It was Rick. The man who had taught him to surrender to chaos, to dance with darkness.

"You..." Lance's world tilted beneath his feet.

"Mother!" The cry tore from one of the girls, raw and desperate.

"They've missed you terribly, Victoria." Rick's voice carried the same warmth it had during their group therapy sessions. "Though I had hoped you'd stay away a bit longer. The show wasn't quite ready."

Vicky's fists burst into flame. "Three weeks. You were in my head for three weeks."

"And look how much you've grown. Your control, your precision. They're all thanks to our little sessions."

The girls flattened themselves against the wall.

One whimpered, "Mother, please."

Vicky didn’t listen. The moment she saw Rick, something snapped inside her. Her scream shattered the murky room as she launched herself at the drama teacher, hands blazing.

But the attack never landed. Her strike passed through empty air as her body locked up mid-motion. Lance watched helplessly as paralysis seized her. First her fingers, then her wrists, her arms, like invisible restraints clicking shut joint by joint. The lockdown crawled up her shoulders, down her spine.

She crumpled to her knees. "No, no, no," she choked out. "Not again. Please not again." She tried to throw another punch, managed to lift her arm halfway before it froze like stone. Again she tried, this time barely able to move at all. Tears spilled down her face as she fought against whatever was left of the Manager's programming. Weeks of violation weren't enough—he'd left something buried so deep that even Lance's intervention couldn't eliminate it entirely.

"I put too much work into you to let you throw it all away like that." Rick sighed, stepping around her frozen form. "You always were my favorite. Such a shame you had to take my Wren from me. A moment of control was all it took."

He turned to Lance. "Maybe I spread myself too thin. Tsk tsk."

Fierce, unstoppable Vicky—trapped in her own body. Two weeks they've spent understanding this new world together. Now she knelt broken on the concrete, fighting against chains no one could see.

And Mitsuki, who'd been searching for Rick from the start. This man had taken everything good and corrupted it. Their trust. Their friendship. Their free will. Enough was enough. He was done.

"But you, Lance." Rick's eyes lit up with that familiar, disgusting enthusiasm. "You're different. The way you break my influence, free the others. It's beautiful to watch."

The first girl lunged at Lance, her movements jerky and unnatural. His fingers brushed her arm as he sidestepped. She stumbled, blinked, then collapsed against the wall.

"I knew from the moment you walked into group that you were different. Such raw talent, such... adaptability."

Two more girls rushed him together. He caught their wrists, channeled Dark Resonance through the contact. They sagged to the floor, gasping as awareness returned.

"The others - all so desperate to be heroes." Rick's hands moved as he spoke, sketching shapes in the air. "Since the day you walked into Elena's circle, I've tried to make you mine. Something always interfered, blocked my influence. But you understand the bigger picture, don't you, Lance? You know true art is in the transformation itself."

He kept walking, running on nothing but spite and determination.

"I'll be honest, Lance. I had every intention of ending things at the gym this morning. Usually I don't keep... well, let's just say you weren't meant to survive. But watching you there, seeing how you broke free..." He gestured loosely while talking. "I thought maybe I'd finally found someone who truly gets it."

Another step. The distance between them shrank with each word.

"The women, I could shape them, perfect them. But the men?" His fingers curled into a fist. "Most just needed a proper send-off. One last moment to shine before burning out."

Now, Lance stood near enough to see the eager light in Rick's eyes, the slight tremor in his gesturing hands. The same expressions he'd worn while teaching Lance to control Morphoplasm.

"Before we continue this touching moment..." Rick nudged Mitsuki forward. "Meet my newest assistant. She may not have abilities, but a detective would be a fascinating role to manage."

Mitsuki stood rigidly between them, her gun trembling in her grip.

“Shoot him.”

Her hands shook harder, the gun's barrel weaving in the air.

"SHOOT!"

Her finger slid off the trigger. Rick clicked his tongue. "Seems this one needs more time to settle in."

Lance didn't break stride. His fingertips grazed Detective Yamada’s elbow, and Dark Resonance pulsed between them. Her muscles unlocked all at once and she pitched forward, suddenly present in her own skin.

"The girls—" Her arm found the wall for support. "Help is coming. We'll get them out." She pushed herself up, made her way to Vicky. "All of you."

"Always rushing the scene." Rick's smile never changed. "No appreciation for timing."

They'd gone through seven days of group therapy. Rick nodding along as they shared their fears, their struggles. Planning which ones to break, which ones to collect, which ones to eliminate. Every reassuring word had been rehearsal. Every supportive gesture just blocking for his twisted performance.

Guess I never needed to voice my intent, Lance thought. This morning, watching these women huddle in their concrete prison under a three-star hotel, something inside him clicked into place. His rage didn't need words. It needed completion.

Morphoplasm swam beneath Lance's skin, a darkness answering darkness. Travelled down his arm. His fist turned to black steel. And he cycled his arma into it. All of it.

Rick spread his arms wide. "Come now, surely we can discuss this like—"

Lance's fist connected instantly. Rick—the drama teacher, the Manager, the monster—didn't have time to use his arma. Not that it mattered. Neural Purge was always active, and as Lance had expected, Rick had invested everything in mind control. Without it, he was well…

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Average.

The blow left nothing recognizable below Rick's eyes. His mouth, nose, and jaw disappeared into red ruin. Only his eyes remained, darting wildly as his brain tried to process its last moments.

Rick's mangled, blood-slick arm jerked upward, searching blindly before finding Lance's cheek.

[Dark Resonance detected hostile arma signature]

└─Warning: Foreign arma manipulation detected

└──Source: Neural pathways compromised

└───Initiate disruption sequence? Y/N

“No.”

WARNING: Hostile arma connection established

└─Neural bridge: Active

You're magnificent Take it. Take my power. Make it yours.

Lance did.

Core Power: [Appropriation (Alpha II)] activated

└─Target: [Human Psion (1st Evolution)]

└──Warning: Arma signature critically weak

└──Warning: Assimilation from depleting arma signature may have unforeseen consequences

└───Assimilation in progress...

Assimilation complete

└─New ability acquired. Internalizing...

New Essence Power acquired: [Neural Dominion (Alpha II)]

└─[Neural Dominion (Alpha II)]: Ability to interface with and manipulate neural patterns

└──[Mode: Emotional Resonance] Appropriated

└───[Emotional Resonance]: Enables subtle manipulation of emotional states through arma synchronization

Merry Christm—

Rick's arm slipped from the nullifier’s face to strike the sweat-slick floor with a wet slap as Lance stepped past the mess of flesh with the steady rhythm of a clock's pendulum, stopping a few feet from where Vicky knelt. Pieces of her blonde hair had fallen forward, hiding her face. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

"Vicky."

Her head snapped up at his voice. Tears had carved clean tracks through the dust on her cheeks. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against the concrete floor.

"He didn't—" Her voice cracked. "He didn't even let me mourn her. Valentina died and I... I couldn't even feel it. Three weeks and I couldn't even cry for my own sister."

Lance took a step closer, hand half-raised to offer comfort.

"Don't." Her whole body recoiled. "Don't touch me. Dont!"

Lance's hand dropped immediately. He backed away, giving her space while his consciousness splintered to make sense of it. Vicky's shoulders curled inward and her fingers scraped at the rough floor. Her breath stuttered and caught like a faulty engine, and she wouldn't meet his eyes. The steady rhythm abandoned Lance as he took another step back, the weight of what he'd done to Rick turning his heart to stone.

One of the rescued women wedged herself further into the corner, rocking slightly. Another reached toward Vicky but stopped short. “Mother—,” Her arm suspended between them, frozen mid-gesture.

Mitsuki fumbled with her holster's clip, missing it twice before securing her weapon. She looked at Rick's body, then Lance, then back to Rick.

"I don't—" Mitsuki started. "I don't know what to do here."

"Arrest me?" Lance said. “That's usually how these things go."

"Is it?" Mitsuki's laugh held no humor. "Because I've spent weeks convinced you were my killer. But it was him. It was always him. I saw his face at the apartments. The notes, the symbols – all of it pointed to someone in theater, but I kept focusing on you because you were always there. At every scene. Somehow involved."

"Would you rather I'd left you under his control? Left all of them trapped in whatever nightmare he'd wrapped around their minds?"

"I don't know." Mitsuki tried to massage away her headache. "God help me, I don't know."

Lance studied the detective's haggard face as she rubbed the dark circles above her cheekbones. He wondered when she'd last gotten a full night's sleep.

"You remember Elena Rodriguez?"

"The therapist? Yes, from the community center."

"Get her to take Vicky in for a few days. She needs… she needs someone who understands this kind of trauma."

Vicky's shoulders had stopped shaking, but she remained on her knees, staring at nothing.

"And what about you?" Mitsuki asked.

"You know how to reach me. When you figure out what you want to do with all this—" Lance gestured at the scene around them. "Call me."

***

[Day 22]

"I already said there's no use worrying about it. The important thing is you're both safe now."

"The gym though..."

"Insurance'll cover it. Not the first time something like this happened."

"For real? When was the last time someone burned down your gym?"

"'18. Electrical fire. Though I guess mind control and arson is a first."

Diego leaned forward in his wheelchair. "Speaking of that shit, how'd you break out of Rick's control, anyway? Like one minute you're all 'must destroy everything' and the next you're normal again."

"Remember those breathing exercises Dr. Patel showed us?"

"Bro, are you seriously telling me you meditated your way out of mind control?"

"Not exactly. More like... you know how phantom pain works? Your brain processes the signals even though there's no actual damage?"

"Right. Stub your toe and suddenly it hurts ten times worse than it should."

"That's exactly it. Mental control works the same way. False signals your brain processes as commands."

Marcus crossed his arms. "And you figured this out how exactly?"

Of course, Lance didn't mention his actual theory had been a bit more complicated - something about Pain Nullification and Dark Resonance teaming up to play mental bouncers. Not that it mattered now. He hadn't been able to test it until Rick hijacked his brain and Diego's punch forced Pain Nullification to kick in. The result? Neural Purge - his brain's very own firewall against unwanted mental intruders. Dr. Patel would probably call it a 'fascinating breakthrough in neural defense mechanisms.' Two weeks of getting his brain hijacked had finally paid off.

"Trial and error, mostly. Lot of experimentation with pressure thresholds."

"You experimented while mind controlled?"

"Had to understand how the signals worked. Find the right pressure point to trigger a defense response."

"Man, only you would turn getting mind controlled into a science experiment."

"Better than ending up in a wheelchair again."

"Too soon, hermano. Too soon." Diego's wheel squeaked as he shifted. "Hey, you heard from Vicky?"

"She needs time," Lance said.

"Yeah... yeah, I get that."

The kitchen went quiet save for the refrigerator’s steady drone.

Diego tilted back in his wheelchair. "You know what's messed up? Christmas Day and we're sitting in your kitchen while the gym's just ashes."

"Could be worse. Could be stuck at another one of those company potlucks."

Diego’s eyebrows jumped. "That bad?"

"You're lucky you never worked at Qualtech. Nothing worse than Christmas potluck when Prisha from procurement brought her 'special' biryani."

"But I love biryani."

"Not that one. Pretty sure it counts as biological warfare."

Marcus drummed his fingers on the counter. “We gonna sit here all day or actually doing this?”

"I mean, technically I am sitting..."

"Don't start with me, Diego. If someone had torched my place, you think I'd be sitting here having a beer?” Marcus's fingers stopped drumming on the counter. “And you're sure this is safe?"

"Yes, sir," Diego said.

"Just seems stupid to risk it.”

"I'm freaked out too.” Lance stared at his untouched bottle. "But all the tests show once you've got the gene therapy, it's impossible for the alcohol to hurt you. Dr. Patel checked everything herself. And you know I trust her with my life."

Diego perked up. "She's never wrong about this stuff."

Marcus picked up his beer. "Fine. Here's to... not dying, I guess."