Powerless

In addition to the standard "horrible twisted shit from the depths of Feo's mind, viewer discretion is advised" warning, I must also give a "psychedelic trip inspired by Satoshi Kon, will probably confuse the hell out of you at first" warning. (If you don't know who Kon is, I'll compare it to Inception instead.) Anyways, if I've done my job right, it should start making sense by the end of the first chapter. As always, comments and criticism are welcome.

Chapter 1: The Illusionist

Sandra watches herself in the mirror as she pulls the mask from her face. Her reflection is beautiful, stunningly so, and she blows a kiss at it before she hides it again. But this is a lie.

She takes the mask away again, and her reflection shows empty blackness, no face to be found. In this manner, she's intimidated more than a few criminals. This, too, is a lie.

Once more she unmasks, as she does every night, forcing herself to confront the truth. She runs her hand across the scarred ruin . . .

-- -- -- --

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP! The alarm radio jolted Sandra awake.

"The Crimson Five have gone missing after a confrontation with an unknown foe. As yet, it is uncertain whether they are still alive . . ."

As if by habit, Sandra reached out and felt for a mask on her bedtime table. It was only after she failed to find one that she realized she'd been dreaming. I need to stop listening to the news, she thought, punctuating her resolution by hitting "snooze" harder than was strictly necessary.

It hadn't taken long after the dreams began for her to move a mirror to the wall beside the bed. She checked it now, proving to herself that her face was the same as ever.

Pretty as a mask, she caught herself thinking, and it's all mine. Not a blemish to be found. It's no wonder I'm so scared of burns . . .

She shut herself up and lay back in bed, resting until the alarm went off again.

-- -- -- --

Sandra's inheritance had been sizable enough that, so long as she lived cheaply, she'd never have to work. She'd long ago done the math, concluding that marrying and raising children would not mean living cheaply, but thanks to two modern miracles--nightclubs and birth control pills--that did not preclude her current lifestyle.

She always slept until two in the afternoon, but she waited for the clock to strike six before she made her grand entrance. By then, the dance floor was already crowded, couples shifting and breaking apart minute by minute as she watched.

A leggy blond girl had briefly separated from the boy she'd come in with. "Might I have this dance?" Sandra asked loudly, and more quietly she followed up with, "Don't ruin the moment." She led the confused blond through a slow, romantic dance, and she finished with a kiss before releasing her. A little girl-on-girl should draw men's eyes quite nicely, she thought.

She wasn't sure what made her pick him out from the crowd, standing alone at the edge of the dance floor and quietly sipping a drink. He was handsome, after a certain fashion, with pale grey eyes and the figure of a runner, but it seemed that no one other than her had given him a second look. For just a moment, his eyes met hers, but something in them forced her to look away. I'll make him my target for tonight, she decided.

She danced with quite a few good-looking boys and girls before she made her way over to him, but he didn't seem at all surprised to be chosen over them. He'd already set his drink aside, and he didn't seem so much as buzzed as he introduced her to a dance she didn't recognize. "Was that good enough for you?" he asked once the song had ended.

"You move as smoothly as you dress," she replied. "There's something about you that really draws a girl in--I still haven't figured out what. Perhaps I could solve your mystery more easily in a more private setting." (This was not as great a risk as might be assumed--were he to try something untoward where no prying eyes could see, he would find that she was stronger and more vicious than she looked.)

"I doubt you could solve all my mysteries," he said, and she suspected he wasn't joking. "But you're right, this place is a little loud. You seem like a lovely girl, and I'll gladly follow where you lead."

-- -- -- --

Back at her condo, she decided their conversation would go best accompanied by light music (lighter than the dance tunes at the club, at least.) Unfortunately, her antique record player had finally given up the ghost, and the first thing she found on the alarm radio was the news. "Tonight's retrospective on the missing Crimson Five will begin with the Enchantress. This mysterious illusionist has seldom been seen without a comedy mask, and is the only one of the Five whose true name and face are still unknown . . ."

She was a little too hasty to turn off the radio. "You don't like supers?" the grey-eyed man asked.

"Every time I hear about them, I have strange dreams," she replied. "What's it matter to you? Are you--" A metaphorical light bulb shone over her head. "You are, aren't you? People only notice you when you want them to."

"I've never been the type for tights," he told her. "I am merely a sort of weaver. I assure you that my threads cannot control your actions, only draw your interest." There was a hint of levity to his smile. "I didn't even need them to draw it now."

"What's your story, then? How'd you get to be this way?"

To her surprise, he answered. He described a life spent in loneliness, always wondering what other people truly thought. He told her what it felt like when he first made his way into someone's mind--how it hurt to learn how much she hated him. He spoke of the search he'd undertaken to find and help others like himself.

"You interest me, Sandra," he finished. "I've watched you, both awake and in your dreams, and I've seen how deep your pain goes. I wasn't expecting to reveal myself this early, but I'd rather make the offer now than lie to you. Sandra, how'd you like for me to make your sorrow go away?"

"How would you do that?" she asked, her tone lascivious.

"It begins like this," he replied, kissing her square on the lips.

It would not be true to say that the sensation was indescribable--it was quite similar to what she associated with a tongue across her breasts. To have that same feeling on her lips, though, was as strange as it was wonderful. He changed focus to her cheek, then down to the hollow of her neck, and wherever he touched, pleasure followed.

Her dress hit the floor, soon followed by what little she wore underneath. He knelt as his tongue trailed down her body, stopping in a familiar place and circling counterclockwise. "Keep doing that," she sputtered between gasps, "and I might collapse."

He pulled his tongue away and looked up at her, his grey eyes merry. "Do you want me to go?"

"If you've got anything I'd rather not catch, now's the time to tell me. Otherwise, get those pants off and hop into bed."

As she lay back, he paused at her entrance. "Tell me about your dreams," he said. "Keep talking as long as you can."

"There's this girl," she began, "who used to be pretty. She was caught in a fire" (at that, he entered her), "and she wasn't so pretty anymore. People saw her as pretty--that should not feel this good--but it didn't always work--that really should not feel this good--so she put on a mask--" With that, her words became unintelligible.

They lay motionless together, him on top of her. "What were you afraid of?" he asked.

She racked her brain. "I don't remember. I was telling you about something, just a moment ago, wasn't I? Something I'm better off not remembering."

"I'm happy to have helped you," he told her as he withdrew. "I'm afraid there are other places I need to be, but I'll be back as soon as I can."

-- -- -- --

Five bodies lay on a concrete floor. A grey-eyed man knelt beside the nearest, pulling off a comedy mask.

Had her illusions remained, he might have seen a thousand things, from a flawless Venus to a creature of nightmares. But now that she was caught in an illusion of a different sort, he could see her as she truly was, and lay a kiss upon her ruined lips.

"Sleep, my bride, and dream of me. Be happy in your world of dancing and drinking. Be only Sandra, and forget the life in which you were called the Enchantress."

His time was limited, of course. So long as the others retained the hopes and fears from which their powers stemmed, there would always be a risk that they would break free. Sandra herself had come dangerously close to waking before he'd taken away her memories.

The dream weaver stood, and turned his attentions to the next in line.

Chapter 2: The Strongman

"All right, chump, hand over your wallet."

Julian takes in the ski mask, the gun, and the bravado. "You're trying to mug me? Seriously?"

"Don't talk back to me, little man! I've killed plenty of jackasses like you for talking back!"

"No, you haven't. This is your first mugging, isn't it? You're standing way too close." He crushes the barrel of the gun in his hand. "Besides, all the criminals around here know better than to mess with me."

It doesn't take much to reduce the mugger to panic. Within two minutes, he's repeating after Julian: "I'll never break the law again . . ."

-- -- -- --

"Wake up, Julian! You know the Master will fire you if he catches you sleeping!"

Julian groaned and opened one eye. It appeared that he hadn't even taken off his shoes before collapsing into the armchair. "If he fired me, then I wouldn't have to vacuum this mansion anymore. Is there even anything left to clean?"

Lucas was all smiles once he was certain Julian was awake. "Of course, silly! You haven't gotten any of the dust under the furniture! Now hurry and get up--I need to get back to scrubbing the toilets before I'm seen!"

Once Lucas was out of sight, Julian stood and took another look around him. The vacuum cleaner was still plugged in, the furniture was still old and absurdly heavy, and the floor was still an infuriatingly fragile wood that marked at the slightest provocation. Julian had no desire to be lectured again for scratching it, so he once again made an effort to tilt the armchair forward rather than sliding it.

"One, two, three . . . Damnit!" I hate being scrawny.

It seemed that Lucas's intervention had been well-timed, because a quiet cough soon alerted Julian to a presence behind him. "Overwhelmed?"

Authority is a funny thing. Julian often told Lucas that it was ridiculous to call their employer "Master"--"We're servants, not slaves!" He promised himself nightly that on the next day, he'd stride confidently up to the Master and greet him as "boss." And yet, whenever he looked into those pale grey eyes . . . "Not at all, Master. I was just planning what to do next."

"It's late, far past the time you should be done. Go home, and sleep--you'll have your plan in the morning."

At the time, all Julian thought was that he was grateful not to have been fired. "Thank you, Master."

The Master left him with one last word of advice. "You don't always need to use your head, if you can get someone else to think with his."

-- -- -- --

Julian awoke to the sound of a refrain that was almost familiar. "Get up, Julie! Work starts in an hour!"

"Suck my dick, Lucas." Julian wondered once more why he'd ever agreed to share an apartment with him.

To his surprise, Lucas laughed. "First time I've heard that metaphor from you, Julie."

"I say that all the . . ." This was when Julian finally realized how high his voice had gotten. "Damn it, I'm still dreaming, aren't I?"

Lucas was starting to get irritated. "Maybe you're dreaming that you finally learned to drive. I'm sick of being late because of you."

Julian rolled out of bed in a less-than-dignified manner, then stood and faced Lucas. "Definitely a dream. Two big things give it away." He grasped Lucas's right hand, pressing it firmly against the dream-body's chest. "Might as well have some fun tormenting you, though."

Sure enough, Lucas looked horrified. "Julie--are you all right?"

"Are you really this much of a dweeb, or do I just dream you this way?" He let go of Lucas's hand to strip off the dream-body's nightshirt and bra, and sure enough, Lucas didn't look away. "You just keep getting redder and redder. Any more of this, and you might . . ." He put a hand to Lucas's pants. "Explode." This is gay as hell, he thought, but if it's just a dream, who cares?

"Julie, you're not well--" Lucas didn't get to say much before Julian tackled him to the floor. The dream-body's lips were against Lucas's lips, and the dream-body's breasts were against Lucas's chest--and then Lucas shoved, and the dream-body's head smacked against a wardrobe.

That hurt, he thought. It doesn't normally hurt when I'm dreaming . . .

-- -- -- --

Julian didn't bother to knock before barging into the study. "What the hell did you do to me?" he demanded. "How did you even do it?"

The Master didn't so much as stand from his chair. "I lent you the tools with which to solve your problem," he replied. "What you did with them is your own concern."

"Damn you! Me and Lucas--I'm never going to live this down!"

"Who's vacuuming under the furniture?" the Master asked.

"Does it matter who's vacuuming under the damn--"

"Lucas is." The Master didn't raise his voice, but he didn't need to. "And who do you think will be cooking dinner tonight?"

". . . Lucas will?"

"And, provided you let him touch those lovely tits beforehand, who do you think will clean the toilets the next time you're assigned to do so?"

"Lucas will." Julian was surprised to find himself laughing. "He's that easy to control?"

"There are greater powers in this world than the strength of arm you revere, and I am happy to pass this one to you. However, there is a complication. So long as you think of yourself as a man, you can't remain a woman forever. Your body will change back unless you can somehow affirm your femininity."

"I'm already wearing maid clothing . . ." Julian put two and two together. "Oh hell no!"

"It should only require your mouth. I'll volunteer myself if you'd rather not do it with Lucas."

Julian could feel his body already shifting, breasts slowly shrinking away. Yet he stood his ground. "No way!"

"The past won't change, you realize. It will merely be differently tinted."

"I'm not doing it!"

"If you don't, Lucas will still remember that you tried to force yourself on him--as a man, no less."

That managed to shut Julian up.

"We won't be interrupted in here." The Master stood from his chair. "Kneel in front of me. Take as long as you need to prepare."

Within a minute, the Master's pants were around his ankles, and Julian was nervously running his hand up and down an implement he'd never expected to find dangling in front of his face. It obediently hardened under his touch, and once it passed level, he rewarded it with a lick. Maybe this won't be so bad, he thought.

"You don't have to be so scared," the Master told him. "Go on, take it into your mouth."

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Julian let his lips close around the tip, only moving it a short way inside. As he built his confidence, he began to clean away the precum that slowly dribbled out, savoring the strange flavor.

When he trusted that the Master was off guard, he forced the organ as far into his mouth as he could manage, and a few seconds' sucking was rewarded as the Master gasped in surprise. Unfortunately, it was also rewarded by a thick blast of cum that very nearly choked him. He reached the wastebasket under the master's desk just in time to cough most of the cum into it. "Worth it," he gasped.

The Master's shocked expression turned to a smile. "It's not often someone manages to break my self-control. You really are incorrigible."

"I can't say I changed my mind about guys," Julian told him. "I liked toying with you, but it wasn't really sexy for me." Julian pondered that for a moment. "I'd love to see you do to yourself whatever you did to me. We could have a lot of fun together, girl-on-girl. Just one thing . . ."

"Yes?"

Julie knelt before him once more, and she licked away what cum remained on his cock. "Make sure you still taste this good next time, boss. It's not normally sweet like this, is it? This is the first time I've liked cleaning something."

"I'll be back before nightfall," he promised. "Have fun with Lucas while I'm gone--but not too much fun."

-- -- -- --

"Not a dream," Julian mumbled. "Really not a dream."

The grey-eyed man smiled at that--what sort of a dream weaver would he be if he couldn't mimic pain and pleasure? A job well done, he thought. I can't believe he thinks I'm powerful enough to change his sex. I wonder, though, is he merely resentful, or did I miss something about Lucas? I'll try him right after I check on Sandra--

For a moment, he didn't recognize her.

The scars are gone! She looks the same as in the dream! The grey-eyed man had never before used a dream to change someone rather than punish them, and he wasn't sure what the implications were if the body could change with the mind.

Well, I know one implication. He smiled lecherously at Julian's body. Those lips will soon be just as kissable in this world as in your dream. Lucas can wait, at least for now--I have another experiment to try.

Chapter 3: The Beast

She's alone in an alley, long after sundown. She's been too successful, and too careless in hiding the bodies--few of the humans are brave or foolish enough to walk alone now.

The wait is intolerable, but at last she smells one, slowly coming her way. She waits for him to enter the shadows, and then she leaps--

She can't see what she hits, but it feels like a brick wall. When she regains her senses, the barrier surrounds her, holding her in an invisible cage.

"In the name of the Crimson Four, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder." His tone loses its edge as he examines her. "I don't know what you are, but I hope you can understand me. Believe me, I want to help you--"

-- -- -- --

"Wake up, Margaret," Al told her. "You're having another nightmare."

She lashed out with knife-sharp claws, but even in darkness, he knew her movements before she did. He began to recite a calming mantra, and she matched it in growls that slowly turned into words as her snout receded. When fangs and fur had gone away, she laughed, almost hysterically. "Living dangerously again, Alvin?"

"You're the one who insists on having these dreams," he replied. "The least I can do is help you through them." He'd been nothing but patient throughout their courtship, understanding of the fears that often threatened to transform her, but she knew he was tired of having to sleep in a separate bed.

She had no desire to restart the familiar argument. "Well, I've had enough of them for tonight. Put me to sleep again, my dear sandman, and make sure that I don't shred the mattress this time."

She couldn't see his smile, but his tone was soothing. "No more nightmares tonight, I promise. You'll wake up fully rested for the big day."

"Way to make me less nervous, Al. Don't get me wrong, I still want to do it, but it's such a big step, you know?"

"They say you know you whether you really love someone when you see them at their worst. I've been seeing your worst for almost a year now, and if I haven't fled in terror yet, I never will." His grey eyes glowed white as he called on his power, and his words followed her off to a peaceful sleep. "I love you, Margaret, and I'm nothing but happy to share the rest of my life with you."