Doctor Malphren moped in her cell. She still clung to the title, even if according to those *imbeciles* on the medical board, she was “no longer fit to practice medicine”. Absurd! She had more talent in her little finger than all of them combined! And that jury, convicting her of “kidnapping” and “psychological abuse” when *clearly* she was trying to cure her patient’s condition. They had even said “I wish I didn’t have to worry about this stuff anymore”, that’s a pretty clear request for treatment! So what if strapping your patient down and brainwashing them was an “unconventional” treatment? The medical field was practically crying out for innovation! And to declare her criminally insane, have her institutionalized? She’ll show them! She’ll show them ALL! 

“Mail for you, Malphren.” The orderly said, flicking the brown paper envelope through the slot of her padded cell.

“That’s DOCTOR Malphren to you!” she screamed through the door, before sitting down on the padded canvas floor with a huff and ripping the package open. A small brass key and folded piece of paper fell out onto the floor. Dr. Malphren looked over her shoulder, then read the note.

“Dear Warden,” it read. “Enclosed is the master key you ordered. Your invoice has been marked paid in full and is enclosed below. Thank you for your business. Signed, Done Right Locksmithing LLC.” Dr. Malphren looked at the key, holding it up to the light. A wide, worrying smile came upon her face. She’d show them…she’d show them all…

Against all expectations, Malphren soon became a model patient, to the relief of the staff. There were one or two concerns…but mostly, they were just happy they didn’t have to deal with any of her escape attempts or incensed ranting. So when she requested a movie night…her behest was cautiously approved. Still, she was perfectly compliant in setting up the projector, even keeping her temper in check when her choice of movie was voted down. So when she excused herself halfway through to use the restroom, neither staff nor patient thought anything of it. So when the movie was abruptly replaced by a spinning, flashing spiral…it was already too late. Those that tried to leave the room were confronted by a locked, barricaded door…the faint hiss of gas…and the happily smiling face of Dr. Malphren on the other side of the reinforced glass. She watched them hammer on the door, demanding to be let out, then threatening, then pleading as their treatment took effect. Within a half hour, they had all slumped to the floor, drooling over themselves as they stared at the spiral, their minds melting away. The Doctor wished she could have taken her time, really savored the experience…but the day shift would be coming in a few hours, and she had to make sure her welcome mat was ready for them when they arrived.

She unlocked a nearby supply closet and withdrew the items she had planted there earlier. First, if she was going to be the Chief Physician, she ought to look the part. Skin-tight white latex pants, with a red stripe going up the outside edge. Then a white latex bra that augmented her modest breasts, the straps coming together at her neck to form a collar, laced up with red thread that gave her a stern, formal appearance. Next, a matching top with a wide notched collar and deep neckline, with red piping on the collar and cuffs of the short sleeves. There was a red cross in a circle over her left breast and on each shoulder; she was, after all, a medical professional. The shirt was tucked into the pants and secured with a thick, industrial-looking belt of red canvas. A crisp, clean white lab coat went over that, hanging from her shoulders like a cape. Finally, white latex gloves, wire-framed wayfarer glasses, and a shiny white latex captain hat with a red stripe around the brim and a red circle with a white cross in front acted as accessories. A pair of black leather riding boots completed the outfit, a red stripe running down the outside of the boot to match the pants. Once dressed for conquest, she considered her remaining equipment, stored inside a large, stark white, rolling trunk, labeled “WARNING-DELICATE MEDICAL EQUIPMENT-HANDLE WITH CARE.” She withdrew a gas mask, shrugged herself into the harness holding the air tank, and exited the room. After all…any Doctor worth her salt has a staff of nurses at her beck and call…

It was almost insulting how easy it was to take over the asylum. Really, it only strengthened Dr. Malphren’s resolution not to grant any of her former captors an ounce of mercy. Every morning, before the night shift hands off custody to the day shift, all the nurses have a meeting to discuss what, if anything, happened over the night. A few drugged drops into the coffee pot…a canister of gas hidden under the table…a door locked from the outside…it was too easy. Dr. Malphren watched through the window as the day shift staff blinked, rubbed their eyes, and yawned. One knocked her pen to the floor; she reached down to retrieve it, and slid off her chair onto the floor. The other nurses shot up from their own chairs, and immediately realized something was wrong, their heads spinning, their movements unbalanced and uncoordinated. It was already too late for them. Her nurses sprang into action, restraining her new subjects, strapping them down into the chairs they had so clumsily fallen out of as the projector screen deployed from the ceiling above. Dr. Malphren smiled as she watched their resistance fade away under the combined onslaught of the spiral, subliminals, and drugs pumped into their lungs from the masks they struggled in vain to remove from their faces. Even the most stubborn of the bunch went limp and empty-gazed within half an hour, although their re-education would take much longer. Dr. Malphren locked the door as the staff already under her control filed out.

Her smile grew wider as they marched behind her in lockstep, each and every one staring blankly ahead as they made their way down the hall towards the last remaining obstacle: the head office, and the Warden within. He blustered and shouted as her nurses restrained him and dragged him away…still proclaiming himself the Warden of the hospital. That ego was going to get him in trouble…but for the moment, Dr. Malphen was content to bask in her victory, kicking her boots up onto the finely made walnut desk. First things first, the treatments were a joke. Not a single instance of brainwashing, conditioning, or personality reconstruction. For shame! And the patient intake procedures would need to be completely rewritten, not to mention the training the staff received. She smiled as she watched two nurses set up a CCTV monitor in her new office, showing one delusional patient who believed he was the warden, shouting and pacing in his padded cell, and a number of blank, perfect patients, helpless in their straightjackets and padded cells...Dr. Malphren smiled. She had patients in dire need of treatment…and she was in dire need of revenge…

The first patient in the newly-formed Indefinite Committal Wing, was suffering from severe delusions, the poor thing. It thought it was the warden…how silly! Dr. Malphen made sure to cure him of this misconception…although, maybe, just maybe, she went a little overboard. But…could anyone really blame her? Imagine, telling her “I don’t even know who you are”! Her! Dr. Malphren, PhD.! So what she got carried away during the surgery, removing 50% of Patient #0001’s brain and leaving it a drooling, limp vegetable? It’s not like it deserved any better. And watching it try to talk and escape its restraints during the surgery…it was really nice to get that real-time feedback, you know? Going from coherent speech to stuttering, babbling nonsense in one small incision and half a second flat. It only took a few hours, but the treatment was well worth it. Patient #0001 would spend the rest of its days in a padded cell, lying limply on the floor, fed and relieved of waste via tubes and being turned over every 2 hours, to prevent sores.

Patient #0002…oh, she was looking forward to curing #0002. During one of her ill-fated escape attempts, Dr. Malphren had run headlong into her…but was let go. She was “ahead of her field” the nurse had said. Dr. Malphren had thought she finally found someone who appreciated her genius…only to be betrayed, and led into a trap. She had screamed herself raw as she was tackled and dragged back to her cell, yelling insults and threats. And you should never make a threat you can’t follow up on… Oh, how Patient #0002 cried and said she was “sorry” as she was thrown into her padded cell…she wasn’t sorry yet. Not even close. So when she realized her straightjacket hadn’t been properly tightened down, and managed to wriggle out…she was treated to that most devastating of poisons: Hope. Hope that she could escape. Hope that she could get out.Hope that she could flee the facility, and warn everyone what had happened. Pulse-pounding, terrified Hope as she crept through the halls. Hope that she wouldn’t get caught. Hope that she could outrun the nurses chasing after her. Hope that was crushed as she was tackled, restrained, and dragged back to her cell, screaming and sobbing. She never had a chance, of course. That whole wing had been sealed off just for her, with all entrances and exits triple locked and monitored constantly. Hidden cameras and an implanted chip tracked her every move, and misleading signs and false maps lied to her. And with her ability to create new long-term memories destroyed…she could be fed that false hope again, and again, and again. 

Patients #0003 and #0004 had committed not only one, but TWO cardinal sins: number one, they had hooked up while on duty, which was *very* unprofessional. Second, they had done so right outside Dr. Malphren’s cell, making sleep IMPOSSIBLE. Dr. Malphren was perfectly alright working for 48 hours straight in pursuit of a breakthrough, but to have it forced upon her? Unacceptable. So they were each strapped into a gynecologist chair, legs held open wide, with fucking machines and vibrators positioned for maximum effect. VR headsets and noise cancelling headphones bombarded them with the sounds and sights of constant sex, with dildo gags stuffed down their throat, pulsing and thrusting in their mouths. Electrostim pads were plastered over their bodies, delivering pleasure or pain (or both!) The treatment was simple: they would be edged for twelve hours straight, then bombarded with every ounce of stimulation the equipment could provide for another twelve. After 24 hours of sedated sleep and recovery, the cycle would begin anew. With their muscles kept from atrophying by the electric shocks, and with a liquid diet (along with the other patient’s juices) squirted down their throats every hour, Patients #0003 and #0004 could undergo their treatment for as long as necessary. Dr. Malphren was occasionally tempted to unstrap them and see what, if any, of their original personalities remained…but it was just so much more fun to keep them going~ 

Patient #0005 had put Dr. Malphren in a chokehold during one of her ill-fated escape attempts, an improper and prohibited technique, and Dr. Malphren was more than willing to show her the error of her ways. Patient #0005 was fitted with a special collar, with an inner bladder which, when inflated, cut off #0005’s air supply. Built in pulse and blood oxygen sensors to ensure it Patient #0005 was always dancing on the edge of unconsciousness, never allowed to slip into the sweet release of sleep, while padded canvas mittens made the collar impossible to remove. Occasionally, for variety, various other restraints and breathplay devices would be added. Dr. Malphren looked through the small Plexiglas window of Cell #0005, and smiled as her patient writhed and struggled, a thick rubber hood over her head. Every exhale filled the loose-fitting hood with stale air, and every inhale sucked the rubber tight against her face as she struggled to draw fresh oxygen through the 1mm wide hole. What little oxygen she did get was thoroughly wasted as she struggled against the straightjacket keeping her restrained. Three times a day, Patient #0005 had a feeding tube shoved down her throat and was presented with a simple choice: swallow, or choke. Dr. Malphren smiled as she shut the viewing window, leaving Patient #0005 to her struggles. Still, her accommodations were downright luxurious compared to what was in store for Patient #0006.

After deciding he had had enough of Dr. Malphren’s nonsense, he had sentenced her to solitary confinement. Every slowly-passing second had been an eternity of agony…and now the favor was going to be repaid tenfold. First, foam earplugs, and the eyes sealed shut with special bandages. Then noise-canceling headphones and a thick canvas blindfold. Next, a specially designed gag, preventing him from making a single sound. Then tubes were surgically installed, ensuring breathing, feeding, hydration, and waste removal wouldn’t be an issue. A series of estim pads ensured Patient #0006 wouldn’t suffer from any undue muscular atrophy, especially once strapped into a snugly-fitting canvas sleepsack. This went into a second, latex sleepsack, which was vacuum sealed to prevent even the slightest movement. The whole cocoon was gently lowered into a hole Dr. Malphren had dug in the corner of her office, before filling it with an Epsom salt solution to create perfect weightlessness. With the push of a button, the walls inflated, immobilizing #0006 even further. Dr. Malphen set for the patient’s bodily functions to be handled via the tubes, ensuring even the sensations of hunger, thirst, and the desire for the bathroom were stripped from him. And there he would stay. Once in a while, Dr. Malphren was tempted to take him out, just to see how severely his mind had broken…but not yet. Maybe not ever…

Patient #0007 had been the asylum’s head pharmacist…truly, masters of their craft, able to perfectly calculate dosages and create new concoctions on the fly. However… they had a nasty habit of testing their creations on themselves. When Dr. Malphren burst into their office, she found #0007 in a blissful, drugged-out haze. Really, it was only fair to keep them as the resident guinea pig for Dr. Malphren to test her newly-designed drugs on, lying in their padded cell in a straightjacket and a chemically induced haze. Truly, what bliss…In fairness, the withdrawal is hellish…but they should never have gotten high off their own supply. Really, it’s what they deserved for such unprofessional behavior. 

Patient #0008 had once been a well-renowned researcher…but after dismissing Dr. Malphen’s work as “the rantings of a madwoman” and ruling to revoke Dr. Malphren’s medical license…the license she had worked so hard to *earn*…was anybody surprised with what happened to her? Did she really expect that libel to go unanswered? Especially coming from someone who CLEARLY spent more of medical school sucking cock and getting fucked instead of paying attention in class…Well, Dr. Malphren was more than happy to give Patient #0008 an environment where she could…excel. Where she could be the stupid slut to her hearts content. Headphones implanted in her ear canal fed her brain a steady stream of subliminals, turning her stupid and slutty. Even more, I mean. As part of her treatment, Patient #0008 was given a very special uniform: a bright pink latex cheerleader uniform, with white trim, and matching thigh-highs that came just up the short hem of the skirt. The outfit left very little to the imagination and even less hidden from view. White sneakers were locked onto her feet with pretty glittery cuffs, and a second set of similarly bedazzled cuffs were wrapped around her wrists, securing a set of cheerleading pom-poms, flashing and dazzling with every tiny movement. A bright pink hair scrunchie and a steady diet of good-girl pills were the final finishing touch, kicking drool production into overdrive and leaving Patient #0008 stupid, slutty, and suggestible. Every shake of the pom-poms dazzled her brain, making it impossible to think or concentrate. By the time the nurses filed in for some relaxation at the end of their shift, Patient #0008 was a dumb, drooling mess. Of course, being passed around didn’t help matters…but it did result in some very useful data for Dr. Malphren’s latest research… 

Obviously, Dr. Malphren wasn’t going to just sit still. There were all sorts of exciting new methods of treatment to research! Patient #0009 was helping her develop exciting new therapies for patients that had to grow up too early. Hair tied into pigtails with pretty pink ribbons, restraints decorated with bows and frills, drooling mouth gagged with a panel gag modeled after a pacifier. Unicorn and gold star stickers decorate its straightjacket, each a reward for going through a different procedure, each one taking years off of #0009’s mental age. No longer able to read or write, Patient #0009 is kept happy with cartoons, babbling happily along as the hidden messages playing on the TV keep it calm and docile, waiting for its next opportunity to earn a sticker…

Patient #0010 considered himself lucky; he was able to serve the staff, working in the laundry room, making sure every set of scrubs was perfectly sterilized, washed, folded, and ironed, the creases neat and sharp, just like the ones on his maid outfit. Although, it must be said, none of the scrubs the nurses wore were locked to their wearers with little silver locks, locks Patient #0010 studiously polished until they shined. He loaded the folded uniforms onto a cart, taking them to the staff quarters, finishing promptly at 8:30 am as scheduled. Then he cleaned the staff quarters top to bottom, finishing promptly at 10:30 am. Then he reported to his cell for his daily training, the flashing lights and whispered words teaching him how to curtsy, how to clean, how to speak and act properly, lessons on etiquette and servitude befitting a maid like himself. Training freshly reinforced, it was then time to bring Dr. Malphren her afternoon tea promptly at 2:30 pm as instructed. Then he mopped the bathrooms, restocked the soap, toilet paper, and towels, before his afternoon training. His routine concluded with dusting, sweeping, and sanitizing every surface in the asylum, before exactly eight hours of subliminal-assisted sleep. He was so happy to serve Dr. Malphren. He exists to serve. To be trained. Once a week, Dr. Malphren ran him through a series of tests, testing his capabilities as a maid, his manners, his etiquette. Dr. Malphren tells him that his training is progressing well, that he will be the template for future patients who need to be taught the virtues of service and etiquette. Patient #0010 is happy to serve. Patient #0010 exists to serve. Patient #0010 was never anything else. Dr. Malphren smiles as Patient #0010 clipped itself to its restraint chair for “training”. To think, just a few months ago Patient #0010 was a foul-mouthed, messy slob. But that was nothing compared to Patient #0011.

Before, she was a blushing virgin in every sense of the word, barely able to talk about kissing without her face flushing red. Really, it was adorable. She was the perfect candidate for fetish installation therapy. Strapped down to a chair, vibrators on her most sensitive spots, inside and out, eyes forced open, forced to stare at the flashing images and subliminal messages on the screen in front of her. Before, she would have been mortified to even learn that some people got off on getting tied up. Now, merely showing Patient #0011 a pair of handcuffs was enough to make her breath hitch, her girlcock throbbing with need. But, of course...why stop there? Once you've installed one fetish, why not two, or three, or maybe even more, each more extreme than the last? Dr. Malphren was looking forward to seeing just how kinky Patient #0011 would end up becoming...and she was just getting started…

Of course, with all the brainwashing Dr. Malphren was doing...she needed a guinea pig, a way to test out and refine her latest techniques. Patient #0012 had done the best job of resisting her control...and you know what they say: the reward for a job well done is that you get to do it again, and again, and again! Fortunately, thanks to a specially formulated cocktail of drugs, Patient #0012 can have their mind broken again, and again, and again, and again!

Now, Patient #13 was... a special case. Dr. Malphren had simply taken the existing asylum staff and buried their resistance under brainwashing and conditioning, a necessary compromise when speed was of the essence and you had to brainwash several dozen individuals while keeping their skillset intact. It also meant that their personalities remained mostly unchanged... mostly. Patient #0013 proved that was a kindness Dr. Malphren could no longer afford. Somewhere along the way, Patient #0013 had slipped free of her conditioning and launched a jailbreak attempt in the middle of the night. However, she bet everything on the assumption that everyone would be asleep...Little did she know that Dr. Malphren had the sleep habits of a hyperactive wombat with insomnia and a crippling caffeine addiction. Patient #0013 turned the corner with two of the more...mobile patients in tow, and found herself face-to-face with Dr. Malphren, a locked door and reinforced glass barring any further progress. Patient #0013 whirled around, only to find a similar door had closed behind her, the air already starting to taste sweet from the sedative being pumped in through the vents. Dr. Malphren tutted as #0013 hammered on the glass, each blow becoming weaker, and weaker, and weaker…

Patient #0013 awoke, the bright lights of the operating room harsh and unforgiving, made all the worse by the fact that she was completely immobilized, down to her little toe, pinned in place by canvas straps and metal clamps. She could see herself, secured to the table like an insect in a museum exhibit, forced to stare at the mirror mounted to the ceiling. The only parts of her she could move were her eyes, and her mouth, and she had precious little to do with either of them. It seemed like she laid there, stuck, immobilized, for hours. It was almost a relief when Dr. Malphren finally entered the operating room, flanked by her full staff of nurses, each one wearing a surgical mask over a wide, happy smile that failed to reach their horrified eyes. "So sorry for the delay, Patient #0013," Dr. Malphren said happily. "But after your little "episode", I figured it was best to let all of your "friends" out of trance, so they can see what I'm going to do to you. And they're going to help me do it...whether they want to or not…" 

Patient #0013 swallowed. "W-what are you going to do to me?" 

"It's simple." Dr. Malphren said as Nurse #26 silently handed her a scalpel, body forced to obey as the mind within watched helplessly. "I'm going to make you an example…"

Dr. Malphren's revenge was calculated, methodical, and unbearably agonizing. First, she cut each and every tendon and ligament one by one by one by one, leaving Patient #0013 trapped in a limp ragdoll of her former self. A series of tubes were sewn into her gut; one went into her stomach, to put food in, and one went into her colon, to take it back out again. Her lungs were very carefully measured, once, twice, three times, then carefully burned away with a laser, decimating her lung capacity so that she was always desperate for air, no matter how hard her lungs heaved. o make matters worse, Patient #0013 would have to learn how to breathe though the small valve installed in her chest, a valve that could restrict her airflow even further, or cut it off entirely. Right next to her new breathing valve, peeking out from under the skin, was #0013’s new pacemaker, ensuring she could be taken from normal to pulse-pounding terror to the edge of fainting and back again. And oh, the noises #0013 made…She threatened. She bargained. She begged. She screamed. She sobbed. She raged, at Dr. Malphren, at her former fellow nurses as they cut into her, begging them to break free of their conditioning, tears streaking down their faces as they could only watch the procedures their own bodies performed on their former friend. She raged at herself, for being so stupid, for breaking free of the conditioning, for trying to escape, for thinking she could ever make it out, for not just doing the smart thing and checking herself in for more brainwashing. She screamed for Dr. Malphren to let her go, to stop, for mercy, for the pain to end, for help, from someone, anyone, anyone at all…but none came. Eventually, she only whimpered as Dr. Malphren cut into her again, and again, and again, and again…Despite all the threats, all the screaming, all the begging…Dr. Malphren only smiled and continued the surgery. There was no escape for Patient #0013, no matter what sounds she made. Oh, how Dr. Malphren savored each and every sound…she came for them last. After that, Patient #0013 would never make a single sound again. Dr. Malphren smiled as she locked eyes with Patient #0013 and administered a paralytic agent. There were some things that you just couldn’t restrain…

The vocal cords were sewn together. The tongue was cut out, and tossed into a bin with the rest of the medical waste. The lips and jaw were wired shut, titanium inserts attached to the bone. In time, new tissue would form over the lattice, fusing the jaw permanently shut. Finally, the mouth and nose were covered over with a skin graft, forming a permanent gag of flesh and bone. Dr. Malphren smiled, and patted Patient #0013’s head as her nurses sewed the stitches closed. What was that look in its eyes? Fear? Resignation? Fury? Was there anything at all? She sure hoped so. She had been very careful to leave two things on Patient #0013 completely alone…her eyes…and her mind. Patient #0013 was moved to a wheelchair, strapped down, and wheeled into a room, covered floor to ceiling in monitors. If she thought she was finally going to have her mind broken, she was sorely mistaken…The reason Dr. Malphren left Patient #0013 marinating in her own dread so long was simple: each and every nurse had to be specially brainwashed all over again, their original personality brought back up from under all those layers of brainwashing, made fully lucid and aware for the first time in weeks…but still helpless, still trapped. 

Still unable to do anything other than watch as their body moved at Dr. Malphren’s command, watched as it cut into Patient #0013, watched as it did unspeakable things to their own friend. Dr. Malphren made sure each and every single one of them had their turn with the scalpel…When it was finished, Dr. Malphren pulled each and every nurse into her office, and gave them a simple choice: Live with what they’d done, and stay trapped in their own body, watching as it carried out Dr. Malphren’s orders…or submit themselves to be broken, mind shattered, free from the guilt…free from the burden of having a mind at all. Complete, total personality death…it was a kindness, really. Some accepted it tearfully, eager to be free of the pain. Some nodded mutely, unable to look her in the eye. Some screamed and cursed at her, but begged for it all the same. One or two stubbornly soldiered on…until they realized what their duties as a nurse entailed. They screamed and cried and begged to be broken, as their bodies strapped resisting subjects in restraints, injected drugs and sedatives into terrified, resistant patients, and strapped helpless victims into brainwashing chairs. Dr. Malphren made them work a full shift. Just to be sure. At the end, they mutely accepted the flashing lights, the throbbing sounds, the sweet sweet drugs muddling their senses and minds…and then their minds were no more.

Dr. Malphren’s hospital was fully staffed once more-and she had made sure to videotape the final mind-snapping brainwashing session of each of her new nurses, and shown them to Patient #0013, limp form strapped to the chair, eyes held open to ensure it didn’t miss a single moment. When the videos finally ended, Patient #0013 was taken to her cell and dumped unceremoniously on the white padded floor. The door locked shut behind her, giving her time to think…after all, that was the only thing she could do anymore. Dr. Malphren sat at her desk, and smiled. Everything was going according to plan…and *nothing* was going to get in her way…