Chapter One: An Act Of Overconfidence
In my infinite generosity, I always give my targets a second chance. An opportunity to prove they're better than this. That I don't need to use my powers to correct them.
Professor Carter doesn't really deserve a second chance, to be honest. His attitude towards the female students on campus is well-known, as is the faculty's unwillingness to deal with it.
He always grades us girls more severely, openly ogles us, always selects a female student to intern with him as a scantily-dressed secretary for a semester... and it gets worse than that.
Every now and then, a girl would visit him during office hours. And then, her grade would suddenly shoot up. You don't need to be a feminist with literal mind control powers to know what's going on.
And yet, I'll give him that second chance all the same. That's why I'm in his office today, pretending to be concerned about my grade -- which is, indeed, insultingly and unfairly low, but that is beside the point.
I affect innocence as much as I can. I'm in a hoodie, jeans, and flat-heeled boots, really to do him a favor. I want him to have as few chances to ogle as possible. I want him to impress me. I want him to act like a professor, to show me my intervention isn't needed.
I would lie if I said that I hate using my powers. I enjoy doing it, and over the years I've gotten used to them. But I want to believe that people are good, that I don't need to play vigilante so that my fellow girls on campus can feel safe.
There's another reason why I hesitate. Once unleashed, my power cannot be stopped. It will work over the subject until he's ready to receive instructions. Once I make the decision to take over, there's no going back.
"Miss Pulling," Carter says, looking up at me with old, watery eyes behind his thick glasses. "I believe you're here about your grade?"
"Yes, professor," I say. Neutral. Relaxed. Trusting but not too much. I look like a normal student, relying on the propriety expected of someone in his position. A professor, a shepherd and protector of his students.
That's the responsibility he's been making a mockery of.
Please, Carter, don't let me down. Rise above your reputation.
"To be sure, to be sure. The finer intricacies of international commerce law can be hard to parse for even the most dedicated student."
He pauses, briefly licking his lips. "Miss Pulling -- may I call you Serena?" I'm just about to object when he resumes his speech, cutting me off. "Serena, I'm sure we can work together to improve your grade. With some... private tutoring, perhaps."
I sigh internally, the old chair groaning as I sit back in disappointment. This is taking a really bad turn already. Even so, merciful to the last, I bat my eyelids. "Sure, professor! What are you suggesting, exactly?"
"Well," he says, rubbing his wrinkly hands together, licking his lips again. You old fossil, why do you have to be like this? "This is a matter of dedication. You would have to take my instructions well, and follow them to the letter. Do you understand?"
His eyes crawl up and down my legs -- even in these baggy jeans! Then, he winks in the most obscene way possible. It's astonishing that this pathetic excuse for blackmail actually works. How is he not in jail yet?
His unabashed lecherousness makes me shiver in revulsion. I sigh internally. Why do men have to be like this? Whatever, I've given him a chance and he's pissed it to the wind. He leaves me no other option but to intervene.
So be it.
"Yes, professor," I say in a low voice. "I do understand."
I lock my gaze with his, and he seems to hesitate at the sudden fire and challenge in my eyes. The stare is the first, essential step for this to work.
When our eyes are fixed upon one another, he has no defence against me. No one does. His soul is laid bare, the door to his mind is open for me to enter at my leisure.
And so I cast away my reservations, and push my power into his mind.
For a moment -- a single, glorious and terrible moment -- his mind resists me. That happens all the time. It's like he's trying to stand fast on the shore, against a sudden wave from the sea, threatening to sweep him under.
But that's the thing about this power: it endures. Like the rolling waves of the sea in storm, it batters relentlessly at its target, one strike after another.
Living beings may tire, but not the sea. Everything in its reach falls to the storm. Even the rock is slowly but relentlessly ground to dust. All resistance flails and peters out, eventually... but the waves continue to surge.
He jumps up from the chair, recoiling as if from a strike, and I immediately rise to my feet, keeping my eyes fixed on his like a predator. I'm taller than most girls, and he's a bent old man, so I tower over him.
I admit that the reversal on gendered expectations does please me a little. And besides... it is only fitting.
No target has been able to resist me so far, and Carter is old and weak, a man with a small spine, utterly at the mercy of his lecherous impulses. He goes under more easily than most, seeming to shrivel beneath my gaze, reduced and diminished by my mere presence.
It's like I have him in my fist, pressuring him from all sides, his resistance trying frantically to hold me at bay.
But then, he stops resisting. He goes lax in my grip. That singular moment, that snap, the feeling of resistance being overcome... that's the true meaning of power.
The moment when your victim first sighs out in relaxation, accepting your mastery of them, conforming to the growing pressure of your grip... it's a feeling for which there are no words.
I realize I'm making it sound mildly erotic, and admittedly, when I use my power on a girl, it does arouse me... very much.
But I'm not into men at all, and certainly not into old creeps like Carter. The thrill I feel is not erotic in nature -- it has a much different origin. It's the thrill of carrying out justice.
And the rush of pure, unfettered power, I suppose. Carter is mine now. I own his mind. There is nothing he would refuse me, no matter how outrageous, or terrible. He is, quite literally, at my mercy.
He's lucky that I only have everyone's best interest in mind. If I were as morally bankrupt as he is, this would be the end of his independence. But I'm not that kind of person.
Once I'm confident that his mind has been bent to my will, I immediately establish my rule. My royal decrees for him, if you will.
"You will no longer harass students, irrespective of their gender," I say. "You will not flirt with them, manipulate them, or weaponize their grades to make them come to you. Your only concern at work will be how to be the best teacher you possibly can. An epytome of professionalism."
His eyes go glassy and unfocused as the new brain tries to take on such new and alien information as being a decent, professional human being.
The human brain has a tendency to reject new information that contradicts what we already know. It's an energy expenditure it would rather avoid. But my power makes that impossible.
