Inside His Mind

 I had been training my mind and exercising my will power for this very moment.

About a month ago, a shady government agency had contacted me regarding a free survey I filled out online after I bought a pair of Ugg boots from shoedazzle.com.

They had told me I was chosen to take part in a project that was top secret and open to other candidates.

Should I accept I would have to leave then and there, without further contact to anyone in the outside world.

Naturally I accepted, following the most exciting event since the day I inherited ten thousand dollars from a sexual harassment law suit.

They placed a burlap sack over my head, careful not to mess up my hair, and carted me off to their dank, underground facility.

It was there I was introduced to the other ten blonde's who all looked identical to me.

Each of us were forbidden from sharing personal information and were given a number that was to be a place hold for our actual names.

Ten girls, and I was number 9.

I learned that there was a sadistic killer that preyed on whores and prostitutes similar to Jack the Ripper, but instead of killing them, he left them alive.

He would torture them in front of one another so they could witness his assaults.

We had volunteered to help find a pattern to his madness by entering his mind using new technology that would allow us to bind with his thoughts.

Others had tried to penetrate his lobe but were unsuccessful because they were not the right kind of test subjects.

What happened to these subjects was never fully explained, but there were talks amongst us girls that their minds had become scrambled and their bodies placed in a comatose state. 

More victims to feed this maniacal ego.

The scientists and agents briefing us didn't say it, but one through ten could tell that each of these mind scrambles had somehow increased the Rippers intelligence.

You might be wondering why any of us numbers would continue taking on such a terrifying task?

None of us had a choice at this point.

We had been lead this far and were no longer given a choice,

All the girls were imprinted with a mind tracker to monitor our dreams and nightmares.

The weak were monitored heavily and tested the least.

It wasn't until graduation day, that we were fed into the brain scan machine like a piece of paper.

Each one of us were rounded from our quarters where we had been studying and practicing our own mind control.

Ten slabs, ten girls.

Mechanics tested the software, while doctors gave us physicals before allowing us to take our places.

The agency had called this machine the Russian Roulette.

Since all of us were hooked up to the machine, we were selected by random, similar to a gun chamber with one bullet.

They spun us around the brain scan that lied in the middle of the slabs and punched in a code.

All of us could tell who was selected, because the transfer was a violent unpleasant site that took a while for each body to get used to.

Most of us prayed for it to be over with quickly.

I had hoped for success from my successor.

In an instant I felt the rotary of slabs spin around the cold, metal, brain scan that hooked into my circuit and caused me to seizure.

My eyes lit up like diamonds, as my flesh began to melt.

It was a side effect we were warned about.

The only cure was to perform our mind exercises to calm down while we adjusted to the painful transformation.

After what felt like my heart had stopped, I realized I was no longer on the operating floor, but in an alley digging thought the garbage.

The tracker in my head had buzzed as a voice from the professor explained my mission.

Over and over he yelled for me to focus, but I couldn't make out my own identity.

My arms were longer, and I smelled of piss and shit.

I had runs in my stockings and my pussy hurt.

Not like the good kind, but the kind that was infected.

Dirt lined my cuticles as I felt liquid drip out from a hole in the black garbage bag I was holding.

There was a shuffle of feet from the other end of the alley.

A sudden stench of singed hair and cigarettes alerted me as I focused my attention toward the silhouette that stared at me from a far.

I tried to let out a response, but my mind had not completely focused in on this particular projection.

Instead I choked out a gurgle and stumbled out of the dumpster, landing on my face.

The silhouette also made his move, slowly walking toward me.

As I faced him I noticed he had been in the same position as before but was walking toward me as if he were stuck in slow motion.

I flicked my hands and wrist to see if I had moved just as slow, but everything was in real time.

He continued to walk slowly, allowing me time to study his gruesome face.

Half burned, half scarred, with no whites in the eye and a wolf like grin.

His smile revealed his crooked, demented teeth that were hidden by the constant licking of his lips.

This was the Ripper, no doubt about it, and he was hungry for flesh.

I somehow managed to stumble to my feet but it was too late.

A clock had stroke midnight somewhere and he was set in real time.

He ran at me and twisted my head around while he began to rape me.

The pain from my neck and his well endowed, uncut penis, began to tear me open.

Again, I tried to push out a scream, but the mind was not kind, so I did what we were all trained to do.

Reboot.

My training and exercising had helped us learn how to shut down the current program we were in, similar to a computer and restart hopefully to a more pleasant outcome.

I felt my body collapse into his arms, before reopening my eyes to a horrific scene.

All around me were the other numbers, tied up, bleeding, tortured, raped, bruised and beaten.

None of us died, but were just close enough to death that we should have been.

We knew the consequences of our decisions and unfortunately had succumbed to the worst scenarios that were described to us in detail.

Currently I was shackled to a bathtub with both my arms broken and dangling behind my back.

The ripper had found three, who was apparently the last girl to be captured because he had brought her in completely unharmed.

He had taunted her with a knife, telling her to choose wisely as we all watched bound and gagged.

The ripper followed her carefully, occasionally pricking her back with the tip of his knife as she hesitated to choose a companion.

Lucky for me she had chosen five as he carted them off together.

He returned their bodies a few hours later.

Both girls had been split down the center and sewn back together with opposite body parts, like a demented doll created for his pleasure.

From then on it was a countdown as he played with all of us in his own sadistic way.

He kept us alive for days, occasionally granting us food and water, but most of the girls had decided to starve to death and go out humanely.

Eventually six and I were the only ones left to play with.

Ironically she had gone out the way she came into this mess by spinning a revolver and pulling the trigger.

She was lucky.

Since I was the last and most special I awaited extra torture, but instead he sat in a chair across from me and quietly stared.

He had started to get inside my mind and wanted me to explode but I wouldn't let him.

I tried to avoid eye contact but he would approach me and sit nose to nose smiling and licking at my lips.

Occasionally he would nibble on the dead skin that dangled at my mouth.

Enough was enough.

I had managed to let out a scream, followed by a another.

I finally found my voice but the screams only seemed to excite him.

He was like a ticking time bomb waiting to erupt, so I calmed my composure and locked eyes with him to settle the atmosphere.

Every time he got excited the ground would shake.

I knew he was settled once the floor felt like dirty silk again.

He approached me waiting for more screams, but instead I told him I loved him.

I told him I wanted him to chop off my head and fuck it while using my blood as lube.

This had struck an odd sense of trauma to him, so I decided to continue.

I told him I wanted to feel the steel from his knife blade inside me while I struggled to die.

Again, he shook and phased into the form of a little child.

I explained that all the death the destruction only made me more of a slut and that when I was gone he could do things to me he only wished he could have done to his mother.

That seemed to do it, triggering a repressed memory that changed him fulling into the child.

Helpless.

Scared.

And traumatized by his deathly surroundings.

I had started to feel strong.

The feeling in my arms began to come back as I cracked them back into place.

I managed to slip my wrists out of the shackles that bound me, twisting the wrists back right.

The rest of the girls begun to rise from their graves and freakishly surround the young boy who had started to cry.

Each of us smiled taking turns against The Rippers new form.

Fulfilling our own hellish vendetta.

Finishing the mission.

Never to return from madness.