Gas - The Early Trials

'What was that?'

'I told her not to be afraid to show her true feelings for me,' Dr Tilley replied. 'I've caught her staring at my photo on the back of the practice wall often enough. I knew she was in love with me. The women knew it. They told me, and they told me to go to her.'

'And you used the gas on her,' Sarah C. said. 'Made her your fucktoy.'

'On the contrary,' Dr Tilley replied. 'I told her to be free. Nobody's conditioning but her own.' He smiled. 'When she asked to marry me, it was of her own free will. Marsha Winstone is one of the most free willed women on Earth.'

'Thanks to Batch 23.'

Dr Tilley nodded. 'Thanks to Batch 23.'

Rosamund Callas

When Rosamund Callas awoke, it was with a newfound clarity.

She opened her eyes, stirred, looked around her. She was in the dentist's surgery. That man. Tilley. The man who'd put her girls under, made them do ... she shuddered with what she thought was disgust.

It had been two years since the events of the college orgy. Dr Tilley had made gaseous seduction into an art form with that little oeuvre.

He'd started with Judith Jones, a divorced housewife whose daughter, Hannah, just happened to be in possession of the access keys to the Students' Union. She'd managed to obtain copies of them from her former lover, one of the janitorial staff, who'd entrusted her with them one night while he and his mates had gone out drinking on college time. She, being the enterprising sort, had managed to copy them without informing her paramour. News of this had reached Dr Tilley's ears through one of Hannah's friends, a dental student at the med school where Tilley was lecturing, in his final year as a lecturer before embarking upon his new, more lucrative career as a criminal.

Of course the lover's exploits were discovered; he was sacked; but the locks were never changed, mostly due to budget cuts – there were a lot of keys on that key chain. The master keys were simply placed in the possession of a much larger, older woman, who of course preferred her nights in with a cocoa and EastEnders, and who rarely was bothered to come to college after dark.

All of which suited Hannah fine.

The older woman, head of the janitorial services, had been in the students' union bar when the gas had hit them, taking advantage of the immense staff discounts on spirit liquors and wines while she could.

When Hannah, Judith, Dr Tilley and Hannah's friends Gemma and Michelle were done, several dozen people – students, staff and the janitor – were lying asleep, sprawled on the floor, lying around under the tables around the perimeter of the dance floor or slumped against the bar dozing in half consciousness. It was a matter of seconds for Dr Tilley to address the smoky dance floor with the Asimov, delivered through the DJ's PA system, the DJ himself being pretty much out of it at the time himself.

When everybody woke up, they woke up horny, as Dr Tilley had suggested to them. Everyone had some secret desire or other, and everyone woke up next to that secret desire. When the DJ played the tracks Dr Tilley had left him, everyone in the room was naked and thrashing about on the dance floor, copulating with whoever was close enough for them to grab.

Amidst the carnal excess of that evening were two young girls, both having just turned eighteen; the Twins, Janet and Marianne Causton. They were stripped naked, tied to tables and royally fucked as the crowd watched, by the sultry Gemma, fair haired Michelle, and by Hannah, who licked one of them out on the table as the crowd roared their approval. That was, of course, followed by sex with two boys, volunteers from the audience who were only too willing to participate in the night's festivities.

All of this, Rosamund Callas had found out from her investigations into the night's events. The details of the event had been sketchy, due to the participants' sudden loss of memory when it came to actually remembering anything about the people who'd apparently masterminded this whole event, and who'd appeared in the middle of the dance floor, naked.

They remembered the naked. They couldn't remember the faces, the build, whether they were white or black, male or female, red haired or bald.

After two frustrating years, Rosamund had been on the verge of giving up, when the phone call came through from a reporter, David R., claiming that he had figured out something about this Satanic Svengali who'd seduced a room full of people seemingly without any effort at all, through as-then unknown means.

David R. had invited her to visit a specific dental practice on a certain afternoon later in the week. Rosamund had driven into the practice's car park, narrowly missing some gentleman as her haste and rage made her inattentive to everything but justice for her girls.

Half an hour later, Rosamund had been past caring for justice, or anything else for that matter. Along with the townie, that business woman, the two lads, the receptionist and some other dentist in one of the other rooms, Rosamund Callas was weeping with unashamed laughter as the gas hit her hard.

And now, she was awake, lying in the dentist's chair, alone.

Rosamund sat up, looked around the room. Apart from the chair and the usual units she'd come to associate with a dental practice – the X – Ray screen, the machine itself, posters, paraphernalia – the only other item was a DVD player at the foot of the couch and a large TV screen. There was a note attached. Rosamund looked at it.

It read:- TURN THE TV ON AND PLAY THE DVD. YOU WILL HAVE ALL YOUR ANSWERS.

- Dr. T

Dutifully, Rosamund turned on the TV and the DVD player, and sat back on the dentist's couch.

The dark screen suddenly lit up with what looked like a darkened room, filled with people dancing amid coloured lights. Rosamund gasped as she realised that this was the college Student's Union dance floor.

She was watching video footage of the College Orgy.

Rosamund gasped again as she caught sight briefly of her two girls sitting together. The cameras lingered over Janet and Marianne Causton, drinks and cigarettes in their hands, enjoying themselves.

Guilty pleasures, Rosamund thought, and nectar began to flow from her flower. She squeezed her hands between her thighs, feeling the desire rise, unable to stop it, not knowing where it was coming from.

Suddenly, as she continued to watch, she saw the action cutting back and forth between the wide shot of the whole dance floor, to individual faces, as each began to succumb to the gas. Rosamund watched as the DJ, the students at the bar, various people on the dance floor and seated around the floor at the tables, began to sway, woozy and heavy of limb, their eyes beginning to droop. Students and staff began to yawn heavily, nodding. A few, seated directly underneath the vents, passed out first, slumping in their chairs or passing out on the dance floor.

Rosamund's face was flushed by now; her hands were pulling off her panties, her skirt, as she pressed her thighs together. As her hands wandered to her blouse to take off her clothes, she saw something that made her groan.

She saw her girls succumbing to the gas, the camera lingering on them as they began to blink and yawn, to nod and sway as their bodies grew heavy. Their drinks spilled from nerveless hands as first Janet, then Marianne, slowly slid to the floor.

There must've been multiple cameras watching, thought Rosamund as she feverishly masturbated on the couch, watching the slow motion footage as the scene of her girls passing out was repeated. They shot this for my benefit. Rosamund gasped and shuddered as sexual arousal coursed through her like fire.

When the door opened suddenly, Rosamund glanced towards the door to see who it was. It was that pretty blonde receptionist, staring at her in shock and surprise. Behind her were whispering and moaning sounds echoing those on the TV; that bloody Dr Tilley was only holding another orgy of his own next door.

Then the moment of lucidity was lost. Rosamund moaned, resumed masturbating in front of the receptionist, uncaring who saw her, or what anyone would think. All she had, all the answers she desired, was right in front of her, on the TV.

Rosamund Callas had never felt happier.

'We're here,' Helga said, through the intercom. The car pulled around, stopped outside a large mansion. Helga got out, her shoes crunching on gravel, and opened the door for Sarah C. and Dr Tilley.

'Thank you, Helga,' Dr Tilley said. 'Park the car, my dear, and then come to the living room, in your usual attire.'

'Yes, Doctor,' Helga replied briskly.

'So what happens now?' Sarah C. asked, as she and Dr Tilley walked up the steps towards the open front door.

'The next phase,' Dr Tilley replied. 'It has been four years, you know, since the reception gassing; six years since the College Orgy. I am, as you might have guessed by now, a patient man.'

The main hall was spacious, echoing, and crowded. Two dozen people stood waiting for him. Sarah C. recognised the people from the reception area, including Ms Callas, Sadie, Beverley, Justine of course, the Keeley Boys, Miss Mostyn and that girl Connors. All the faces turned to look at Dr Tilley as he entered.

'Welcome home, stranger!' came a voice from the stairs. Sarah C. looked, saw Marsha Winstone descending the stairs, in an elegant silk print dress.

Beside her was Sarah C's old boss, David R.

'David!' Sarah cried excitedly. David pushed through the crowd surrounding Dr Tilley, made his way towards Sarah. They hugged, kissed, as the rest of the crowd gathered round Dr Tilley.

'Where's Helga?' Marsha asked, as she parted from the kiss.

'Parking the car round the back,' Dr Tilley replied. 'Who else have you brought here today?'

'Take a look,' Marsha replied. Dr Tilley looked.

He saw the people from the reception. Miss Mostyn approached him, smiling.

'Daniella,' he said. 'So good to see you again.'

Daniella gave Dr Tilley a peck on the cheek. 'You too, Henry,' she replied.

'Sorry I had to include you in the experiment,' he said. 'It'd have given too much away if I'd sent everybody off except me and the girls.'

'I'm all right with it,' Miss Mostyn replied. 'I inherited the practice after you left. It's making a fortune, not least due to its notoriety. People flock to have their teeth drilled in The Infamous Mad Dentist's Chair, even though we've upgraded it three times since you left us.'

'So, then, doing well?'

'Absolutely, thank you.'

'Good to hear it,' Dr Tilley said, pressing on. He greeted and acknowledged the Keeley boys, received a kiss on the cheek from Sadie, Justine and Beverley in turn, and shook the hand of David R.

'No hard feelings,' Dr Tilley said.

'None,' David R. replied. 'I quit the job, moved into advertising. I'd been thinking of leaving anyhow. The job was getting too morbid, nothing but war, war, war, terror, terror, terror, global warming and tap-dancing fucking penguins, and everybody being told not to talk about the real issues going on, the real problems.

'You know there's a senior judge calling for everybody's DNA to go on file, whether or not they've done anything?'

'You don't say,' Dr Tilley said. 'Have to do something about that. Call whatshername, that senior judge we snared last July with a tampered gas feed into her home.'

'Markham. Rebecca Markham.'

'That's the one. Talk to her about putting a little negative PR spin on that plan. Bloody monsters, think they can make slaves out of us all. Brrr.'

Dr Tilley turned, saw a calm Oriental face looking at him.

'Blimey. Kelly Tan,' he said.

'Mrs Kelly R., now,' Kelly replied. 'I'm expecting his second child.'

'Nice one,' said Dr Tilley. 'How old's the first one now? Two?'

'Yes,' Kelly replied. 'You know we called him Henry.'

'Yes, you mentioned,' Dr Tilley chuckled.

'Hi,' interrupted someone to Kelly's right. Dr Tilley turned, smiled.

'Remember us?' asked Judith Jones. Behind her, Hannah, Judith's daughter.

'Yes, I do,' said Dr Tilley, kissing Judith deeply. 'How are you, sweetheart?'

'Feeling okay,' Judith replied. 'Though it took us eight months to kick the smoking habit you put us onto.' She glanced at Hannah, who nodded.

'Sorry about that, love,' Dr Tilley said. 'That was the old stuff. The new stuff doesn't need nicotine to make the suggestions fast. On the plus side, when it came time for you to quit, that much worked, didn't it?'

'Like a charm,' Hannah replied. 'One day, we were both sitting in the living room, smoking; the next, we'd put our cigarettes into the bin, not a word. Never went back to it again. Just like that.'

Dr Tilley shook his head in amazement. 'I never thought a delayed command would ever work, not with so long an interval,' he said. 'But then Batch 19 was always the best for long term post–hypnotic suggestions like that.'

'So when will you do the same with me?' Sarah C. asked behind Dr Tilley.

'You know that cigarette you smoked in the plane, honey?' Dr Tilley asked. 'That was the last one you'll smoke again. Check your purse.'

Sarah C. looked in her handbag. There'd been a packet of cigarettes and a lighter in there since the reception orgy, four years ago. Now there wasn't.

'Bugger me,' she said. 'When did I do that?'

'At the airport,' Dr Tilley replied. 'You were reaching for them, stopped, left the lot on the nearest empty bench and walked away.'

Dr Tilley turned away from Sarah C. at that point, because Rosamund Callas had come back into his field of view. Behind him were her two girls, the Causton Twins, now young women of 24.

'Mazz, Janet,' Dr Tilley said. 'How are you?'

'We're fine,' said Mazz, glancing at her sister and her mother. 'We're all fine.'

'I'm still Callas,' Rosamund said. 'I never went back to my husband's surname, Causton. The girls kept it, though, to honour their Dad.'

'Do you feel sorry for what happened?'

Rosamund shook her head, smiling. 'I'd never felt that way before. When I got home, I was no longer seeing the girls as victims, through the lens of a tabloid. I'd seen them growing up; in that video, I'd seen them grown up.'

'And you two?' Dr Tilley asked.

'We had the time of our lives,' Janet giggled.

'We had absolutely no inhibitions whatsoever,' Marianne added, giggling.

'Good,' Dr Tilley replied, with a wry grin. 'Who else is here?'

By then, more people had come in; all the principal players in his little games to date, including several from the College Orgy, and apologies from those others who could not attend the party.

Gemma, Michelle and Hannah were all still good friends, even after graduating; Marsha had taken Piper and the Keeley boys under her wing in the company, given them decent jobs for a real wage working ultimately for Dr Tilley.

There were other success stories from some of Dr Tilley's undocumented experiments, key people whose lives had been changed, as all those subjects from Judith to Sarah C.'s lives had been changed, through exposure to gas.

'Do you know, by the way, what day it is today?' asked David R. as Sarah C. walked past a knot of those subjects. People shook their heads.

'Today,' David R. said, 'Dr Tilley turns forty eight.'

There were cries of surprise and delight from the crowd. A few people turned, greeted Dr Tilley with "Happy Birthday" and "Many Happy Returns".

The crowd fell silent. Dr Tilley turned with the crowd. A figure had appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a sexy white evening gown.

'Aggie,' Dr Tilley breathed, as Dr Agatha Claymore made her way down the stairs, the crowd parting to allow her to pass.

Aggie and Dr Tilley embraced one another, kissed warmly. 'Oh, how have you been?' he asked, when they separated.

'It's been a while,' Aggie replied. 'I certainly saw life in a more positive light after you.'

They hugged briefly, before Dr Tilley made his way to the steps. He turned, watching as the crowd turned to face him expectantly. As he turned, some people came from a side door behind the crowd, carrying video cameras and equipment. Dr Tilley waited for them to signal their readiness before continuing.

'You all know what happens now,' he said. 'It's my birthday today, and so there might as well be a party to celebrate.'

The crowd burst into applause. Dr Tilley looked at them all, admiringly.

'I've subjected you to what some might consider an unspeakable horror,' he said,' but truth to tell, what's more unspeakable? A man who has to use a gas to bring about submission, or someone with a gun? Someone whose chemicals calm the nerves and still the fear, or someone who points weapons at people and rules through fear?'

'I have, for the most part, given you all a taste of what it must be like to live. Truly live, without guilt or fear of discovery by The Authorities, that crypto-fascist State that's always lurking in the back of people's heads when they contemplate committing sin.

'I've given you a taste, then sent you on your way, your bodies and minds cleansed, purged of societally–imposed artificial notions of shame and guilt, the Judeo-Christian crap that we are all somehow dirty, just because as adults we are capable of having sex, choosing whom we sleep with, whom we can love.

'By giving you a taste of the slave collar, I've freed you; by taking your minds away, I have given you your thoughts and feelings back.'

He looked at the expectant crowd. 'All of you have placed yourselves in key positions here and there, and armed with supplies of Batch 23 and, as of last year, our ultimate refinement, Batch 29, you've done what I've asked you all to do. You've subjected hundreds of key people to the gas, given them Asimovs, made them aware of the harm they are doing to people by being so bloody selfish.

'Why did I ever do all of this?' Dr Tilley asked. 'Why? Because individuals are smart; but people as a collective whole are dumb, frightened, panicky. Those who crave power know this, which is why they bring about the lash, Draconian and futile new laws, databases, CCTVs on every street corner. They are all so deathly afraid that we will learn the truth about them: that they're little more than clowns, to be treated with scorn and contempt, they and the laws they keep bringing in which only seem to benefit people in their position, at the expense of everyone else.

'Well, there's now a new power in town. The power Batch 23 and Batch 29 brings about. Loyalty. Lasting, chemically induced, loyalty. What else do you think could keep a people together so long, have them working together, knowing that by doing what they're doing, by following their instructions, they are each and every one running the risk of a death sentence for treason by defying those who no longer deserve the power they hold over us?'

There was a sudden crashing all around them, and screaming. Black clad police officers emerged from all the doorways, crashing through windows, barking orders. The crowd turned to look at them all, disturbingly unafraid, brazenly defiant, unarmed. Smiling beatifically, even.

'Do you want to shoot these people?' Dr Tilley asked, quietly, as the cops stood, guns aimed at his people. 'They already know we're all going to die; at your hands, by accident, from old age. You'll never be able to frighten them. Or me,' he said, turning to look at the camera. 'But I can do this.'

He smiled, as the camera zoomed in, and the signal went out across the country, breaking into every broadcast, digital and terrestrial, popping up all over the Internet. 'Hear me,' he said, in calm, measured tones. 'It's half past kissing time, and time to kiss again.'

Everything Changed.