1) The Ally.

Thomas:

I can feel a headache coming on. I rub my temples, as I stare at the endless, unintelligible stream of alphanumeric symbols displayed on the computer screen in front of me. They all begin to blend into a mishmash of complete nonsense.

They aren't nonsense; however, of that I am certain. Somewhere buried deep within this encryption lies the insidious roots of a creation which I can only describe as humanity's greatest monster. I'll call it what it is: mass hypnosis. But in all fairness, that title is too clumsy, too crude to express what this is. 

This code implants itself into the human mind. Scientists have long described the human brain as a complex CPU... well, someone finally figured out how to copy/paste files into it. And the person or persons responsible must have only had one goal in mind: the complete subjugation of the entire female gender. 

Somehow, "the payload," as it is most often referred to, only targets adult women. Once the information has been viewed, the victim begins spiraling downward towards a mental mindset that devalues her humanity entirely. 

That would be bad enough, but the bastards made sure that this thing was viewed by just about every human on earth before its ill effects were even known. Now we are faced with a world of women who long to debase themselves for the satisfaction of men. 

I have to give its misogynistic creators one bit of credit: the code itself is brilliant. It has to be. It has programmers with far more experience than me scratching their heads. Although, as each day passes, it seems like fewer and fewer programmers are continuing the struggle to crack this code. 

"Whatcha workin' on?" A soft, feminine voice coos from just behind me. I snap out of my musings, but I refuse to turn around.

"I'm working, Abigail. That's all that matters. And I am incredibly busy. Please go away." 

Abigail leans over my shoulder in an inappropriate manner. I can see in my periphery that the top buttons of her blouse are undone, and if I were to look back, I'm sure I would be viewing a face full of cleavage. "It's almost lunchtime, you know? Do you wanna grab a bite with me? I'd love to hear about your progress."

I can't hear any chatter coming from outside my small office. This isn't completely out of the ordinary, since it is close to lunch... however, part of me suspects that the rest of my fellow employees might have left early to give me time alone with this lady. I shake my head, attempting to banish the thought. Not everyone here wants to see me fail. It's only a few bad apples. 

"Ahh... my progress!" I spin around in my chair, and Abigail is forced to take a step back. I was correct, her blouse is just as revealing as I expected. Above her well endowed chest, I see the collar adorning her neck... it is the symbol of her submission. "Well, let me see, Abigail. I am CURRENTLY working on decoding the payload, and I'm searching for a way to reverse its effects... but I'm pretty sure you knew that." My voice is thick with sardonic annoyance.

Her smile never falters, as she shrugs and twirls her silky, blonde hair like a ditsy, high school girl. "I don't know why you'd wanna do a thing like that, Tom! I'm a woman, you know... and I LOVE the effect that the programming has had on us." Her lips form into a sultry pout, and she leans forward again, placing her breasts eye-level with my chair. "Why would you wanna rob that away?"

"Why?" I ask, stroking my chin in mock consideration. "Why would I want to free all women from bondage and mental enslavement? I don't know... why do you think?" 

Abigail leers at me, lustfully. There is a fierce arousal in her eyes, and I'm forced to remind myself that there's no honesty behind it. Someone sent her in here to do this. She's only acting, pretending, playing a role... but I'll be damned if it isn't a stellar performance. If I didn't already know better, I would believe that she was actually interested in me. Fortunately, I do know better.

Abigail's humanity is absent; my mind is aware of this, even as every deceptive action of her body tells me otherwise. Her words seem completely genuine, but I already know better than to trust her. She is already a tool for her "master." She'd do anything to please him... that includes trying to seduce me.

The Abigail that I've always known must be in there... somewhere. The real Abigail. The one that I could trust and rely on. Not this disgusting mockery. She must be there, but I can't see her. 

"I can't imagine, Tom, baby!" Her tone is infected with a manufactured sexual craving that is indistinguishable from true desire. 

"Would you prefer to slip under my desk, let me pop my dick in your mouth, and you can think about it better that way?" I speak the words through clenched teeth, barely concealing the anger that I feel. She does not seem to notice. 

The woman's bright, blue eyes fly wide open, and she nods vigorously. "Oh Tom! I thought you'd never ask!" She starts to bend down onto all fours to crawl under my desk. 

"Wait!" I say quickly, before she can reach the floor. She freezes immediately; she is nothing if not obedient. "I never said I wanted that. I just asked if it was what you wanted. I mean, a smart, capable FBI agent such as yourself climbing under the desk of a fellow agent and servicing him orally... that would have to be completely humiliating, right? Only a brain-dead, worthless slut would be interested in that. Is that really what you want?"

She looks confused, but again she nods vehemently. Her mouth is practically drooling, and her hands are clenching and unclinching rhythmically at her sides. She reminds me of a crack addict. 

"Oh well, that's too damn bad. Because what I want is for you to leave my office, go back to your 'master,' and tell him that I said, 'Fuck off!' Tell him that I won't be detoured from my job, just because I'm offered a blowjob from a literal human puppet who has no genuine love for me. Can you do that?" 

Again her face is plastered with consternation, but she nods dutifully. 

"Abigail, I know these words are meaningless to you in your current state, but I want you to know that I'm really trying to save you. Only a few months ago, you were an equal to me, a DAMN good agent... seeing you reduced to this sex-crazed, secretarial bimbo... it hurts. I hate it for you. I just hope that somehow the genuine Abigail can hear me... if so, please know that I'm doing everything I can."

Once again her bubbly, charming face resurfaces, as if nothing unusual has happened. "That's so silly, sugar." She smiles. "I'm happier than ever, now that I'm collared." 

"And who collared you?" I ask, feigning a smile. "I'd love to speak with him, face to face. Was it Gregory? He was always leering at you before this shit-show started. Was he the one who claimed you like a stray dog? Made you into his personal fuck-toy?"

Abigail waggles a finger at me, smiling wider than ever. "Nuh-uh-uh! We both know I don't have to tell you that!" 

"Well whoever your 'master' is, tell him I said that he should go shit and fall back in it. And tell him that he can just forget about using a piece of ass like you to learn ANYTHING about my progress with the case. Thanks, sweetheart. You've been ever so helpful." The sarcasm is thick in my voice. 

She slowly steps from my office, swaying her body seductively. Her short skirt is quite unprofessional, and it accentuates her perfectly round ass. It would be an amazingly arousing display... if it was real. I can still hear the click-clack of her heels as she retreats. 

Turning back to my computer, I bury my head in my hands. Mistreating Abigail is pointless, I know. This is not her fault. It's like being angry at a gunshot victim for bleeding on your carpet. Still her performance was so compelling. I try desperately to ignore the tightness that has arisen in the crotch of my pants. 

I am a man, damnit. A real man with normal human desires. But I am also a man who values love and affection from those that I care about. No fucking mind-controlled whore is going to make me stray from that course. I swear to it. 

As I run my fingers through my hair in exasperation, I can feel the cool metal of my wedding band dragging across my scalp. It is there for a reason. I love my wife.