Two people occupied the executive suite of the Adams Conglomerate, along with another girl who was a little less.

More than two decades of marriage had not diminished the love Aleksandra and Helena Adams felt for one another, nor the pleasure and comfort they took in one another’s company; in the dark after-hours, they relaxed together, looking down across the city from the skyscraper they had built like conquering queens. Both of them, however, knew far better than to rest easily on their thrones. That they could relax at all was only thanks to the private army of thoroughly brainwashed security that would appear at the touch of a button, as well as the intricate cybersecurity network that insulated them from any information or stimulation that might prove psychically corrosive. Above all, it was their intelligence and initiative that kept them safe. Plots and threats were always brewing, and both women were stewing in anxious thoughts, the hangover from a day spent planning their daughter’s wedding.

“Do you think everything’s truly ready, my love?” asked Aleksandra, cradling her glass of wine as she reclined comfortably. “Do you think Mel is?”

“Of course,” Helena replied, sipping from hers. “She loves her girlfriend with all her heart. Always has. And the ceremony, the honeymoon—it’s all planned, right down to the last detail. No expense spared for our little girl. Mel and Emma are going to have a perfect day.

“I wasn’t just talking about the wedding,” Aleksandra said softly. “And you know it.

Helena sighed. “I know.”

The two of them reached across to squeeze hands. To any person watching, they would have seemed like quite the pair: Aleksandra, tall, lean, severe, with a body painstakingly sculpted by both HRT and constant effort; Helena, short, curvaceous, strawberry blonde to her wife’s platinum. But the only other one there to see was, thanks to Aleksandra and Helena’s careful craftsmanship, distinctly no longer a full person of her own.

“Slave” Aleksandra raised her voice just slightly to catch the brainwashed woman’s attention. “Here.”

“I obey, Mrs. Adams.”

The young woman kneeling naked before them shifted into position so that, as Aleksandra lifted her long, slender legs and rested her ankles on a cushioned footstool, she could begin diligently massaging the older woman’s soles. She had the body of a supermodel and served with the kind of unthinking loyalty only hypnotic conditioning could produce. If there had been a third person—a third real person—there to watch, they probably would have taken her for little more than a sex slave, selected by the hypnogarchs for her body, her pliability, and little more.

The two hypnogarchs were experts at turning misleading appearances to their advantage.

“Mel’s come a long way recently,” Helana offered. “She takes an interest now. She’s learning the ropes. And she handled Vivienne Gilbert masterfully.”

“Sweet little Vivi was a queen on a paper throne, begging to be torn down,” Aleksandra replied. “It was well done, yes—but luck did half the doing. We both know that there are bigger sharks out there, with sharper and more devious teeth.”

“She’s still young. She’ll get there.”

“But when?”

“In her own time. Besides, she still has us to watch over her.”

“And what if something happens to us?”

Helena raised an eyebrow in surprise, but the look on her face made it plain that she’d entertained the same worry. “Mel can handle herself. Have a little faith in her, my love.”

“I do, beloved.” Aleksandra sighed, and a rosy, glowing smile came to her sharp face. “I’m so proud of her, truly. She’s growing so fast. She has the best of both of us in her—for whatever that’s worth—and more besides. She’s kinder than we’ve been able to be. Gentler. Just like we wanted. I just… worry. After all, we have something she won’t.”

“And what’s that?” Helena smiled playfully. She already knew the answer.

Aleksandra turned to meet her loving gaze. “Each other.”

The saccharine moment stood oddly opposed to the two women’s status as elite, feared hypnogarchs—but to say that their relationship was the source of their strength was beyond mere metaphor. In their world, trust was a nigh-mythological currency; having someone equally capable and powerful to watch your back, an incalculable edge. It had been that way ever since they had met in college—Aleksandra the ruthless climber, the outsider, driven by an indomitable will and her hypnotic talents, and Helena the old-money savant, path to power laid out for her but hungry to win a legacy of her own. Between the upstart and the heiress, rivalry had given way to mutual respect, and then to love—and now they were at the top, their bond unshakable.

Not, of course, that they didn’t still enjoy fighting to work their fingers into each others’ heads from time to time.

“I suppose you’re right,” Helena admitted. “As adorable as sweet Emma is—and useful too, under the right circumstances—it isn’t quite the same.”

“It’s what we wanted for her,” Aleksandra sighed, reminding herself. “To be able to make her own choices and relationships along the way. To forge her own path, as she takes over from us. Even if…”

“Even if she has to make a few hard choices along the way,” Helena finished. Aleksandra nodded. Both of them knew how reluctant Mel had been to transform her old friend and longstanding crush, Emma, from a fearless activist-come-journalist into a bouncy, giggling bimbo. But both of them also knew it had been necessary. In their world, people like Emma were targets. If not Mel, then someone else. Someone with a less gentle touch.

They wanted Mel to forge her own path. But their world demanded compromise and ruthlessness in equal measure.

“Perhaps that’s what she needs,” Aleksandra mused. “Someone who can guide her through the choices she’s yet to face. Someone who already knows the ins and outs. Someone with the requisite skills. An enforcer—but one she can trust absolutely.”

Helena let out a quiet giggle and gestured to the woman at Aleksandra’s feet. “You’re saying she needs someone like our helpful little slave girl here?”

“Exactly.” Aleksandra drew herself up proudly. “And we can make one for her. The perfect wedding present.”

The brainwashed slave did not look. She understood that they were speaking about her, not to her. Aleksandra’s shapely, manicured feet were her entire world.

“It’s a good idea, in principle,” Helena acknowledged thoughtfully. “The only difficulty will be in procuring the right raw material. I can’t imagine there’s enough of Vivienne Gilbert left, and there aren’t many other women with those kinds of skills. Certainly not that aren’t under protection.”

“I have an idea,” Aleksandra announced, after another moment’s thought. “I think I know exactly who can help us.”

“Oh?”

“Amara Rodriguez.” Aleksandra smiled. “She’s already provided Mel with one loyal bimbo. Why not another?”

Helena looked at her wife in disbelief for a moment—then erupted with delighted laughter.

“Mel won’t like that,” Helena warned mirthfully. “You know she still resents Amara for being the one who got inside her beloved Emma’s head.”

“I beg to differ, my love.” Aleksandra’s razor-sharp grin made Helena fall in love with her all over again. “I think that’s precisely why she’ll enjoy it very, very much.”

“You have a delightful mind, darling.” They exchanged looks that made them appear, for a brief moment, as much like twin demons as a loving couple. Then, Helena turned to their companion. “Slave, reach out to Amara Rodriguez on our behalf. Discreetly, of course. See if she can be persuaded to help us with Mel’s wedding present.”

Now that she was being spoken to, their thrall looked up from Aleksandra’s feet. And now that she was being used for more than eye candy and a massage, her eyes shone with a sharp, ambitious, predatory light.

“With pleasure, Mrs. Adams.”

When Amara Rodriguez opened her door, she immediately found herself wondering if she was experiencing some strange form of déjà vu. It was as if she was being struck by a glimpse of the future. After all, the sight before her far more closely resembled the ‘after’ of her victims than the ‘before’.

Staring perkily at Amara was a pair of skintight leggings stretched so taut around the wearer’s form they were practically see-through and a sports bra so thin her nipples poked through. Both items of clothing were in a garish, bright pink, tie-dye pattern that radiated upbeat, naive eagerness and left Amara practically drooling. The outfit was perfect—especially since, as far as Amara could tell, it included absolutely nothing else. It couldn’t have been more laser-targeted at her taste. Amara was looking at the gym bunny getup of her wet dreams.

It helped that the girl wearing it was no less stunning: hourglass figure, pert chest, shapely legs, perfect skin, and full, inviting lips. She looked exactly like she belonged on some hypnogarch’s arm with nothing at all in her eyes. Already, her wide, flawless smile completely lacked any hint of wariness or caution. Everything about her was open, guileless, delicate. A perfect flower, begging to be plucked.

And Amara was going to be paid for the privilege. She couldn’t believe her luck.

“You must be Lucy,” Amara greeted her, almost tripping over her tongue in her own eagerness.

“Mhm!” Lucy replied brightly. “And judging from the guns, you must be Amara.”

Amara blushed—actually blushed—as Lucy’s gaze flitted appreciatively over the personal trainer’s physique. She was used to being admired, but not by a girl so perfectly her type. Not one she hadn’t sculpted for herself, anyway. “Why don’t you come on in?” she suggested.

“Sure!” Amara stepped back to beckon her into her apartment, and Lucy practically bounced across the threshold. When Amara pointed her toward her home gym, Lucy skipped ahead, allowing the hypnotist the perfect view of her fantastic ass. From how much Amara could see and how tight her clothes fit, it was obvious she truly was wearing nothing under those leggings.

“So, your boss pointed you my way?” Amara asked, mostly just to say something. She wasn’t used to being the one struggling to keep her drool in her mouth.

“Mhm! My bosses,” Lucy chirped. “Mrs. and Mrs. Adams. They said you’re a really great trainer.”

“They were right,” Amara grinned. She was getting the picture. A new hire, picked for her looks and directed straight into her arms for brainwashing. “How are they to work for?”

“Amazing! They’re always so nice to me, and they always show me exactly what to do.”

“I’ll bet,” Amara muttered under her breath. She was having a hard time wrapping her head around the piece of prime, perfect meat that had just been served up to her, but she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially not if it led her back into the Adams’ good graces.

Once, Aleksandra and Helena Adams had been reliable clients of hers, but more recently, Amara had been wondering if she had done something to lose their trust or earn their ire. The turning point seemed to have been that job with their daughter, Mel, and her girlfriend. Perhaps getting involved in something so personal had been a mistake. To her, of course, it had been nothing but business, but the sudden dearth of work from the family had made Amara wonder if her involvement had provoked any lingering resentment from the heiress. If so, that would certainly have been a problem—not to mention a danger.

But seemingly not. Perhaps it had simply taken a little while for Mel to get over it. A few days before, the Adams matriarchs had reached out—through one of their brainwashed servants, naturally—to commission her to work on a new subject for them: some harmless postgrad who seemed to have caught their eye and who they wanted prepared for their long-term ownership. It was the kind of work Amara Rodriguez always took to with relish; all the more so with such exceptional raw material.

Lucy was so bright and bubbly, so disarmingly trusting, and so, so hot. A masterpiece in the making. Amara couldn’t wait to sink her teeth in.

Once Lucy situated herself in Amara’s huge, well-outfitted home gym, she immediately began to warm up with a few basic stretches. She seemed plenty comfortable with exercise already. “So, Lucy,” Amara asked, curious. “What are your goals for these fitness sessions?”

“Oh, I just thought it would be fun to see where you can take me.” Lucy winked; Amara blushed. “But… if I had to pick something, maybe it would be good to get a little more toned? To gain a little extra muscle mass. You know, like you!”

Amara couldn’t resist the opportunity to not-so-subtly flex. She planted her hands on her hips, tensed her abs and biceps, and grinned wolfishly. “Like what you see, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Lucy tittered.

God. Amara couldn’t believe the fun she was about to have.

“Alright.” She clapped her hands. “Why don’t we get started? I want to put you through your paces with a leg day.”

With that, Amara began to lead Lucy through some warm-ups, easy at first, but with gradually increasing intensity. Lucy handled them all with ease, exchanging friendly, flirty conversation with Amara as she did. She was clearly a natural follower, and her eager, peppy presence was such a delight. Amara was almost going to regret putting her into a trance and erasing every last vestige of her free will.

Almost.

“I think it’s time to try you with some weight,” Amara announced after a time, plucking a dumbbell from one of her racks. “Show me a set of squats.”

“You want to see me bounce, Amara?” Lucy teased, taking the weight.

“Anyone would.” Amara licked her lips.

Lucy began to set her stance—then paused. “Actually, could you, like, demonstrate for me?”

Amara cocked an eyebrow. “An ass like that, and you don’t know how to squat?”

Another pleasing titter. “I kinda do! But I always feel like there’s something just a little off with my form, you know? I’m sure you’ll be able to spot it right away, but how about you give me something to compare myself against?”

“Sure you’re not just trying to see me bounce?” Amara ribbed.

“No!” Lucy feigned offense for a brief moment before sticking out her tongue playfully. “Not just that, at least.”

Amara winked at her, then took the dumbbell into her hands, faced the mirror, and demonstrated a perfect goblet squat. She took her time with it, making sure that her form was flawless, although she spent just as much time admiring her reflection in the pleasant knowledge that Lucy was admiring her too. Amara’s Amazonian physique was as well-sculpted as ever, and she was still enjoying the novelty of her punky side-shave being dyed bright blue instead of green. A personal trainer’s first subject was always herself, and Amara was proud of her work.

“Wow!” Lucy clapped her hands giddily as Amara completed the movement. “You look incredible doing that.”

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Amara was happy to enjoy her appreciation.

“It looks like it feels totally natural,” Lucy cooed. “That’s really impressive, it never feels that way to me.”

“Yeah?” Amara cocked her head. She knew she was supposed to be hypnotizing this girl, but for now, it was fun just talking. “Any aches or pains?”

“Nothing like that. It’s just… a lot to think about, you know?” Lucy shrugged; Amara’s eyes were drawn to the way her chest heaved. “All those little cues and movements. Something always slips through my fingers, no matter how hard I try to concentrate.”

Amara’s nostrils flared. She was seeing red. This girl was practically begging for trance. Amara could already see exactly how she was going to do it, and how easy it would be.

“Does that happen a lot?” she probed. “Trouble concentrating?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Lucy replied. “At work, too. Mrs. Adams and Mrs. Adams are always so nice about it though.”

Amara snorted a little. Yeah, she bet they were. “I’m sure you always have a lot to think about. At the gym, at work—all the time, really.”

“For sure.” Lucy groaned and rolled her eyes. “It’s so…”

“Tiring?” Amara suggested.

Lucy nodded gratefully. “I had a feeling you’d understand.”

Amara nodded too. “Of course I do. I’ve been there. It’s only natural to feel that way. Especially when you’re working out. There are so many different things to focus on, aren’t there? Balance, breathing, muscles, form…” She let the end of her sentence hang, an invitation.

Lucy took it without any hint of caution. “Totally!” She paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Reminds me of something someone once said to me.”

“What’s that?”

“That I have a strong body, but a weak mind.”

Amara had to suppress a laugh. “And… who told you that? Mrs. Adams, maybe?”

“Mhm!”

It was difficult to believe anyone could hear something like that and not realize the danger they were in. Amara had to ask. “Didn’t that strike you as a little mean?”

“Oh, no!” Lucy replied. “I got a little mad at first, but eventually I realized she was right. I’ve always been like that, I guess. Hotter than I am smart.”

“Hotter than you are smart,” Amara echoed. She was spoiled for choice with openings. “That makes sense to me. After all, you’re very pretty.” The rising blush in Lucy’s cheeks was a red rag to a bull. “And even being hot takes a lot of brains, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?”

“Of course,” Amara told her. “We were just talking about that, remember? Like with going to the gym and working out. You have so many things to focus on, don’t you? All those different parts of each exercise. You said you have trouble concentrating.”

“Oh! Yeah, right, like that,” Lucy giggled. “Strong body, weak mind. Just like Mrs. Adams said.”

“Strong body, weak mind,” Amara agreed. Lucy already seemed a little fixated on the phrase. Perhaps she had been hypnotically primed with it already—and if so, why not take advantage? “Maybe I can help you with that. Why don’t you show me those squats, and then we’ll talk about how they feel?”

“Sure thing!” Lucy made to take the dumbbell from Amara, then paused. “Actually, sorry, would you mind showing me just one more time? I really want to get it right.”

Amara laughed good-naturedly. Why not? “Of course.”

As Lucy watched adoringly, Amara performed another squat, taking her time, as before, to maintain absolutely perfect form. Her nice, strong body handled the task with ease—but conscious though Amara was of Lucy’s presence and the task ahead, she still found herself submerging into the exercise for a moment. Straight back, chin up, knees flexed but unbending. It really was a lot to concentrate on.

Just like before, Lucy’s thirsty, blushing, appreciative gaze was a fine reward. “Wow,” the young postgrad cooed. “You really do look strong.” She touched a finger to her chin. “Can I ask a silly question?”

“Shoot,” Amara replied, still glowing.

“When do you breathe?” Lucy looked embarrassed. “It sounds silly, but I always get mixed up about that.”

“I take a deep breath beforehand, hold it on the way down, and expel it gradually on the way up.”

“Like…” Lucy’s brow furrowed. She looked like she was struggling to picture it.

“Here.” Amara smiled indulgently. Weak mind was right. “Watch.”

Amara demonstrated another squat, this time deliberately puffing out her chest to emphasize her breathing. It felt surprisingly good to focus on that, for a change. It had long since become second nature, but now that she was actually thinking about how it felt to fill her lungs all the way up in preparation and let it out gradually as she squeezed up out of the squat, a comfortable sense of calm bloomed within her chest.

“Gosh,” Lucy sighed. There it was again, that schoolgirl-with-a-crush reaction that perfectly stroked Amara’s ego. “That really was perfect. You must have spent a long time practicing to get that technique—and that body.”

“I certainly did.” Amara couldn’t resist another flex.

“Wow,” Lucy repeated. “And you seem really smart, too!”

Amara raised an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

“Oh, um, I just mean…” Lucy was pretty cute as she floundered for a moment. “Strong body, weak mind, right? I always feel like the reason my mind is so weak is that I spend so long working on my body, I guess. But you must spend even longer!”

“I like to think I work on both,” Amara remarked, amused.

“I wish I could do that!” Lucy giggled. “But after I work out, I’m always so tired, you know? It’s like… all I can think about is my body. How tired my muscles are. How much everything aches. How fuzzy and bubbly and happy my head is. It’s like I just don’t even want to think, you know?”

“Yeah.” Amara knew that foggy, post-exercise high better than anyone. “I do.”

Lucy nodded sympathetically. “It’s like I’m always making my body stronger and my mind weaker.”

Hearing such an obvious opening brought Amara back to the task at hand, and she realized that she’d been allowing Lucy to keep her distracted. “Alright, enough stalling,” Amara insisted good-naturedly. “Time to squat.”

Lucy nodded, but instead of taking the dumbbell from Amara, she reached for another. “Could you do it with me?” she asked. “You can watch me in the mirror, and I’ll watch you.”

“Sure,” Amara shrugged. They got into position together, facing one of the mirrored walls. Once they were both ready, Amara took the lead and started counting. “One.”

They squatted down together—then back up. Amara watched Lucy closely, and could feel the girl watching her in turn. Lucy’s form was already almost perfect, and watching her delicate, shapely limbs and firm little ass move in concert was all but hypnotic.

“Two,” Amara counted. “Let’s focus on that strong body now.”

Lucy nodded as they performed their second squat. Brainwashing her was going to be child’s play—not to mention a pleasure.

“Three,” Amara continued. “Strong body. Feel yourself be strong. And remember to breathe.”

By way of demonstration, Amara made a show of filling her lungs and slowly emptying them over the course of the motion. Her reward was a pleasant headrush of extra oxygen that meshed nicely with the endorphins flooding her warm limbs.

“Four. Breathe nice and deep. Breathing makes your body strong.”

This time, Lucy followed suit. At least, Amara thought so. She was a little more focused on herself than she ought to have been—but what was the harm? She was enjoying showing off her own strong body as perfectly as possible.

“Five.” Amara counted nice and slowly. She set the rhythm. She was drawing Lucy into her current. “Strong body, weak mind.”

“Six.” Another. This girl was putty in her hands. “Strong body…”

“Weak mind,” she heard Lucy reply.

Perfect. Dominance joined the harmony of pleasant notes buoying Amara’s mood. She felt utterly light. Utterly in control.

“Seven. Strong body, weak mind.”

“Strong body, weak mind.”

The echo from beside her prompted the faintest gasp of pleasure from Amara’s lips. She felt so strong.

“Eight. Strong body, weak mind.”

“Strong body, weak mind.”

Lucy’s agreement pulsed through Amara. They were perfectly in sync. All Amara needed to do was lead and let her follow.

“Nine. Strong body, weak mind.”

Strong body, weak mind.

Amara wasn’t completely sure she could hear the other girl’s voice over the sound of her own breaths and her own heartbeat. It didn’t trouble her. She was strong—even if squatting was starting to leave her feeling weak too. Strong body, weak mind.

Wait, no, that wasn’t what she had-

“Ten. Strong body, weak mind.”

There was no time to wait. Amara’s rhythm carried her onwards, into the next squat. Her weak mind settled into her strong body. Her intimate connection with all of her working muscles demanded her full attention. She sank. She rose. She breathed. She simply was, and did not think. Whatever anxiety had briefly caught her attention slipped away as Amara’s body rewarded her for her devotion. With the set done, Amara could catch her breath and enjoy the feeling. The weight wasn’t much by her usual standards, but exercising in such a slow, rigorous way was an exertion nonetheless. Before she could stand up out of her wide stance, though, Lucy interrupted.

“Let’s keep going.”

And Amara did.

It took her a moment to figure out why. At first, as she continued working out, the action seemed almost autonomous, as if her strong body were simply carrying her onwards by itself, mind in tow. It was a strange feeling, but after a few more squats, Amara reasoned that she was just showing off for Lucy. She wanted this weak, naive young girl to see exactly what she was capable of. She was enjoying the attention. It was nothing more than a little harmless pandering. And it was working.

At least, Amara assumed so. As she checked her form, she found herself unable to look away from her own body in the mirror.

Her own strong body.

“Strong body, weak mind.”

The words rose to Amara’s lips as automatically as the squats possessed her body. She was saying it to Lucy, of course. Was Lucy still exercising along with her? Amara wasn’t sure. That didn’t seem important. What seemed important was that she kept going.

Another squat. Another rep. Another song of endorphins and aching limbs coursing through her. As much as dominance, it was the feeling Amara lived for. She could go on forever.

“Strong body, weak mind.”

It felt good to say that, too. To know that she was bringing Lucy under her spell with every squat and every repetition. It was so easy. Even with her mind beginning to fog over, there was nothing to worry about.

“Strong body, weak mind.”

It really was a nice little mantra, Amara reflected. That little bit of flattery helped to crack open the door to the victim’s mind, and there was a sense of balance to it that worked to appeal to the subject’s intuitive but flawed sense of reason. Mind and body as opposed halves of the self. One strong, one weak.

Amara knew better, of course. She had a strong body, and a-

“Weak mind.”

Amara twitched. Was that right?

It didn’t matter. She had to keep going. As she put herself through squat after squat, even her face remained fixed in place, a mask of tranquility that betrayed only the lightest hints of exertion. Amara wanted to show off for Lucy. She wanted Lucy to see her-

“Strong body, weak mind.”

Another twitch. Amara couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going wrong, somehow. That she was losing control. The intuition failed to crystallize. It was difficult to focus on it now that she was so deep into her set. Performing each rep to perfection consumed her. When Amara tried to orient herself, she realized that she had lost track of how far she was into her set.

“How many is that?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” came Lucy’s voice, a gentle, captivating lilt, so high-pitched and airy it robbed Amara of her concerns. “Just keep going. Show me what that strong body can do, Amara.”

“Right.” Lucy’s glowing, palpable admiration was yet another balm to Amara’s fears. Lucy was right, she didn’t need to worry about it. She was hypnotizing Lucy. She was showing off for Lucy. That was all that mattered.

Amara simply needed to focus on the mantra. What was it again?

“Strong body, weak mind.”

The way Lucy whispered it into her ear made Amara shiver. Was Lucy still working out next to her? Amara couldn’t tell anymore. She couldn’t look. It didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was-

“Strong body, weak mind.”

Amara couldn’t tell if it was her voice or Lucy’s, but regardless, there it was again. That shiver. That pulse. Amara felt stronger than ever. She felt weaker than ever. It was perfect. It was-

Hold on.

What was going on?

“I wonder,” Lucy remarked, “how many women have you hypnotized with this exact method? Making them focus on their bodies and tire themselves out until they’re nothing more than putty in your hands.”

“How… many?” Amara grunted. Her legs were screaming at her, but her body refused to stop. Strong body, weak mind—so weak, she was losing count of everything.

“Plenty, I’m sure,” Lucy cooed. Her voice was changing. She still sounded upbeat and bright and innocent in all the ways that had set Amara perfectly at ease—but all that was gradually falling away, bit by bit, replaced with something far sharper and more dangerous. “So many, you might think you’d have some kind of resistance or alertness against the technique. But as we hypnotists both know, the opposite is so often the case, isn’t it?”

“We…” Amara nodded absently. The way Lucy was speaking to her should have sent alarm bells ringing. Instead, the question occupied the whole of her attention, and Amara couldn’t find any flaw in it. “Yeah, we do.”

“That’s right. You know how the mind works. You know what works on the mind. You know that what we’re doing right now is irresistible. Especially for a weak mind like yours.”

A protest rose to Amara’s lips. Something was definitely wrong. But as she squatted down yet again, her words wouldn’t come. Only Lucy’s. “Strong… body…”

“Weak mind,” the girl finished. That’s right.

Amara found herself nodding too, despite the sense of danger curdling in her gut. Lucy was right. She couldn’t resist.

Resist what?

“Keep going,” Lucy simpered. “Just a little more.”

Amara nodded. She kept going. Kept pushing herself. She understood now. She could feel her body—her strong body—dragging her down. Exhaustion clung to her like a warm, heavy blanket. But she had to keep going. She had to resist. She had to push beyond to keep honing her strong body, despite her weak mind.

“That’s it,” Lucy urged. “Make your body stronger for me. Make your mind weaker for me.”

“Strong body,” Amara echoed robotically. “Weak mind.”

“Strong body, weak mind,” Lucy repeated.

“Strong body, weak mind.”

It was a feedback loop, gaining strength with each repetition. Amara could feel her body strengthening as it yielded to the sheer automatism of the workout regimen—and with it, her mind weakening. Each squat sapped her focus and left her foggy. What was she doing again?

Hypnotizing Lucy.

Right. And hypnotizing Lucy was easy. All Amara had to do was keep working out and keep repeating her mantra.

“Strong body, weak mind.”

It was all going perfectly. Wasn’t it? Amara wasn’t sure. Her reflection was wearing a dreamy, reassuring smile, but there was a warning feeling in her gut that she couldn’t quite place.

“Strong body, weak mind,” Lucy murmured, letting it reverberate through Amara’s emptying skull. “You know, when Mrs. Adams first said that to me, it really did piss me off. I didn’t understand then.”

Mrs. Adams. That name snagged Amara’s attention for a moment—but only for a moment. What Lucy was saying seemed like it should mean something to Amara, but its significance failed to penetrate.

“Strong body, weak mind,” Amara intoned. She couldn’t help it.

“In college, they called me a prodigy. Everyone thought I was a hypnogarch in the making, and I thought that because I was smart and ambitious, I had a strong mind to go along with my nice body,” Lucy explained. She had now shed all pretense of being anything other than what she was: a wolf in sheep’s clothing, albeit one with a collar around her neck. “I thought that I was ready to swim with the sharks. Mrs. Adams and Mrs. Adams showed me what I was missing.”

“S-S… strong…” Amara’s instinctive sense of wrongness kept getting worse and worse. Even though she was hypnotizing Lucy, something was telling her that she needed to stop repeating the mantra. The fact that it was so difficult redoubled her unease. “W-w-weak…”

“Purpose,” Lucy continued, her voice ringing with the kind of absolute, unthinking loyalty that only mind control could produce. “Without my devotion to them, my mind was weak. No matter how smart I was, I was unconsciously crying out for someone else to take the reins. To give meaning to my life.” Amara’s eyes were still fixed on her reflection, but when Lucy spoke again, she could hear the fanatic’s grin growing on the postgrad’s face. “I was just like you.”

Too late—far too late—comprehension dawned on Amara. The bottom dropped out of her stomach as she realized that Lucy was not the one succumbing to hypnosis. She could see it now. She’d been set up by her employers. Lucy had been the perfect bait. It was all suddenly so humiliatingly obvious—but even now, her mind moved at a snail’s pace as it joined one dot to the next. Lucy’s mantra was still coiled around Amara’s thoughts, steadily binding down on what little remained of her free will.

“N-no…” Amara’s grunts of defiance were like the last rays of light from a setting sun. “Ssstoppp.”

As she squatted down, her strong body still Lucy’s puppet, she braced herself to resist. To push back with all her might against the mantra Lucy was sure to feed her. To her surprise, Lucy didn’t.

“That’s right, Amara,” the girl cooed. “It’s time to stop.”

The singular inflection Lucy applied to the word thundered through Amara’s being. Against her will, she froze—positioned at the very bottom of her squat, her thighs crying out at her for relief.

“Good girl,” Lucy told her, with evident pleasure. “I think you’re ready, Amara. Your strong body is at its limit. Your weak mind is mine.”

“Stro…. nnnggg… n-nooo.” Amara was pleading with herself, not Lucy. The words were on her lips. It was so hard not to say it. It was so hard even to remain upright.

“Yes,” Lucy insisted. “Come on. All you have to do is let go.”

There it was again. That inflection. That sense of command. Amara’s body yielded to it at once. She collapsed into a heavy, untidy heap, ass on her ankles. Amara couldn’t help but be grateful for the rest. It should have made it easier to resist, but instead her entire being was melting into the warm, yawning pleasure that awaited her on her knees.

Amara was in so much danger. She had to fight. But she had nothing left to fight with.

“Strong body, weak mind,” Lucy declared triumphantly.

“Strong body, weak mind,” Amara repeated. Despite it all, it felt good to give in.

“That’s right.” Lucy stepped in front of Amara, between the personal trainer and her reflection. Her outfit was as flashy and suggestive as ever, but the expression on her face made it clear she was a poisonous frog, not a ripe fruit. Amara found herself staring into the deep void of the brainwashed girl’s eyes. She could see her own future in them. It was waiting for her. “Now go to sleep.”

Then Amara Rodriguez’s wide, blank eyes saw nothing at all.