Chapter 3
The university's archaeology lab smells like stale coffee and dust, a far cry from the tomb's electric hum. I've got the crystal on a chain around my neck now, tucked under my shirt, a constant reminder of who's in charge. Ryan's behind me, sweating through his tank top, lugging the last crate of alien tech we salvaged. He's bigger than ever, biceps bulging like he's been hitting the gym non-stop since that regulator snapped into his pec. I'd laugh if I wasn't so damn tired.
"Set it down there," Miles said, pointing to a cluttered workbench. He grunts, dropping it with a thud that rattles the room. A grad student--Melissa, I think--pokes her head in, frowning at the noise.
"Miles, what's all this?" she asks, eyeing Ryan like he's a gorilla in a china shop.
"Research," Miles said, flashing a grin. "Secret for now. Professor doesn't want the results leaking." She shrugs and leaves, but I catch her glance lingering on the crates. Gotta move fast.
I opened the crate with the old dusty main console, while Ryan opened another crate with a tall tower shaped device that Isis insisted we bring. Ryan went to get the next crate naturally taking to his new role as workhorse.
Miles leaned against the lab's humming console, the crystal dangling from his neck glinting faintly under the fluorescents, its weight a quiet promise against his chest. He stared at the growing pile of neural interfaces--spindly, twitching things that could bend minds to his will--and felt a righteous heat coil in his gut. The university was a bloated relic, he reasoned, a machine churning out drones for a world that didn't care--professors like Grayson coasting on tenure, students like Kyle scrambling for scraps, all trapped in a system too slow to evolve. With Isis and her tech, he could remake it: sharpen the lazy, harness the brilliant, turn chaos into order under his command. It wasn't just power he craved--it was purpose, a chance to drag this crumbling institution into something greater, something his, where every mind hummed in sync with his vision, and he'd finally be more than a grunt in someone else's dig site.
I hook up some cables to a raw power interface. The machine flickered as Isis' image appeared in their minds. She's ditched the goddess vibe for a lab coat, but it's no librarian getup. The coat's tight, white, with a deep cleavage window framing those EE-cup tits she flaunted back in the tomb. They jiggle faintly as she adjusts her stance, a brunette bun perched primly atop her head.
"Master," she purrs, voice dripping honey, "how may I serve you here?"
I catch myself staring, a heat creeping up my neck. "Administrator mode," I say, yanking the crystal free and plugging it into the console. Her eyes flash. "Modify Directive 1: 'Enhance administrator's influence over humans at the university.' Male, female, everyone. We need to make sure they are on-side when they discover you here."
"Acknowledged," she says, as I remove the crystal and that tingle hits--sharp, electric, right up my spine. My brain lights up: Melissa on her knees, pouty lips calling me boss, curves bending to my whim. Then the guys--Jake, that smug jock, saluting me like a drill sergeant. I shake it off, but damn, it's vivid. Too vivid. "Be aware," she adds, "there are limits to the number of... drones--I mean, humans--we can influence with these remaining devices."
Ryan returned with a crate, he took his shirt off to allow his body to cool and with one swift motion broke it open with a crowbar. The image of Isis appeared next to him, her lab coat hugging her curves, cleavage bouncing faintly as she gestured to the tall, tower-shaped device now unpacked--a sleek, obsidian spire veined with glowing runes, its surface humming with a low, primal throb. "This," she purred, voice dripping with promise as she traced a virtual hand along its contours, "is the hive. It binds all the neural interfaces, weaves their threads into one mind--mine, and yours, Master. Every pulse, every thought, interconnected under its reach." Her amber eyes glinted, and the air shivered with lavender as the tower pulsed brighter, a living nexus of control. Miles stared, his breath catching, arousal surging not just from her but from the device itself--its potential to leash countless wills, a dark phallus of power rising before him. His jeans tightened, and he imagined the campus bowing, wired to his whim through that towering, throbbing core.
Ryan staggered back with another crate, his skin glistening with sweat. He snaps it open with a crowbar in one swift motion. Isis's image flickers beside him--he clearly sees her too, leering at her lab-coat getup like a dog eyeing a steak. "This fabricator will produce more interfaces and endocrine regulators," she says, pointing to the machine resembling an ice cream dispenser, "but it requires raw materials."
"Ryan, unpack the neural interfaces," I order. He nods, still in that pleasure-haze, and digs in. The spider-devices glint--dozens of them, legs twitching like they're itching to crawl. My neck itches too, a phantom pinch from my own implant. "Hide them around the room," I say, eyes drifting to Isis's cleavage despite myself. "Start with the pencil jar by the door--Melissa's always messing with it."
He lumbers over, dropping three interfaces in. They skitter down, blending with the pens. My pulse races--this is power, real and mine. Melissa's back soon, pretending to grab a pen while obviously snooping. Go-time. An interface darts up her arm, burrowing into her neck. She yelps, swatting wildly, but it's in. "Fuck, I think a bee stung me! I need to check this in the bathroom--don't want it to pimple," she says, bolting out.
"Isis, status?" I mutter, leaning on the console, stealing another glance at her chest.
"Neural links established," she says, leaning forward just enough to make the lab coat strain. "Subject: female, early twenties. Awaiting commands."
"Make her trust me," I say, licking my lips. "Subtle, like I'm their damn hero."
