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PsyKick smiled as the henchmen slumped to the floor, dozens defeated with just one psychic pulse wave. Their leaders stood frozen as he approached, then seemed to recover their composure. They drew their Gatling guns, opening fire on him.
The bullets froze and hovered midair before they could even touch him.
“And that’s why you shouldn’t cut corners when arming your minions,” PsyKick taunted.
PsyBlockers were, sadly for him, becoming more commercially available, but thankfully were still mostly restricted to those who could afford them. Like mobster bosses. These days he had to rely more and more on his telekinesis rather than his mind-bending, which, while somewhat inconvenient, suited PsyKick just fine. Villainous minds were not pleasant places to be.
The hero flicked his wrist and the bullets reversed their path, oh-so-slowly inching toward the villains who’d fired them. Scared, they backed away, one of them stumbling over the unconscious body of a fallen henchman.
A sarcastic clap echoed through the halls and PsyKick turned his head with a small frown.
His eyes widened, a shiver running down his spine.
Cinder Snow.
She was slowly walking toward the confrontation, her armored hands now clutched together as she gazed directly at PsyKick. He’d never seen her not wear her signature goggles and wished she was wearing them now – there was an intent in her gaze which struck him as highly unsettling.
Tentacles of hatred were curled around her, straining toward him.
PsyKick took a step backward.
Entire taskforces had tried and failed to take her down. And he was alone, and an 8, while she was a 10. He couldn’t hope to defeat her without backup.
She swept her arm and ice shot out from her palm in an arc, freezing the two remaining gangsters into solid blocks.
“PsyKick.” Her eyes gleamed and he took another step back. How did she know him? Why did she loathe him? He’d never been part of the taskforces dispatched to defeat her, had never faced her before this moment. “I have been looking for you.”
“Why?” Despite his escalating worry, his voice was calm and strong.
“You’ll see.”
He dimly heard the sound of an energy beam being charged behind him and dodged to the side – yet it was too late. It grazed his shoulder, and his vision went black.
***
PsyKick’s mind was a fortress. He had built his defenses to be impenetrable, visualizing them as insurmountable walls. And as he wandered the dreamscape of his mind, he could feel something tearing at the outer bulwarks.
He smiled in his sleep, secure in the knowledge that nothing could break them.
***
“Your defenses are excellent,” a female voice said coldly. It sounded familiar. PsyKick blinked blearily, only to squeeze his eyes shut as light blinded him.
“Constance?” he rasped, voice hoarse.
“Not quite.”
PsyKick groaned as he struggled to regain his sense. His head was pounding as if he’d thought it would be a good idea to repeatedly slam it against hard surfaces. And yet, it wasn’t what was bothering him.
His skin was itching.
It didn’t hurt. But it was unpleasant in a way that seemed to get worse every second he was aware of it. Like a thousand tiny insects crawling beneath his skin.
Finally he opened his eyes, even though the light hurt. He blinked against the shadow looming over him
Cinder Snow.
He tried to jerk away, only to become aware that his wrists and feet were bound.
She cocked her head and watched him with mild curiosity.
“Don’t move.”
He gritted his teeth and yanked at the straps holding him down.
The inside of his skull caught fire.
It was unbearable, each fraction of a second somehow worse than the one before. He grew completely still, breathing shallowly.
As soon as he stopped moving, pleasure flooded his senses. It washed away the pain until there was only euphoria, his veins sizzling with ecstasy. He moaned.
“What…?” His voice failed him as he shuddered.
What is this?
Cinder Snow was smiling at him, and he could see such malice swirling around her, like a thick cloud choking him. But he couldn’t look away; if he so much as thought of moving, his skin started itching.
“Yes, your defenses were quite strong indeed. But then I thought – why break them, when they could work just as well to my advantage? So instead of taking away, I added a little something. Can you feel it?”
“What did you do to me?” he whispered. She looked so familiar. But he had never seen her face before.
“Simple operant conditioning. I believe the common term for it is…carrot and a stick.” She leaned forward. “Obey me and you’ll be rewarded. Disobey me and you’ll feel… well, not quite pain. More like… an itch. A need to obey that claws and strips away rational thought until you feel nothing but the urge to make it go away. Isn’t it brilliant?” She smiled brightly. “The only time you’ll ever feel like yourself is when you obeyed me. Every second you disobey is a second you descend into madness.”
His eyes were wide and his breaths shallow. No, no, no, this wasn’t happening, why would she even choose him, this made no sense.
“You can start moving again.”
The tension he hadn’t realized had been running through him disappeared – only to be replaced by another wave of pleasure. He gritted his teeth, striving to ignore it.
“You will never attack me.”
Never.
The itch started clawing at him. She undid the straps, and he didn’t move. He was trying to will himself to lunge at her, but nothing was happening.
“Stand up.”
He closed his eyes and turned his head away, shivering with the strain of remaining exactly where he was. The itch plucked at his nerve endings, playing them like harp strings as PsyKick tried to ignore the sensation, to think of something, anything else but it was growing unbearable, this need, do what she said or it would just keep getting worse and worse and he couldn’t stand it and now there was only the agony spearing his mind, and why was he disobeying her anyway he couldn’t remember he had to had to had to do what she says
PsyKick rolled off the gurney and stood on shaking knees – and then the ecstasy engulfed his body. He moaned deeply. To his shame, he could feel himself growing hard.
“Good.”
She had praised him, and for just a moment, he felt a flare of pride. He stomped it out with growing horror.
“On your knees.”
The itch barely even pricked at him before his knees gave way. He made no sound as pure pleasure burned inside his veins like fire.
“Listen well, PsyKick. From now on you will desire nothing more than to serve me. To be a villain will be your purpose in life. You will not even want to subvert my orders.”
He whimpered, her voice echoing in his mind as the itch started burning again.
“Is that understood?”
He said nothing, his knuckles turning white as he desperately erected mental barrier after mental barrier, trying to compartmentalize his mind. It wasn’t helping; it wasn’t a mental assault. It was a physical one.
“Answer me.”
His back arched as the insects under his skin buzzed and crawled until he couldn’t think, couldn’t even remember his own name, nor who that woman in front of him was or why it was important for him to resist her words.
There was only the itch clawing at his insides.
No, not an itch. His Purpose. Reminding him of his place.
“Yes,” he grated at length. “Yes, Mistress.”
***
PsyKick kneeled at his Mistress’ feet as she modified the weapons of her armor’s right glove, tinkering with the delicate machinery. He watched with mild interest. PsyKick was somewhat talented with technology but he couldn’t even begin to understand what she was doing there. His Mistress was quite brilliant, and he was fortunate to be allowed to Serve her.
His Purpose had finally quieted down, now that he had learned its lessons. For days it had ravaged his body, punishing him for every misstep. PsyKick wasn’t very good at Serving, yet, but he would learn. Had learned. Now he sat and waited for orders so that he might once more feel the joy that came only with doing as his Mistress bid him.
“Amelia!”
He turned his head toward the familiar voice, tilting his head. A woman was striding toward them, and his heart contracted painfully at the sight. What was Constance doing here? She shouldn’t be here, it was dangerous.
His thoughts tripped over themselves, and his brows drew together in a frown.
PsyKick would certainly never hurt Constance. And his Mistress was wise, so surely she wouldn’t either. So there really was nothing dangerous for Constance here at all, was there?
Then Constance’s gaze locked on his and she cried out, running toward him to throw her arms around him in a tight embrace. He smiled and lovingly kissed her cheek, stroking her long black hair to soothe whatever had upset her.
“Stephen,” she whispered. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” he murmured and she shuddered in his arms.
And then he noticed it.
Love. Affection. Anger. A familial bond deeper and stronger than friendship running from Constance to his Mistress.
And the part of him that had still been screaming and raging and fighting against what was happening to him just broke.
***
PsyKick woke up drenched in sweat, eyes wide.
There was a scream.
It took him a moment to realize it was coming from him, and he clamped his mouth shut, rolling out of the too-soft bed and slumping on the floor. It took him a long moment to even recognize the spacious bedroom he was in.
He should not be here.
He should be Serving and fulfilling his Purpose somewhere out there.
No, he should be back in his hospital bed, strapped and caged where he could harm no one.
The door to his bedroom flew open and then a blond woman was leaning down to gently cup his face, her red eyes wide with worry. He leaned into the touch with a moan.
“Mistress.”
“Stephen,” she whispered. “You know better than to call me that.”
“But it’s what you are,” he insisted, voice hoarse.
“No,” she said softly. “I’m your friend, remember?”
He laughed bitterly at that. “If you were my friend I would not want to crawl before you like I do. I wouldn’t be waiting for the moment you give me an order. This is never going to go away. I’m…” He choked. “I’m always going to be like this. You should have left me in that hospital.”
Of Heroes And Villains:
The Ties That Bind An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives. |
 |
PsyKick smiled as the henchmen slumped to the floor, dozens defeated with just one psychic pulse wave. Their leaders stood frozen as he approached, then seemed to recover their composure. They drew their Gatling guns, opening fire on him.
The bullets froze and hovered midair before they could even touch him.
“And that’s why you shouldn’t cut corners when arming your minions,” PsyKick taunted.
PsyBlockers were, sadly for him, becoming more commercially available, but thankfully were still mostly restricted to those who could afford them. Like mobster bosses. These days he had to rely more and more on his telekinesis rather than his mind-bending, which, while somewhat inconvenient, suited PsyKick just fine. Villainous minds were not pleasant places to be.
The hero flicked his wrist and the bullets reversed their path, oh-so-slowly inching toward the villains who’d fired them. Scared, they backed away, one of them stumbling over the unconscious body of a fallen henchman.
A sarcastic clap echoed through the halls and PsyKick turned his head with a small frown.
His eyes widened, a shiver running down his spine.
Cinder Snow.
She was slowly walking toward the confrontation, her armored hands now clutched together as she gazed directly at PsyKick. He’d never seen her not wear her signature goggles and wished she was wearing them now – there was an intent in her gaze which struck him as highly unsettling.
Tentacles of hatred were curled around her, straining toward him.
PsyKick took a step backward.
Entire taskforces had tried and failed to take her down. And he was alone, and an 8, while she was a 10. He couldn’t hope to defeat her without backup.
She swept her arm and ice shot out from her palm in an arc, freezing the two remaining gangsters into solid blocks.
“PsyKick.” Her eyes gleamed and he took another step back. How did she know him? Why did she loathe him? He’d never been part of the taskforces dispatched to defeat her, had never faced her before this moment. “I have been looking for you.”
“Why?” Despite his escalating worry, his voice was calm and strong.
“You’ll see.”
He dimly heard the sound of an energy beam being charged behind him and dodged to the side – yet it was too late. It grazed his shoulder, and his vision went black.
PsyKick’s mind was a fortress. He had built his defenses to be impenetrable, visualizing them as insurmountable walls. And as he wandered the dreamscape of his mind, he could feel something tearing at the outer bulwarks.
He smiled in his sleep, secure in the knowledge that nothing could break them.
“Your defenses are excellent,” a female voice said coldly. It sounded familiar. PsyKick blinked blearily, only to squeeze his eyes shut as light blinded him.
“Constance?” he rasped, voice hoarse.
“Not quite.”
PsyKick groaned as he struggled to regain his sense. His head was pounding as if he’d thought it would be a good idea to repeatedly slam it against hard surfaces. And yet, it wasn’t what was bothering him.
His skin was itching.
It didn’t hurt. But it was unpleasant in a way that seemed to get worse every second he was aware of it. Like a thousand tiny insects crawling beneath his skin.
Finally he opened his eyes, even though the light hurt. He blinked against the shadow looming over him
Cinder Snow.
He tried to jerk away, only to become aware that his wrists and feet were bound.
She cocked her head and watched him with mild curiosity.
“Don’t move.”
He gritted his teeth and yanked at the straps holding him down.
The inside of his skull caught fire.
It was unbearable, each fraction of a second somehow worse than the one before. He grew completely still, breathing shallowly.
As soon as he stopped moving, pleasure flooded his senses. It washed away the pain until there was only euphoria, his veins sizzling with ecstasy. He moaned.
“What…?” His voice failed him as he shuddered.
What is this?
Cinder Snow was smiling at him, and he could see such malice swirling around her, like a thick cloud choking him. But he couldn’t look away; if he so much as thought of moving, his skin started itching.
“Yes, your defenses were quite strong indeed. But then I thought – why break them, when they could work just as well to my advantage? So instead of taking away, I added a little something. Can you feel it?”
“What did you do to me?” he whispered. She looked so familiar. But he had never seen her face before.
“Simple operant conditioning. I believe the common term for it is…carrot and a stick.” She leaned forward. “Obey me and you’ll be rewarded. Disobey me and you’ll feel… well, not quite pain. More like… an itch. A need to obey that claws and strips away rational thought until you feel nothing but the urge to make it go away. Isn’t it brilliant?” She smiled brightly. “The only time you’ll ever feel like yourself is when you obeyed me. Every second you disobey is a second you descend into madness.”
His eyes were wide and his breaths shallow. No, no, no, this wasn’t happening, why would she even choose him, this made no sense.
“You can start moving again.”
The tension he hadn’t realized had been running through him disappeared – only to be replaced by another wave of pleasure. He gritted his teeth, striving to ignore it.
“You will never attack me.”
Never.
The itch started clawing at him. She undid the straps, and he didn’t move. He was trying to will himself to lunge at her, but nothing was happening.
“Stand up.”
He closed his eyes and turned his head away, shivering with the strain of remaining exactly where he was. The itch plucked at his nerve endings, playing them like harp strings as PsyKick tried to ignore the sensation, to think of something, anything else but it was growing unbearable, this need, do what she said or it would just keep getting worse and worse and he couldn’t stand it and now there was only the agony spearing his mind, and why was he disobeying her anyway he couldn’t remember he had to had to had to do what she says
PsyKick rolled off the gurney and stood on shaking knees – and then the ecstasy engulfed his body. He moaned deeply. To his shame, he could feel himself growing hard.
“Good.”
She had praised him, and for just a moment, he felt a flare of pride. He stomped it out with growing horror.
“On your knees.”
The itch barely even pricked at him before his knees gave way. He made no sound as pure pleasure burned inside his veins like fire.
“Listen well, PsyKick. From now on you will desire nothing more than to serve me. To be a villain will be your purpose in life. You will not even want to subvert my orders.”
He whimpered, her voice echoing in his mind as the itch started burning again.
“Is that understood?”
He said nothing, his knuckles turning white as he desperately erected mental barrier after mental barrier, trying to compartmentalize his mind. It wasn’t helping; it wasn’t a mental assault. It was a physical one.
“Answer me.”
His back arched as the insects under his skin buzzed and crawled until he couldn’t think, couldn’t even remember his own name, nor who that woman in front of him was or why it was important for him to resist her words.
There was only the itch clawing at his insides.
No, not an itch. His Purpose. Reminding him of his place.
“Yes,” he grated at length. “Yes, Mistress.”
PsyKick kneeled at his Mistress’ feet as she modified the weapons of her armor’s right glove, tinkering with the delicate machinery. He watched with mild interest. PsyKick was somewhat talented with technology but he couldn’t even begin to understand what she was doing there. His Mistress was quite brilliant, and he was fortunate to be allowed to Serve her.
His Purpose had finally quieted down, now that he had learned its lessons. For days it had ravaged his body, punishing him for every misstep. PsyKick wasn’t very good at Serving, yet, but he would learn. Had learned. Now he sat and waited for orders so that he might once more feel the joy that came only with doing as his Mistress bid him.
“Amelia!”
He turned his head toward the familiar voice, tilting his head. A woman was striding toward them, and his heart contracted painfully at the sight. What was Constance doing here? She shouldn’t be here, it was dangerous.
His thoughts tripped over themselves, and his brows drew together in a frown.
PsyKick would certainly never hurt Constance. And his Mistress was wise, so surely she wouldn’t either. So there really was nothing dangerous for Constance here at all, was there?
Then Constance’s gaze locked on his and she cried out, running toward him to throw her arms around him in a tight embrace. He smiled and lovingly kissed her cheek, stroking her long black hair to soothe whatever had upset her.
“Stephen,” she whispered. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” he murmured and she shuddered in his arms.
And then he noticed it.
Love. Affection. Anger. A familial bond deeper and stronger than friendship running from Constance to his Mistress.
And the part of him that had still been screaming and raging and fighting against what was happening to him just broke.
PsyKick woke up drenched in sweat, eyes wide.
There was a scream.
It took him a moment to realize it was coming from him, and he clamped his mouth shut, rolling out of the too-soft bed and slumping on the floor. It took him a long moment to even recognize the spacious bedroom he was in.
He should not be here.
He should be Serving and fulfilling his Purpose somewhere out there.
No, he should be back in his hospital bed, strapped and caged where he could harm no one.
The door to his bedroom flew open and then a blond woman was leaning down to gently cup his face, her red eyes wide with worry. He leaned into the touch with a moan.
“Mistress.”
“Stephen,” she whispered. “You know better than to call me that.”
“But it’s what you are,” he insisted, voice hoarse.
“No,” she said softly. “I’m your friend, remember?”
He laughed bitterly at that. “If you were my friend I would not want to crawl before you like I do. I wouldn’t be waiting for the moment you give me an order. This is never going to go away. I’m…” He choked. “I’m always going to be like this. You should have left me in that hospital.”
Comments
“I’m always going to be like this."
Sounds like even with her healing abilities, its gonna take some time for him to recover, if he can recover at all.
Recovery...
...is not easy, and this sequel is basically the exploration of just that. Diane could address the worst of it, but she heals bodies, not minds.
Thank you for thoughtful comments, they always make me smile ^_^
oh... i get it! ... maybe
I didn't actually catch that the title is a reference to Psykicks ability to see the bonds between people, well to the bonds themself anyway, I was thinking the title was more about caroline's abduction and (brainwashing) conversion to the dark side. And I guess those bonds would be included, or maybe its just a reference to Psykicks "programming" probably all of the above, I just hope it doesn't start getting into "bondage"(i'm not a fan).
Anyhoo, thanks for sharing.
*shifty eyes*
Well, the story is tagged with D/s for a reason. But then, so was the original oHaV - if you were okay with the amount of bondage between Kara and Diane, that's about what you'll get here. Less, actually, since no vines :) I seriously dislike the ritualized aspect of BDSM culture, so there will be no collars or crops or slave contracts or anything along those lines.
The title works on multiple levels, as will become apparent soon, but yes, the most obvious reference would be Psy's empathic powers.
Broken
Stephen was so quickly destroyed, and even years afterwards he is still a broken man. This is why Amelia is a villain, she doesn't see people as people most of the time.
-Tas