Monsoon knelt over Featherweight’s prone form, fingers against her neck, checking for a pulse. When she was sure she had one, she sat back and exhaled very slowly. Okay. Her team were still breathing - at least, Swift Fox was a possible exception, but Monsoon operated under the assumption that if she couldn’t see Swift Fox things were probably going fine for her teammate.

So long as they were going to go fine for everyone else…

Starting with Featherweight, she moved her unconscious teammates one at a time until they were out of sight of a casual glance through the area, and then looked around. Pyre and Wayward had ‘gone loud’ here, which meant either they’d found something or someone had found them. Either one of those meant there was something important around her, somewhere.

Times like these, Monsoon hated being team leader. It was great when she got to make decisions; a lot less fun when there was only one decision and all she did was take responsibility for it.

But whatever they’d found was more important than waiting for her team to regain consciousness. Especially with the risk that Featherweight might come round first; Monsoon was pretty confident that wouldn’t go so well for her the second time.

She headed for the doors that had been behind Pyre and Wayward, on what she’d have said was gut instinct. Swift Fox would probably have been able to put her finger on whatever Monsoon had seen that informed her instinct; Swift Fox, though, was the detective. Pyre and Wayward were the power. Featherweight was the heart, or had been. Monsoon, she liked to think, was the conscience of the team.

She pushed open the double doors and…

…well, that looked a whole hell of a lot like a hijacked jet aircraft. And several bored-looking faceless guards surrounding it.

Monsoon gave them a couple of moments to notice her. To realise she shouldn’t be there. And then to react.

None of which helped anybody when a whirlwind was suddenly right on them. Weapons ripped out of their hands. The winds kept them unbalanced, and then the hailstorm began.

Monsoon smiled. Her hailstones were the kind people talked about for years afterwards, in hushed whispers, and entire generations of people refused to believe had ever existed; over an inch across, hurtling at speed. Even the body armour these guards had was flexing and cracking at a torrent of impacts, and with them so thoroughly disoriented, they were easy prey.

A tiny burst of ball lightning rolled through the hangar, popping on one target after another, and each of them dropped in time.

She made her way up to the plane’s external stairs, then gripped the handle and turned it.

Inside the jet she saw passengers packed in, hungry, weary, the ordeal they’d been through clear on every inch of their faces. She beckoned to the flight attendant nearest her. “Hi,” she said quietly. “Rebelles are here. We’ll be getting you out just as soon as we can.”

“But - Overshadow-”

Monsoon nodded. “I know. My team isn’t…” She heaved a sigh. “Isn’t enough. But that doesn’t mean that’s all you get. I’m about to put in a call for the Safeguard, then I’m going back out there to do what I can.

“Meantime, the guards outside the hangar are down. So I need you to do something for me, OK?” This had been much hard when the Rebelles had only just started, back when they were still a teen team. It was still a little bit of a gamble every time, just because she was still younger than most of the people she asked for a favour; on the other hand, the costume gave her plenty of authority now she wasn’t (and didn’t look like) just some kid.

All the same, she met the attendant’s eyes, made sure she had a read on her. She was taking this seriously, and she clearly saw Monsoon’s appearance as the first, hesitant step toward safety. “Get the other attendants together. Plus the pilots. Anyone the passengers will take seriously-”

“We’re missing a pilot,” the woman blurted.

“What?”

“Right at the start, the soldiers - they took one of our pilots. Uh. And a passenger. But they didn’t seem sure who; they took a group of them out at once.” It was all spilling out of her now, and Monsoon wondered how long she’d been burning with the need to tell someone, anyone, what had been going through her head. It wasn’t at all uncommon in captives to have spent a lot of time wondering how it had happened, especially if there wasn’t a clear answer to begin with. “Then all but one of them was marched back in. We could see Overshadow talking to them - actually, it was after that that she came in and took our co-pilot.”

“Hm. I think I might have met the passenger,” Monsoon said softly. “Did anyone have any idea what was going on?”

The attendant shrugged. “Not that I heard.”

“Right.” Monsoon nodded. “OK, so anyway… if you can get together with the other airline staff, what I need you to do is have them organise the passengers. We’ll give you an opportunity to get out of this building, and then everyone’s free at last. You, uh… Depending on how my team does, you might need to wait on getting your luggage. But I figure just getting out is a good first step, right?”

“Right.” She nodded and turned away, heading down the aisle toward one of the other attendants. Monsoon shut the door behind her as she headed back into the hangar. Next step; call for help.

She passed out of the hangar and checked her communicator for long-range signal, which she had more of than she’d expected. Taking a deep breath, she keyed for the Safeguard. Even as a heroine herself, she couldn’t help but feel reassured when she heard Phenomenon’s confident bass voice on the other end.

*

It wasn’t the first time Melissa had had to practice her first aid while someone loomed over her, but her nerves had never been so shot as she’d done so. It wasn’t even because of the power and the dangerous temper of the woman looming over her, however clear that had become when she’d crashed into her own sergeant in vengeance just moments earlier.

What kept going through her head was If the Master dies, you’ve failed Candace. You’ve failed your role model. Utterly.

She was pretty sure the sergeant hadn’t been shooting to kill; he’d wanted to wound the Master and demonstrate who was in control of the situation, discovering only too late afterwards that he’d been very, very wrong about who was in control. He’d already paid the price for that error.

It didn’t seem like enough, somehow. Melissa knew that was her programming speaking, but she was also discovering for the first time just how important someone could be to you, in a way she truly hadn’t expected, once you’d been conditioned deeply enough that you now understood how wrong of you it had been to imagine that what they’d done could be wrong or that you were worthy to arrest them even if it had been.

She had the bandages in place and was fumbling for a painkiller when she heard Monsoon’s message broadcast. If she’d thought she was tense before, that didn’t leave her a good word for how she felt now. She swallowed.

“We have trouble,” she said.

“What?” Overshadow demanded.

“They’re…” Melissa swallowed and tried again. “They’ve called in the Safeguard.”

“If I have to bring them down, I will,” the supervillain growled, but Melissa shook her head. “There’s no way people don’t figure out what’s happened,” she said. “Do you want to be locked up away from our Master?”

She could see Overshadow freeze.

“May… have to…” the Doctor wheezed, struggling to sit up. Melissa hastened to help him into a sitting position.

“Master?” Overshadow asked, and there was so much uncertainty in her voice, though Melissa wasn’t sure how much of that came from his decision and how much from Overshadow simply realising she now had a Master. Surely she couldn’t disagree with him? Doctor Bimbeau was always right.

“Help me up,” he said quietly. “We need to act fast. While we’re still…” He moved in a way he shouldn’t, as Melissa obeyed his command, and he winced, grunting in pain louder than he’d been speaking. “While we still have control,” he finished, his face pale.

“I don’t think we do, Master,” Melissa said apologetically.

“Then we need to get it,” he said, and braced himself against his desk. “Listen carefully…”

*

Monsoon had just got back to her teammates when the gunfire started. Looking up, she saw more of Overshadow’s faceless goons running toward her, guns raised, firing from the hip. With a raise of her hand she summoned up gale force winds - no time for subtlety here, there were too many of them and they were too ready, so they found themselves flying backward at speed, crashing into walls.

Body armour, she’d often said, wasn’t always the best idea against superhumans; it tended to mean they felt confident cutting loose.

With that done she turned back to her team. She took Wayward by the shoulder. “Come on, now,” she said firmly, giving her a shake. “Wake up. Come back to me.”

Always sensitive to any change in her momentum, Wayward’s eyes opened almost immediately. Hearing her leader’s voice meant she didn’t immediately lash out. Monsoon hesitated. “How you feeling?”

“Embarrassed,” Wayward said, sitting up. “But I’ll live. What the hell got into Featherweight?”

“I think they have some kind of mind controller on their team,” Monsoon said.

Wayward shook her head immediately. “That makes no sense.”

“…Explain?”

“You think Overshadow would pal around with someone who could just reach into her head and change her mind?” Another shake of the head. “It’ll be a, a drug, or a gadget of some kind. Something she can control access to. And it won’t be one you can just point at someone and pull the trigger either.”

Monsoon hated it when Wayward spotted something before she did. Not that her friend wasn’t smart, but she was the team’s muscle, and it was easy to fall into old assumptions. “You’re right,” she admitted grudgingly. “Oh, shit…”

“What?”

“That’s what was going on with the one guy.” At Wayward’s confused look, she pressed on. “I found one prisoner sat in a room full of circuit boards and gear. And the plane staff told me someone had been taken off the plane, someone specific.”

“So she found herself someone who could build a mind control gadget…”

“And she tested it on Featherweight.”

They both looked at their fallen teammate, their expressions sombre and identical; if not for the emotion in their eyes, they could in that moment have passed for a pair of identically brainwashed drones.

“This isn’t fun,” Wayward muttered.

There was a soft groan from beside them, and Pyre opened her eyes. “Whoever taught Featherweight that trick, she needs to remember it,” she said quietly. “I feel like I drank a whole bottle of tequila, passed out, and just woke up.”

Monsoon glanced at Wayward, who’d mentioned nothing of the sort. The pint-size powerhouse shrugged.

“And just what have you done to my loyal soldier?” Overshadow had arrived. Her voice was loud without shouting, a woman accustomed to making her voice carry. She moved at a brisk walking pace, but her feet never touched the floor; she was six inches above it. Her arms were down, but not quite by her sides; her fists were clenched, and the look in her eyes was truly murderous.

“Oh, boy,” Pyre muttered.

Monsoon was taking stock of the situation around them, but Wayward was already moving, heading forward at a dead sprint. “So much for talking about this,” she sighed.

“I mean, she’s called Wayward. What else do you expect?”

Wayward hit Overshadow hard, and the supervillain made no move to block it; but then, she also didn’t so much as wobble. Instead, she backhanded Wayward, sending her flying.

*

Overshadow was genuinely furious. Furious at so many different things, too. Her base had been invaded. Her most trusted advisor had betrayed her. Her slave, the first of her super-slaves, had been knocked out or killed and it looked like her team wanted to steal her back. Her Master was injured. She had a Master. She had someone whose pleasure meant more to her than her own will - not that her own will seemed to matter much at all anymore. She’d been tricked into that state. And in the short while since he tricked her like that, she’d knelt on all floors to lick his boots and then let him fuck her, let him call the shots and make the choices so that the pleasure she got from it was either by chance or through his own pleasure, the thing that now fuelled her more than anything else.

If this wasn’t resolved before the Safeguard got here, she was going to savour her fight with Phenomenon. It might be the only way to purge herself of all the rage she felt.

But that wasn’t what she was supposed to be doing, was it? She had orders to follow. Orders from her Master. Orders that would please him.

The little one with the muscular arms and the short blonde hair was charging her again, and this time there was driving rain in her face, too, a torrent of water that made even Overshadow have to squint. All the same, she didn’t let the blonde get a second hit in; why should she? She reached out an arm and caught her by the throat, halting all her momentum, holding her, legs kicking, some way off the ground.

Then she moved her slightly so that the rain that had been driving into her face was just waterlogging the youngster. “You have potential,” she told her. “But you lack discipline.”

Wayward shifted her weight slightly and one of her legs caught Overshadow in the chin with surprising force, but she didn’t release her. “I get that a lot,” Wayward growled.

“Don’t worry. I’ll correct that for you.” The rain went away, replaced by thick, pounding hail that pattered off Overshadow’s skin and her soaked uniform alike, causing her no discomfort. By the looks of things, it wasn’t having much effect on the blonde either.

“Like you did to Featherweight?”

“That’s not her name any longer,” Overshadow said, outwardly cool now, thinking of how pleased she hoped Master would be with this performance, still seething inside, caught between her natural emotions and those her programming imposed on her. “Which is why I haven’t bothered to ask yours.”

The blonde brought both feet up and braced them against Overshadow’s belly, then kicked out. It was enough - just barely enough - to break the more powerful woman’s grip, sending Wayward flying backward. Overshadow barely had a moment to recover and reassess before a fireball splashed all over her. She was surrounded by steam, her waterlogged uniform drying in an instant. She growled softly, not through pain but surprise.

“Make this easy on yourselves,” Overshadow called. “Surrender now. I promise you, once I’m done with you you’ll be glad you did.”

Lightning hit her full in the face, and for the first time she gave ground after an attack, hissing her displeasure.

“Sorry,” Monsoon said, her lips so thin they were almost invisible. “I’m gonna have to pass on that.”

Wayward was on Overshadow again, battering her with rights and lefts, and Overshadow almost felt them this time. She kicked out, sending the other woman flying. This wasn’t at all how she wanted it; pulling her blows would leave these heroines thinking they were more or less on her level. She glanced up, saw a red telltale light in the corner; was satisfied to learn that her security cameras were rolling again. Perfect, if you had an audience - and she would do.

Something flew at her from off to one side. Overshadow snatched it out of the air and looked at it curiously; a small device in red metal, with red metal fins stretching out from it and a red LED light blinking in the centre.

“Yes!” Wayward yelled. And a moment later, the device Overshadow was holding exploded in her hands. It didn’t hurt her, but it sent her reeling, and the ornate bindi on her forehead was chipped; her dress uniform jacket was singed.

Another crack of lightning hit her while she was off-balance. Overshadow dipped, putting feet to the ground, and nearly stumbled. “We’ve got her!” yelled Wayward, and Overshadow looked up just in time to see another charge. She caught Wayward’s oncoming punch at the wrist, spun, and released, throwing Wayward back at her friends, but a gust of wind started to slow her. The blonde seemed somehow to sap the momentum out of her throw, too, and by the time she drew level with Pyre she could put out a foot and bounce back off her shoulder, flipping and landing, without knocking over the elementalist - who took that moment to hurl another giant fireball.

It smashed into Overshadow’s chest, a blistering ball of heat that this time impacted on dry fabric. Overshadow found her jacket suddenly ablaze. Crying out in anger, she reached up her hand to grasp at that burning fabric in the centre of her chest, and pulled, ripping away the blazing cloth and throwing it aside.

It took a moment before she appeared to register that she’d grabbed hold of more than she should have done. Alongside the burning jacket, she’d also ripped off and discarded her khaki shirt and the bra beneath it, and now she stood topless before her enemies, who watched her flush.

“Now, Wayward!” Swift Fox yelled, and the pint-size powerhouse lunged forward for another strike. She seemed to accelerate even faster than before, hurtling toward Overshadow as if…

…as if she were falling toward her.

Wayward worried, but she wasn’t the kind of person not to do the obvious thing just because it might be a trap. She hit Overshadow head on, with all her own strength and momentum multiplied by gravity itself.

Overshadow swayed for a moment, then crumpled to the ground, folding at the knees and landing with her tits exposed.

None of the Rebelles quite knew where to look.

*

“…and when their fighter hits you again, after that, that’s when you feign unconsciousness,” Bimbeau had directed her.

“But why do I have to embarrass myself like that?” she’d asked, and she’d squirmed internally at how much like a pouting teenager she thought she sounded. She was aware of the blonde heroine looking at her with disdain - because she was questioning their Master, no doubt - but it was an uncomfortable, embarrassing state to be in.

“Well, two reasons,” he said. “First, we need them to believe you’ve actually gone down.” He twitched again, but it looked like the painkillers were starting to kick in properly. “So we need them to think there’s some reason you were properly vulnerable to the hit. Embarrassment works, and they won’t question it.”

The blonde nodded, and Overshadow, already embarrassed herself just at the idea, nodded grudgingly. “You said two reasons?”

“Oh, yes.” He grinned. “I want to see you topless, Overshadow. So I can think of your body whenever I want.”

Her throat went dry. It took her a moment to realise she was excited by the idea, not scared. “W - will that please you?” she asked, and he nodded, smirking.

“It’ll be important to both of us later to know that,” said the Doctor.

Overshadow swallowed. “Yes, Master.”

*

Only after everything was done that Monsoon stopped to think about the plan Swift Fox had presented, shortly after she returned. She’d had Featherweight somehow recovered - had dropped some gadget on the floor and stomped on it, and apparently it had been attached to Paloma somewhere.

Still, just in case, Fox had proposed taking Featherweight to a contact in New York who could “make sure there wasn’t anything lurking in there that shouldn’t be in there.” The two had commandeered a Jeep and headed off, leaving Monsoon, Pyre, and Wayward to mop up the last guards, check the hostages were safe, and check in with the Safeguard when the veteran heroes arrived.

It wasn’t until Monsoon was explaining all this to Red Fox that it occurred to her how strange it was for Swift Fox not to stick around to talk to her mentor. It was hard to tell how he’d taken that news, though. It was hard to tell how he took anything. Monsoon sometimes wondered if he’d be any easier to read with the cowl, or whether he just had one of nature’s poker faces.

She stayed long enough to see Overshadow taken into custody, heavy manacles around her ankles and wrists, a blanket from one of the bunks her troops had slept in wrapped around her upper body to hide her modesty, head hung low, and took the rest of her team back to Bayport. All the way back she wondered.

Where had that scientist Overshadow had grabbed gone?

Since the device he’d been working on was shattered and broken when she got back to the room in which he’d been staying, did that mean he’d destroyed it because he didn’t like it? Or was there some darker reason for the damage?

Who was he, and how had Overshadow known about him?

Where was the pilot?

The last of those questions was the only one she had a halfway-trustworthy answer to, given that mind control had been happening. Entirely reasonable to believe the pilot was one of the troops they’d taken down.

If that was the case, frustratingly, Monsoon was unlikely ever to know. Even the Bayport police didn’t like the Rebelles knowing everything. Chicago police had fewer reasons to trust them, and cops in general hid the information they came by as if one day it might cause an uproar.

Still, some of it would doubtless come out at Overshadow’s trial…

*

“You have to be arrested,” Bimbeau told her, “or they won’t stop looking for you, won’t stop thinking about your mind control plot. So you’re going to let them arrest you, and you’re going to act just enough like Overshadow of old for them not to ask questions you can’t lie about.”

She swallowed again, but she was already becoming used to accepting his orders when she understood them. “Yes, Master.”

“But the other thing you’re going to do,” he said, “is escape before trial. Understand?” His eyes were hard on hers, and if the raggedness of his breath and the occasional pause in his words showed how injured he was, the fact she couldn’t look away made her feel more powerless than him in any case.

“Yes, Master,” she said, a little happier about this one.

“I won’t have them asking the kind of questions that come out in trial,” he said, “and you’ve escaped often enough, there’ll be a hunt for you for a month or two then it’ll die down. Do whatever you’d normally do in that early phase.”

“Yes, Master,” she said, then hesitated. “If that will bring you pleasure?”

“It will,” the Doctor confirmed. “And once you’re sure the hunt is over, you’re going to come visit me at the island. Understand?”

“Yes, Master,” she said. “May I ask what will happen there?”

“We’re going to talk,” he said, “and you’re going to find out what you think from now on.”

A shiver went down her spine. To have her opinions so casually disposed of…

It was everything she’d always hate. But somehow… if it would bring Master pleasure… well, it didn’t seem so bad anymore.

*

Less than a quarter of a mile down the road, the Jeep caught up with two figures walking steadily away from Overshadow’s underground base. One of them was supporting the other, who was partially stooped and seemed to be walking only with difficulty. Paloma had already opened the passenger door before the Jeep rolled to a halt. “Doctor?” she said hesitantly.

“I’m afraid so, Paloma,” he said, and managed a pained smile. “It’s good to see you.”

Her eyes were wide, her mouth wider. “Swift Fox told me you were hurt, but I didn’t imagine it was this bad…”

“Well, good news,” he said. “Hopefully it won’t be for too much longer. Help me into the Jeep.”

“Yes, Doctor.” The acknowledgement and obedience came simultaneously from Paloma and from Sinner, who was already helping to keep the Doctor going. He was settled into one of the seats in the back. “Sinner, you’re driving,” he said quietly. “Paloma, little fox, in the back with me.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Featherweight answered, and “Yes, Master,” Swift Fox echoed. Sinner simply settled into the front seat and began to drive.

“What’s she been told?” Bimbeau asked Melissa. “Has she seen the recording?”

“No, Master. I just told her enough to set up our cover story.”

“Show her, then.”

Paloma watched as Melissa produced her phone and pulled up a video. In it, Overshadow could be seen in her full paramilitary uniform. She was on her knees, looking up into the camera. The Doctor’s voice could be heard off-screen. “Begin.”

Continuing to make direct eye contact with the camera, Overshadow said “You should only be watching this if you are my slave. If you are, you’re sworn to…” She visibly swallowed. “Sworn to my pleasure,” she tried again.

“It’s time you learned a truth I have only recently learned. My pleasure is built on that of another. Just as you will place my pleasure ahead of your own will… well… so do I. I have a Master.” She was silent for a few moments, her face twitching with emotion. When she spoke again, there was a sheen of tears in her eyes, her lips twitching but mostly curved into the tiniest of smiles. “And as my slave, you should know that my Master is your Master.

“My pleasure comes from my Master’s pleasure. So you will serve him as I do. You will serve the Doctor.” Her smile grew a little less tentative. “You know which Doctor, and you should not deny it.”

On the video, Overshadow whimpered softly, and then the video ended.

Paloma slowly looked up to meet the Doctor’s eyes. “Understand?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Master,” she said softly. “I don’t understand why you didn’t take the rest of our team…”

“There wasn’t time to be sure,” he told her. “So you two are just going to have to hide your true allegiance. I’ll arrange for regular contact, though.”

Paloma smiled. “Yes, Master.”

“Do you know your colleague here’s identity?”

“No, Master.”

“How about you, little fox?”

“Paloma Suake,” Swift Fox said without hesitation, and Paloma stared at her.

“How did you-”

“Never mind,” Bimbeau cut in. “I asked so we could level the playing field. Reveal yourself to your teammate.”

“Yes, Master,” the blonde agreed. If there was any hesitation, it was gone too quickly for Paloma to be sure. She raised her hands to her cowl, unhooking it and lifting it away.

It was the first time Paloma had ever seen her teammate’s face above the cheekbone. The blonde curls cascading down were not a complete surprise, but they were longer than she’d realised. Her eyes, though, went from shadowed and unreadable to beautiful when the face around them was exposed. After a moment of quiet, Swift Fox followed the spirit of her order as well as the letter. “My name is Melissa Wilder,” she said. “My dad runs Wilder Investigations.”

Paloma nodded. She’d heard of Wilder Investigations; they sometimes got mentioned on TMZ or The Daily Show. Usually when they were in the news they’d dug up some dirt on someone who’d been claiming bad things about the rich and famous.

If Melissa had picked up any of her father’s skills, and hadn’t picked up his code of ethics, her behaviour made perfect sense. Paloma offered a gentle smile, and Melissa smiled back. “Wayward’s the only other one who knows,” she said quietly. “She knows about Master, too. Not that he’s our Master, I mean. But…” She blushed. “I was sort of hunting Master, before his maid and his wife caught me at it and brainwashed me.”

“Wife?” The Doctor looked absolutely baffled, then he flapped his hand. “Never mind.”

He lay back against his seat and closed his eyes for a while, and his slaves let him doze. They didn’t have long to drive, headed not to New York City as Melissa had told Monsoon but, as soon as they thought they’d be unobserved, looping round to head west. They only had to reach Rockford; the main concern was avoiding being easily tracked.

*

Rockford, Illinois, was the home now of the reborn Symphony. A city trying to rebuild after the downfall of industry, it had welcomed a team of heroines with open arms; as Bimbeau understood it, there’d even been a minor bidding war between different cities, but it was Rockford’s proximity to Chicago as well as its own problems that had led Samba to petition him for permission to choose to settle there.

He’d given it very little thought, in all honesty; even now, as Melissa checked on his wound once again, waking him as their stolen Jeep approached Flores Plaza, the details of location weren’t important to him.

The Plaza building itself was a standout; only ten stories high, but clad in white stone, an art-deco masterpiece built in the modern day. The forecourt in front of it was dominated by a cluster of sculptures; the five women of the Symphony realised in blue-grey marble, twice as tall as any person. His eyes were immediately drawn to the curves of the sculptures, and he found himself grinning.

His priority wasn’t to enjoy these women anymore - he had to heal a little first, and he wanted to check in with Candace - but that was still very much on his list. He knew he’d enjoy it.

The Jeep drove along a private roadway that started to lower itself on mechanical pistons, exposing a hidden garage beneath the surface of the forecourt. Before long they were obscured from the sight of anyone outside.

All five of the Symphony stood in a semi-circle in the underground garage. They wore their colour-coded jumpsuits, boots, and gloves, though most of them wore the zippers on their jumpsuits much lower than would ever be seen out in the field.

The Doctor had seen bodymodded, brainwashed slaves several times before, but the impact of these five stood close together, their bodies not only superlatively curvaceous but superhuman in capability, was something else again. As none of the five would meet his gaze, each of them bowing their heads rather than do so, the sheer power he had over these powerhouses thrilled through him.

The occasional video call hadn’t prepared him for this, even if it had ensured all five already came supplied with their own triggers, hand-chosen by him.

By that time, Melissa had restored her cowl; she and Paloma emerged before Bimbeau, climbing down from the back of the jeep and turning to help him. The yellow-clad leader of the Symphony stepped forward, and he was immediately struck by her physique; seen in person, it was clear to him just how much her body now resembled a slightly less top-heavy, slightly smaller version of the silhouette he’d given Candace. The face of Daisy Flores, however, was the face he recognised from old publicity stills of her first heroic identity, La Bandera, taken when news had finally come out that she’d been a key part of developing the treatment that led to her powers.

There was a time he’d had one of those old photos tacked to a notice board at his home study. Before he’d fallen down the rabbit hole of mental control methods; back before his wife had passed away, when he was properly getting started in the world of science. Julieta Flores, as she’d been before she met Candace, had been one of his inspirations, a gifted genius but still someone who settled down and did the hard work.

Now she was stood before him deferentially, not meeting his eyes, her body now shapely enough and soft enough that her excitement that her owner was present had her quivering gently. The Doctor wished he were in less pain; he might well have bent her over the hood of the Jeep while the others watched if he hadn’t known it would hurt.

“Daisy,” he said simply, and saw the flush on her cheeks.

“Yes, Doctor?”

“I’m a little late, but I also intend to stay a while longer.”

“Yes, Doctor. Of course.” No hesitation. No frustration that plans had changed.

He reached out a hand, and it took Daisy a few moments to realise he intended to shake her hand. She shook while he imagined what she might have been hoping for; after she released his hand he reached out further, cupping one of her tits in his hand, which was a little too small to make it disappear entirely.

Daisy moaned blissfully, and he grinned. “I’m afraid you five need to nurse me back to health,” he said. “I’ve been shot.”

Daisy nodded. “I understand, Doctor. Swift Fox called ahead. We’ve prepared a bed in the infirmary; the same accelerated healing technology we use on Gigi is at your disposal.”

“Your own design?”

“Yes, Doctor.” She flushed deeper, embarrassed at that admission in a way she wasn’t embarrassed by his groping her. “I’m sure it’s not up to your standards…”

This puzzled Bimbeau, who considered Daisy Flores a genius beyond his level; not knowing what question to ask, however, he didn’t discover that Daisy had been programmed to believe him smarter than her no matter what happened. But then, he didn’t remember that he’d done that to Candace as a last callous step in taking his place as the centre of her world, either.

“Lead the way, then,” he said, and smiled. “Sinner, Melissa, Paloma, with me.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Daisy said, as the three women who’d driven in with him chorused “Yes, Master.”

He let himself lean on Sinner.

*

“You two,” he told the brainwashed Rebelles, “did brilliantly.” Paloma glanced toward the Symphony member at the controls of… well, whatever this wall-mounted healing ray/strange chair contraption was meant to be… who gave her a perfunctory smile, the white, skintight bodysuit flawless beneath the dark skin of her neck and the long single braid she kept her hair in. The woman moved faster than any human should be able to.

Either way, her response was at once less and more than Paloma had expected. She’d hoped for fulsome praise, expected to be quietly if not-impolitely ignored, and this was somewhere between the two. But then, she supposed, even if this was their first time meeting the Doctor in the flesh, their programming would ensure they were grateful their Master still lived and was safe.

“Are either of you straight?” he asked.

“Yes,” Paloma admitted, and “No,” said Melissa. Their eyes met briefly, shyly.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t just make you girlfriends as a reward, then,” he said. To Paloma’s surprise and secret pride, Melissa flushed crimson.

“I was straight just a few days ago, Master,” Melissa volunteered. “Your wife said-”

“Why do you keep calling her my wife?”

The dynamite detective seemed taken aback by the question itself. “She isn’t?”

Bimbeau was already looking and sounding healthier than he had been. Paloma slowly realised that she’d not noticed the device start to hum, and the flicker of light it bathed him in was almost unnoticeable.

Then she realised that the flicker of light was more of a byproduct. There was something about the odd studs set into the chair back… Paloma was looking at an offshoot of the technology her Master had used to brainwash her, she suddenly realised.

Master’s expression was almost angry after Melissa’s confusion, and Paloma had no more idea why than Melissa. After a few moments of silence, he flipped a hand, dismissing the idea. “Never mind,” he said. “I’ll think of something to reward you both.”

“Thank you, Master,” Paloma said, and Melissa, nudged into the correct behaviour, echoed her. “Thank you, Master.”

“You two can’t stay long?”

“Not if we want to maintain our cover, Master,” Melissa said. “We have no official links to the Symphony. If we’re noticed here, it will raise questions.”

He nodded. “You two will accompany me to bed tonight, then, before you go.”

“Thank you, Master,” Paloma said eagerly. Melissa, speechless, nodded her thanks; on the edge of her vision, Paloma caught sight of the woman in white pursing her lips.

Small wonder; Master’s eyes had been on the team’s leader and the woman they’d introduced as Gigi throughout. By the time - was it Sammi? Their names had run together - but by the time Sammi got to accompany the Doctor, he might be exhausted even without his wound.

*

It was hard to be away from the Doctor at the best of times, and it had been over twenty-four hours since she’d sent Melissa off to rescue him. Candace had occupied herself for some of the intervening time discussing potential root causes with Evelyn, but there was only so many conversations in that style she could arrange.

Lulu had been worrying about her, she knew, but she’d deflected as much of her mesmerised maid’s attempts to help as she could. She still felt guilty. Chad stood in one corner of the room, unaware, cock still hard, as if she’d flung her toy into the corner once done with him.

She dozed in the chair, fitfully, jerking awake and being disgusted with herself that she could sleep at a time like this, too tired by far to stop herself dropping off.

When the comm station sounded for a video call she almost didn’t wake. Then, with a start, she came to, going in an instant from a bewildered, thoughtless doze to fully alert awareness. Her finger stabbed at the Answer button, hoping she would shortly see her little fox appear on the screen, ready to report.

She had not taken into consideration that it might instead be her owner. Bimbeau’s face smiled down on her, his facial hair gone beyond stubble but not yet to the respectability of a proper beard. It was just possible to see at the base of the screen that he was not wearing a shirt.

“Morning,” he said. “It’s morning over there, right?”

Candace’s jaw had dropped, and it stayed fallen while she stared at the apparition on the screen before her. “Doctor?”

“I’m here, gorgeous,” he said quietly. “It’s… it’s really fucking good to see you.”

“You too, Doctor,” she said, and for the first time realised she couldn’t be nearly as presentable as she normally took pains to be for him. Her makeup was all but gone, her hair in disarray, and there was still the wet stain on her top of the drool she’d spilled as she slept.

Embarrassing, especially when she saw the topless form of Daisy move in the background of the Doctor’s call. In comparison, she didn’t think she could look like his perfect partner right now, even as she guiltily recalled ordering Lulu to keep Daisy’s figure just a little less voluptuous than her own.

Yet he was still looking at her with loving fondness, and his attention was all for her, not for the sex slave in the room with him.

(However sure she was that he’d be turning his attention fully to her, or them, the moment the call ended.)

“Did you get my present?” she asked nervously, and he looked surprised for a moment, then laughed.

“Yes. Thank you - I don’t have time to go into it now but I think you genuinely saved my freedom there. I’ll tell you the story when I’m home and you’ve admired my scars.”

“Scars, Doctor?” She was suddenly frightened.

“Ah. Now, this is why I wanted a witness here. Daisy, you have something to tell Doctor Kraft.”

Candace twitched again; she didn’t feel she, Daisy, or anyone else deserved the title of Doctor. That belonged to her owner, and nobody could compare to him, so how could they have the same title?

The pneumatic Latina came across to the camera, easily filling the screen. Standing just above the Doctor’s seated position, she adjusted her stance so her tits could act as a pillow for him before she began to talk. “Yes, I do. Hello, Doctor. It’s wonderful to see you again.” The smile Daisy flashed seemed to light up the screen, and the sincerity of it shone just as brightly.

“Hello,” Candace said faintly. She’d seen the twitch of a smile from the Doctor as he was provided with his new pillows, and that at least gave her something to cling to. She was, she would insist to anyone with the context to understand, a good hypnoslut. Part of that was that she was happy to see others give her owner pleasure; it was the idea she might be less perfect for his desires than they were that got in the way.

“I’m happy to confirm,” Daisy said, “that our Master is fully healthy. I was asked to confirm this before you were told he was injured during his ordeal, but he’s alr- Doctor?”

Candace’s face had crumpled. She was visibly shaking, her mouth was open in a silent wail, and tears were flooding down her face. All the emotion and fear she’d been holding in check had broken the dam, was pouring out of her, mingled with a growing tide of guilt. She’d been celebrating, and her owner had been injured…

Daisy was still talking, but Candace didn’t register it at all. She didn’t register anything until Bimbeau said “Candace? Hypnoslut.” His voice cut through everything; his voice could override her internal monologue, override her thoughts, her very instincts. It would always take priority over anything coming from her own head.

The trigger kicked in properly, and her emotions, her reactions, all seemed to pause. There were still tears welling in her eyes as she straightened in her chair, jaw slack, face expressionless, gazing glazedly at the image of her owner.

“Explain,” he ordered softly. Without a conscious mind of her own to get in the way, Candace spoke without embarrassment, telling her owner and his obedient living pillows everything she’d feared and everything she’d gone through since Melissa realised what had happened to him. She didn’t register the look of total sympathy in Daisy’s eyes, or the concern on the Doctor’s face.

Eventually, the Doctor nodded slowly. “Look at us, Candace.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

He reached up with one hand and took Daisy by one bare breast. His fingers began to trace out a spiral. “What’s this?”

She and Daisy spoke at once. “It’s the spiral…”

“And what does the spiral do?”

“The spiral helps you control me,” the two of them echoed. The vivacity in Daisy’s voice was dwindling.

“What else?”

“The spiral entrances me.” Only their differing accents would allow a casual observer to tell the difference between them. Both women spoke with a blank, obedient drone.

“Candace,” Bimbeau said firmly, “you are not responsible for what happened. Repeat.”

“I am not responsible for what happened, Doctor.”

He had got up, was circling back behind Daisy. “You will not feel guilt. Repeat.”

“I will not feel guilt, Doctor.”

“Everything is alright. Repeat.”

That took a little more hesitation. “Everything is alright, Doctor.”

From behind her, the Doctor bent Daisy further forward at the waist, until her tits hung just above the desk where the comm station she was at sat, her back perfectly flat. “Do you see Daisy, Candace?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“See how deeply hypnotised she is?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Isn’t she a good hypnoslut?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Aren’t you a good hypnoslut?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“So it follows that you feel what she feels,” he said with a grin. She watched him discard his pants, throwing them out of the way of the camera feed, and stand directly behind Daisy, completely naked.

“Yes, Doctor.” Candace felt no jealousy now as she watched Daisy ready to receive her Master’s cock. She felt only the same readiness, the same hypnoslut need, as her fellow slave, as the woman she had brainwashed for her owner.

He thrust inside Daisy, abrupt and hard enough that the woman swayed forward, and Candace felt his cock in her, too.

Watching Daisy closely, her mind mirrored every bit of the pleasure Daisy showed, registered every thrust of her owner’s cock, imagined everything perfect that could possibly be perfect. The stress of the last few days, the weight of the emotion from before Bimbeau had ordered that it should stop, evaporated, gone as if his cock had forced it out of her.

Sat on the chair in front of the island comm station, Candace writhed and humped against the chair, body arching, thrusting herself up into the air, eyes helplessly locked on the swaying tits of the woman whose pleasure she felt.

“Don’t… feel… guilty,” the Doctor grunted. “You… didn’t… do anything… wrong.” The words were an order that echoed around her empty head until they took root.

Candace came, and came again, and again, lost in the deep bliss of Daisy getting her first fucking as a hypnotoy.

*

Three months later

Most in the legal world would probably say that her trial had come around very fast. Three months’ turnaround was only ever on the table for the most high profile cases in the media and for the most dangerous supervillains; Overshadow was quite proud that her trial date was coming up so fast.

Of course, that meant she had orders to obey, and obey them she would. She said nothing after being informed of her trial date and allowed herself to be escorted almost the whole way back to her cell in solitary, before snapping manacles she’d professed to be unable to even stretch before. The guard who reached for his taser she simply shoved away; the one who grabbed his radio saw his radio plucked from his hand and shattered.

Overshadow nearly pushed him through a wall, but the vague sense that her Master might not like that stayed her hand. Instead she smashed open the wall herself, stepped through it, and lifted off the ground. She started accelerating and hit the next wall at a speed that left it a dustcloud behind her.

By the time she left the prison structure behind she was travelling fast enough to be almost untrackable, even on satellite. Nonetheless she headed due west, as far away from Master as she could, before going to ground just above the Canadian border.

Now she just needed to follow his orders to lie low.

And to figure out how she’d address with Master the fact of her pregnancy.