "Did...did she *always* have that?" The guards stepped forward, raising their weapons. One said "No, sir, she did *not*." *And now for Phase Two.* She took a deep breath. focused, imagined what she wanted. *breath in, breathe out. breathe in, breathe out.* "What are you doing?" snarled the doctor. He whirled to face his guards. "*Stop* her, you fools!" "Sir!" they both leveled their rifles. A fact which Julianna was only dimly aware of. Most of her awareness was concerned with the heat rushing to her chest, the dizzying feeling of power. Control. And the sound of her zipper pull flying through the air as her expanding boobs split her coveralls open like a greedy child opening a bag of crisps. All three men froze. Again. And stared. Again. *Good.* Though she was not sure if that was "Good, they're not shooting me", or "Good, they're admiring my fantastic tits". Or both. *And while I'm here-* Her hips pushed sideways and outward, and her suit rubbed against the table, let out a squeak. The men - boys, really, *so* easily distracted - tried to say something, but they didn't really matter, did they? Not even when one ran up to her, and put his gun an inch from her face. She smiled at him, and licked her dark, green, full lips. And grabbed the gun. The professor stared at her arm, and at the dark band around it, and the place on the table where that strap *should* have been. *Wie...? Was...?* Her other hand came up, and judo-chopped the first guard in the neck. Poor technique, but great force, more than someone with her build should've been able to execute from her position. The guard staggered back, lost his grip on his rifle, and sank to the ground. The second guard swore before he opened fire. As a result, he never got a chance to. The first guard's thrown rifle caught him in the head, and he stumbled back, then dropped like a rock. *Scheisse!* When the doctor turned back, the test subject was rising. Not in any conventional sense of course. That would be far too normal. Instead, she kind of floated upright, as if she were on a hinge at her feet, without any seeming physical effort whatsoever. She didn't even seem to be worry about balancing on the little lip at the foot of the table. It reminded the doctor of- "I saw that in a movie once. Always wanted to try it." And the subject giggled. When the guards strapped her down, she had been wearing a green jumpsuit. Now it was dark green, and slick looking, like something Emma Peel would wear on that television show. And- The doctor's eyes flicked down. -and he couldn't see where her pant legs became her shoes. They were just one gigantic mass. And then Jones stepped off the platform. Her legs brushed against each other, and then something peculiar happened. Her pant legs seemed to stick together like warm toffee, and refused to let each other go. This didn't slow down her movement at all. The "strings" stretched as she reached the ground, thickened and flattened as her other leg joined the first. They were more like straps, making up a dress. The light gleamed off the curves of her legs, her hips. And especially that thing at her crotch. Was...was Subject Jones *taller* than before? He had been so focused on the legs changing that he didn't even notice how her sensible flat shoes had somehow become heels. Big, chunky things like those GoGo boots girls put on to go to the discotheque. But still that strange shiny green colour. He hadn't actually *met* her before, but she still seemed taller than she did on the table. She smiled down at him. "I really must thank you, doctor," she said, and took a step forward. Naturally, the doctor took a step back. And Jones took a step forward. She held out her arms, and the sleeves *rippled*. From the straps around her wrists, they became a braided weave, with bare shoulders and wide openings at the end. Sort of like that wizard from that American cartoon about King Arthur. Her collar still traced its way up to her neck, and...yes, she was breathing faster. Excited. "Frankly," she said, "I was afraid that wouldn't work." She advanced. He retreated. Her jumpsuit's zip sprouted filigree that resembled the computer's circuit-boards, that traced the deep V of her bare flesh from her navel to her neck. Rather like ivy crawling up a trellis. Or kudzu. "Now, doctor, as I was saying about your scientific process, I think it's somewhat lacking." She advanced. He retreated. "However, I think we can fairly certainly conclude nanomachines act on the desires of their...*host* for lack of a better word." "In-indeed?" "Yes! For example-" she waved a hand down her body, just as straps *grew* out of the upper part of her collar, interlaced over the V of her collarbone, her neck, in an upward V shape. The doctor's eye, naturally, followed the straps, and the diamond of her sizable chest, down to her crotch. "And you had such, ah, desires?" Well, I didn't when I came *in*, but when I thought about it, they seemed like *evah* so much fun!" And- the doctor swallowed "Was this before or after you *wanted* to change?" "Oh, after, of course. Really, I don't know what I was so bothered about." "And-" The doctor's back hit the computer mainframe, and jumped. "-what...what are you planning to *do* with your new abilities?" "You know I hadn't quite decided yet. Well..." She shrugged. "Not in the *long* term, I mean." She reached out. The doctor flinched, and turned his head away, but she grabbed it with a vice-like grip, and yanked him around to face her. Then she ran her thumb over his lips. he felt...something. A strange Sensation. Not unlike a tingle, not unlike eating an ice cube. "But in the short term? In the immediate future?" She smiled at him. "I think my dance card is rather full." The doctor swallowed hard. His eyes darted left and right. "Oh, I'm sorry. were you expecting your guards to save you?" she released his face. "Go on. Take a look." The guards had not gotten up. In fact they were crawling. not toward their guns, but towards Subject Jones. The looks on their faces were not unlike one might expect to find if one rescued a starving man from a desert island, and deposited him at a banquet. "Stop," she said. And they stopped. Froze instantly. Like dogs, held still by nothing but discipline and the will of their master. Mistress. "How...How did you do that to them?" Subject Jones smiled. "Remember my little underarm accident?" "Your little-" The doctor closed his eyes. "*Pheromones*." "Pheromones! You *really* need better ventilation in your evil lair." "I told you, it is not-" No. That shouldn't be the priority. "What are you planning to do with me?" The collar's filigree began tracing though the air, like a fur collar. Gold crept across her forehead, into a band. Dripped, upward, into curved spikes. Fangs, perhaps. She leaned in close, didn't bite him, whispered in his ear. "You don't *feel* that?" Feel wha-oh. Feel the not-tingle rushing through his veins. Feel it reshaping his face. His body, his- It was so hard to *think*! He threw a weak punch, which missed, and ducked to the right. A half-instant later, something had him by the throat, and slammed him into the computer. Julianna looked up at him, and waggled a finger. "Naughty girl. And just for that, I'll leave part of the old you in there. So you can watch what I do with your body. Well, what used to be your body. With your lovely gift, one can be anything one wants." His feet weren't touching the ground. "Anything...I want?" The subject's grin was feral. Not exactly. Anything *I* want." She loosened her grip enough to let him look down, to see the *(cock)* phallus grow, and grow, until it wa *massive*, inhuman, tipped with the same gold-traced circuit-filigree that lined her chest, her forehead. This was wrong. She knew it was wrong, knew he would be changed forever, knew that some part of him had already started to like it. Some part of him wanted to kiss the ground she walked on. And then, perhaps, to kiss other things. He tried to push off the computer. To fight. To do anything, even if it was just to get to a scalpel and cut his own throat. "I...I don't..." "*Shhh, shhh, liebchen*" Julianna whispered, as she stroked his hair, his cheek. "There's no need to panic." The circuit-filigree golden shape spread out behind her back. Like something one would see at one of those Caribbean *carnivals*. Or a peacock's mating display. Or perhaps a cobra, ready to strike. The mesmerizing monarch's eyes were gold rings floating in darkness, deep and infinite. "*You are here to serve the cause of science*." ENDF ---- # "Collar and Crown" ## 2021 Nequ ### By-SA-NC ### Fanart/Stories welcome. Please PM me when you do, so I can link. ### If you repost this elsewhere, you might wanna move this credit bit to the top. ---- ---- Queen Julianna the First's design is mainly based on Edea from FFVII. Thing is, I didn't realize what I was referencing until I was finished with the design. Also, I've never played FFVII. I just saw an ad in a magazine once, and some renders of Edea. I didn't even know the character's name. And to a lesser extent, Lulu from FFX. And that one gif of Elvira: Mistress of the Dark opening a gate. Or, rather, the weird dream I had about it once. And maaaybe Drowned Ophelia from Brutal Legend. And Agnes from Wandavision for the personality. ...I just like goth girls, okay? ---- Certain readers may be asking "uh, did they even *have* stereotypical green printed circuit boards in the 60s?" And the answer is...*kinda*? AFAIK, they were around, they'd just be very new and semi-experimental. And as you can imagine, a guy who makes nanomachines (son!) keeps up on the latest tech. ---- Setting and story inspired by that one Deathloop playthrough I partially watched. And maybe the game Observation (Devolver Digital/NoCode). And, of course, Dr. No. The book, not the film. I don't know very much about mid/early-60s paperback thrillers and sci-fi, but neither do you, so I just used stereotypes of James Bond and generic adventure heroes. And the odd Austin Powers reference. Alternate opening music candidates include: "Miss Murder" by AFI, and "you should see me in a crown" by Billie Eilish (waaay too on-the-nose). Icon/Thumbnail inspired by, IDK, beer cans? It was pretty obvious the second I came up with the title. I'm willing to chuckle at any alternate title suggestions in the comments, as long as they're funny. ---- I could've called the story "Twisted Trans-Sister", but that sounds more like a TG corruption hentai. Possibly an Eromanga-Sensei doujin. It would involve a stalker who is totally not an audience stand-in who breaks into her house, and tries to use a magic artifact to win her heart. Instead it corrupts her and gives her demonic powers and a that's a lot less *pettan* and a lot more *oppai*, which she uses to subdue and/or transform him into her willing, (futa?) slave. All this while her stepbrother is watching on the webcam. Maybe it ages her up temporarily whenever she succumbs to her evil half. Think the Hulk, but with incest vibes. Maybe make the webcam feed corrupt first the brother's computer/phone (subtly), and then him, as he realizes it's not a stunt, and tries to get over to the other house. He stops his attempts just before he bursts into the room, frozen. And also horny. Maybe the sister looks at him, through the camera, and goes "stop". Then his sister and her new slave step out, say something impressive and sexy. She talks about how she wanted him to be her first, and how she can feel the demonic energy of all her changing viewers. Something something going viral. Motif: Male protagonist hooking a finger in her mouth and pulling her along when she's misbehaving. In the ending, she makes a similar gesture to compel him, without touching, and he follows her into her room, which has been demonized, literally, throughout the story. Door shuts, story ends. I'm not into bro- or siscon, but you could probably file the serial numbers off and sell it as original. Maybe make the brother a childhood friend who's *like* a brother if you wanna broaden the audience. Don't look at me, I'm not gonna write it. ...Wait, you wanna pay me *how* much?