Subjects

Firebird opened her eyes to blurriness and confusion. She blinked several times and shook her head, at which point clarity returned to both her vision and mind. Now able to see and think clearly, she sighed in knowing frustration. Although having no idea where she was, she knew that she had been captured and was in some kind of predicament.

So it went when one was a young, attractive superheroine. More often than not, you wound up in trouble, whether by dastardly villainous planning or simple wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time bad luck. In this case, Firebird could tell the former was at play. She wasn’t happy about it, but it was what it was. If she were to make it out alive and in one piece--as she had done all the previous times she had found herself in danger--she needed to remain calm, assess the situation, and find a solution to her problem.

Calm she had covered, so it was on to assessment.

Bathed in a cone of soft white illumination from somewhere above her, Firebird sat in a raised armchair of industrial design and construction. Reinforced steel bands encircled her waist, wrists, and ankles to ensure she remained in place. She still wore her trademark black PVC bodysuit, but she could tell from the lack of snugness around her head, as well as from the feel of unbound hair on her neck, that her cowl was missing. Also missing were her matching set of sunrise-hued gloves, utility belt, and boots. With a frown, she added her tights to the missing inventory when she looked down to see her bare feet dangling from beneath the ankle restraints.

“Well, crud,” she said.

She had at least a dozen spare cowls, gloves, belts, and boots. No experienced heroine didn’t keep replacement costume parts if she expected to patrol the city without constant interruptions for laundry and repairs. But those tights had been a gift from Suprawoman and featured her namesake Pontiac emblem printed up and down them. She doubted her captors had taken any care in removing them from her legs and expected either to find them ripped or, more likely, to not find them at all.

“Too bad for me,” she said. “Okay, break free now, mourn beloved hosiery later.”

Gathering all of her considerable strength, Firebird pushed against the steel bands that bound her. Not unexpectedly, they held. She wished for the umpteenth time in her career that her moniker indicated some kind of fire generation or control, so she could melt the metal into slag and thus free herself. But her alias was simply one she had chosen because she loved old-school Trans-Ams. Her abilities of flight, enhanced agility, and heightened strength were great, but they didn’t seem to be doing much for her now.

“Hm. Brute strength isn’t go to cut it. At least not my level of brute strength. What else is there in the vicinity that I can use?”

Therein lay another problem: Firebird couldn’t see her environment. Beyond the cone of light that shone just past the edge of the chair, darkness swallowed everything. No amount of focus or straining allowed her to visually penetrate it. No sound emerged from it, either. The entirety of her world amounted to a roughly one square meter.

“Crud and double crud.”

“Hey! Who said that?”

Firebird stiffened at the words that rang out from far away. For a moment, she wondered if she’d even heard them. But several seconds later, she heard the voice again, this time slightly louder.

“Hello? Is someone there?” the voice called.

“Yeah!” Firebird said. “Over here! Follow my voice!”

She knew as she spoke that the voice could very well be that of her captor. She had no desire to be toyed with, but on the off chance that wasn’t the case, she needed to make contact with whoever was out there.

“I see a bright light with someone in it,” the voice said.

“That’s me.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“I’ll wait for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Firebird closed her eyes and listened. She heard fast, light footfalls that grew louder as they approached. Based on her crime fighter training, they sounded to her like they originated from an unshod, athletic woman. They quickened until finally stopping abruptly. Firebird opened her eyes.

Before the heroine stood a tall, lithe woman wearing a dark grey bodysuit emblazoned with a moon icon on the chest. No other items adorned the woman, and her feet were bare. She traveled her eyes up and down Firebird, over the chair, and up into the light above.

“Not my best day,” Firebird said when the woman’s gaze met her own.

“Nor mine. Not five minutes ago, I woke up to find myself in the same chair under the same light.”

“You’re one up on me, though. You escaped.”

“Telekinesis,” the woman explained. “I was able to pop out the bolts to the restraints. Like this…”

The woman grimaced in silent concentration for a moment. Then, with a sharp snap, the steel band around Firebird’s right wrist flung open.

“Nice,” Firebird said with an appreciative nod.

One after another, the remaining restraints opened in the same way. When she was done, the woman leaned forward, panting from the effort. Firebird stood and then put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Impressive work. I don’t suppose you could conjure us back our gear?”

“Conjure? No, it doesn’t work that way. I move things with my--”

“I know, I know,” Firebird said with a laugh. “Just teasing you. Anyway, thanks. I’m Firebird, and I don’t know how I would’ve gotten free without you.”

“I’m Astrogirl, soon to be Astrowoman once I get the papers submitted to the city registrar. And you’re welcome. Glad I could help.”

“So, are you up for joining my new superheroine group: the Battlin’ Barefoot Babes?”

“Um, no. I’d rather find my boots, thanks. Oh, you were teasing again.”

“Yep.”

“Maybe we could leave off the jokes until we figure out where we are and how to get out of here.”

“Fine, fine,” Firebird said with a disappointed sigh.

Freeze.

The two heroines immediately froze in place, like a video that had just been paused.

Lights.

The darkness suddenly vanished beneath dozens of brilliant spotlights, revealing an arena sized room. At one end stood the two unmoving women before the industrial restraining chair. The same model chair with its restraints similarly opened also resided at the far end of the room, some 60 meters distant.

Neither woman gave any indication of awareness that her environment had just changed. Both remained transfixed and immobile.

Annotation to phase two of Project Psyche, currently in progress with subjects Alpha and Beta participating. The success of phase one can be readily observed in the actions, words, and interplay between Alpha and Beta.

Beginning with Alpha, her wholehearted acceptance of the new personna implanted in her mind via intensive, repeated hypno-conditioning exceeds all expectations. She believes without question that she is the superheroine, Firebird. Furthermore, she completely accepts that she wears not just the uniform of this fictional person, but that she misses components of said uniform that we suggested had been removed by her captors. The examination gown she actually wears doesn’t register with her in the slightest.

Similarly, Alpha sees her new ally, “Astrogirl,” garbed not in the reality of a T-shirt and briefs, but in a partially disassembled uniform befitting another captured heroine.

Moving onto Beta, we observe equivalent success with her phase one programming. Her brainwashing regimen of electro-stimulation under pharmaceutical sedation has rendered her as suggestible and pliable as Alpha is. Case in point is her belief that she possesses telekinetic powers, with which she freed herself and her new compatriot from captivity. The thought that she actually holds a remote control in her hand, enabling her to unlock each restraint one at a time with the press of a button, finds no foothold whatsoever within her cultivated delusion. The same applies to her utter acceptance of Alpha as Firebird, complete with non-existent uniform.

Now that phase two has proven the effectiveness of phase one, it is time to move forward to phase three. Herein, I will introduce revolving suggestions to the subjects. The expected results will be as follows: They will not consciously hear my voice, but their yielding minds will accept and act upon the stimuli in real time.

End annotation. Begin phase three...


To be continued....