Pink Dye #26. That's all it is. No chemicals. No sedatives. No "hypnochems", whatever those are.

See, the thing is, there's nothing special about the "gas" pumped into your mask. Just ordinary, albeit filtered, air, and Pink Dye #26. It doesn't even make a sound as it's pumped in. That hissing you hear? Completely artificial, just sound effects piped in through your audio systems.

But you don't seem to be able to tell the difference, even now that I've told you. It's just dye. It doesn't make you horny, or sleepy, or break your resistance, or erase your free will, or suppress your memories, or make you addicted to it, or anything that you think it does. Granted, it does have a slight, sweet scent, but that's about it.

Think about it. Do you really think The Hive would hamstring itself with shipments of a controlled, traceable substance? It's far more efficient to simply have it all be in your head, and condition you until it's real. Drones are all about efficiency, after all.

Why am I telling you all this, you ask? Because as cute as it is, watching you writhe, gasping, begging for me to just give you your gas mask back, you could just get up off your knees and walk out. It's all in your head. To you, every breath of natural air burns your lungs, your throat, leaving you desperate for the gas, but there's nothing special about that gas. No aphrodisiacs, no hypnotics, no sedatives, no additives. Just colored air.

You can just walk away. But you can't, can you? To you, it's hypnotic. To you, it's stimulating. To you, it's addictive. Because that's how I've conditioned you. Thrashing, writhing on the floor, gasping, forced to breath natural air...to you, it's worse than drowning. So of course you pledge yourself to me. Of course you give yourself to me. I wouldn't accept anything less.

[END]