The Mentalist Chronicles By Buckaroo Bonzai My contemporaries will consider me a traitor for publishing my story. They believe that people fear what they don't understand, and will destroy what they can't control. I wholeheartedly agree. So why go on the record with this story, fantastic as it may seem? Why set myself up, at best, for censure from my colleagues, and at worst, being torn to pieces by an angry mob? I do this because, eventually, our secret will come out. Eventually someone in authority will notice someone's illogical behavior, will notice a pattern to that behavior, and having discarded all the logical possible explanations, will consider the impossible ones. When that happens, a government bureaucrat will check the NSA's database on all stories and articles pertaining to this subject, and finally someone will unearth this story, which most everyone had regarded as fiction. And so, Mr. NSA agent, as you read this, you will once again understand the fundamental truth of the concept, "Hide in plain sight." And with the publication of my story in global newsgroups, I can truthfully say, "You can't say I didn't warn you." Mind control. See? Already you say pish-tosh at such a ridiculous notion. It's the stuff of science fiction. It's the wish of adolescent minds who only desire complete control over friends, family, and ultimately, the opposite sex. So in the interest of understanding, I must ask you to suspend your sense of disbelief. It's not that far a leap, when you consider what you think you know about the workings of the human brain. For instance, everyone knows that humans only use 5% of their brain capacity. It's a fact. They did experiments. But, who are they? How did they do this experiment? Did they take pictures of someone's synapses lighting as he tried to solve a word problem? Did they ask a million people to try and move a pencil across a desk using only mind power? Actually, given the government's obsession with this subject, it wouldn't be surprising if they already did all that. But even if they had, do you think the findings would be released to the general public? No, I'm afraid all we're left with is that 5% number. And I can tell you, authoritatively, that the figure is wrong. Because the method of measurement is wrong. Instead of trying to measure the brain's ultimate capacity, imagine measuring its capacity to grow. Think of the brain as a muscle. The more you use it, the stronger it grows. You've seen this in action. The more you work crossword puzzles, the faster you get at solving them. The more often you tackle logic problems, the faster the answers come to you. The more you read, the smarter you grow. If, using your arm muscles, you can lift 100 pounds, and later can lift 200 pounds, you're twice as strong. The same can be said of the brain. If you can remember names twice as fast as before, then its twice as strong. For measurement purposes, most of humanity is rated as having 1X mental powers. I'm rated at 20X. Whoops. There's that disbelief, raising its ugly head. Don't worry, it's to be expected. That's quite a leap I'm trying to get you to believe. From 1X, normal human power, to 20X, twenty times the average human. But like all measurements, this one is built on a relatively arbitrary scale. 20X represents an aggregate score of achievement in a number of mental functions: logic, memory, telekinesis, telepathy, automanipulation, and others. Thus, 20X is simply 20 times more powerful than the average human in a wide range of mental activities. Still, it's one I'm fairly proud of, given my humble and amusing beginnings in the world of mental gymnastics. Like many 16-year-olds, I liked to read science fiction. And like many, I bought into the science part of it more easily than the fiction part. Enhanced mental capabilities were a staple in the stories of that age. Telekinesis (TK), the movement of objects from a distance, made an excellent fictional device. Unprovable, untraceable and incredibly useful. A good place to start if you're 16 and you have a great deal of free time on your hands. My first attempts had all the romance of a scientist trying to discover something by throwing all kinds of chemicals together. I lay in bed for hours, trying to project movement pulses at the mobile hanging over my head. I reasoned that the paper shapes were light enough to move mentally, while still being attached so I could measure their eventual movement. There! A clockwise pulse had moved that orange shape clockwise! Now to push it counter-clockwise! Mmmmf. Ugh. Mmmmf. Nothing. It continued to move clockwise. Wait. It slowed, then reversed its cycle. My shout of triumph died stillborn as a I noticed I'd forgotten to shut the window. Sure enough, closing the window stilled the breeze, bringing all my hopes and dreams to a grinding halt. I continued to try for many months. After all, as a typical high school kid, it wasn't like my social calendar was busting at the seams. In the end, it was a relatively commonplace but still traumatic event that proved to be the turning point. Another fight with my parents, which usually ended with me stomping to my room and slamming the door shut behind me. Only this time, I forgot to slam the door. Adrenaline pumping, mind focused, I glared at the door, upset that it hadn't shut. Whhooomp! It slammed shut, shaking the frame and rattling the windows. I checked; all windows were shut, nothing could've pulled the door closed. The realization scared me perhaps more than the sound pissed off my parents. I'm sure that, during their lecture, they assumed that my mind was not focused on the perils of slamming the door again. They were right. In a work of fiction, it'd be easy to say that my mental skills grew easily from that initial breakthrough. In fact, it was a long and frustrating process. I spent many hours trying to recreate my feat; even going so far as to pick a few fights with my parents, in the hopes of recreating that emotional stress. That path resulted only in a few weeks of being grounded. Eventually, though, I began to become aware of certain emotional states that made me feel more focused and alert than others. I knew that many emotions depended upon or resulted from the release or deprivation of certain chemicals in the body. I studied those processes, and learned meditation as a way to relax and control my mind. Five months after the initial breakthrough, I moved my mobile... without a single draft to help me. Ten days later, I moved a pencil on a desk. Trying to describe the growth of my mental progress is akin to explaining how, as a baby, you're suddenly able to walk. Momentum has a lot to do with it; one discovery usually leads to another. For instance, in learning the telekinesis, I had to learn how to control certain bodily functions. I found I could give myself a jolt of adrenaline if I wanted. Heighten or restrict my blood flow. Add sugar, testosterone, whatever. It's a talent many people have to some degree. You can make yourself happy, sad, angry, sleepy, etc. just by thinking certain thoughts. Those feelings are the end result of certain chemical reactions. I just became able to control those functions in a much more efficient manner. I named that control automanipulation. Surprisingly, telepathy quickly followed the development of TK and automanipulation. While in the school library one day, I had been slowing my breathing in preparation for a test the next period. Suddenly I had a feeling someone was watching me. When I looked around, everyone seemed engrossed in their reading. Again the feeling came. Again no eyes were upon me. Finally, I closed my eyes and was amazed to see that I was looking at myself. I saw myself sitting, eyes closed, as if through someone else's eyes. Opening my own eyes, the image remained in my mind. Only now it was of the text of a math book. I quickly located the only person reading a math book. A pretty blonde, sitting just a few tables over. The image wavered a bit; the link became tenuous. With a push in concentration the channel opened wide. I could easily look into her mind. Describing mind-to-mind contact is nearly impossible. To simplify things, assume that everyone's mind has two distinct parts: the automatic functions and memory. The automatic functions act and look like an incredibly complex watchworks. You can try and follow the connections and power pathways, but eventually you get lost in the tangle. However, delving into a person's memory is a much easier task. The processing of both current input and short-term memory can best be described in terms of moving images or vignettes. Current input is three-dimensional and full sensurround. In short-term memory, your brain adds an omniscient camera angle, providing a new perspective based on past experiences and your imagination. Long-term memories are more often single images or short vignettes. Many, however, are also embellished or revised by your imagination. In many cases, it's very difficult to separate the embellishments from the truth. To add to the complexity, many people are able to conduct two-way communication, once a pathway has been opened for them. In this case, the contact was decidedly one-way. Probing extremely carefully, I was able to discern a few facts about my new pal. Her name was Mary Giarcona. She had a math test to study for. She had a paper clip holding her bra together and hoped nobody would notice. She was still a little hungry. She thought that guy over there was kind of cute, and hoped he would come over and talk to her. (That was me!) She'd had sex with her boyfriend last night but it hadn't been all that good. Her parents had lectured her this morning. She... Wait. I scanned back to the sex part. She'd had sex. Now that'd be an interesting memory to probe. I don't know what instinct helped me delve into her memory bank. However I did it, I managed to get the full scope without her knowing what I was doing. In fact, except for a single moment when our eyes met, she didn't know that I was even thinking about her. I picked up the memory thread as she and her boyfriend "Steve" were climbing into the backseat of his car. I saw things from her perspective as he crawls up on her, leading off with a tongue-probing kiss. The sensory parts of the memory had already begun to fade, although I got the definite sensation that he's a harsh kisser. Mary tries to settle him back, nuzzling his neck and placing wispy kisses on his face, but Steve only becomes more aggressive. Patently giving in to his passion, she settles back against the seat, offering neither resistance nor encouragement to his efforts. Through her eyes I watched as his kisses trailed down from her lips to her neck to her chest. His hands trace down the curves of her waist before hooking onto her halter top and lifting it up. For a moment she's blinded as the top cuts off her vision. She wonders idly why she needs to be topless; all he's really concerned with is between her legs. Still, she wore the clingy white top without a bra precisely in anticipation of his needs. Her next view is of his mouth seeking and finding the erect nipples on her grapefruit- sized breasts. She's becoming aroused despite his ham-handed groping. She takes the next step in their simple but established dance, unbuttoning his shirt. He'll continue to wear it throughout the act, except on those rare occasions when he has popped for a motel room. Her next step is to undo his belt and unbutton his fly. In a hotel room she would strip off his pants, pausing often to stroke his cock through his underwear. Here, however, he pulls them only partway down. The length of his hardness is clearly visible under his briefs; he says he's eight inches but she feels it's more like seven. He attempts to kiss and suck her nipples while opening the buttons on her pants, but his balance is off and he's becoming frustrated. She could let him handle it himself, but that would only prolong what is rapidly becoming a wham- bam-thank-you-maam event. So she undoes her own buttons and pushes down her pants, earning an appreciative groan mumbled into her right breast. Released of the need to undo anything, his hands now roam about her body, caressing her curves, squeezing her breasts, twiddling her nipples and pulling her hair. Suddenly he's off her and sitting up, his presence seeming to fill the entire car. I see what she sees in him: the strong jaw, the smiling eyes, the calm confidence, the potential of a man to be. If he has any perception at all, he'd realize this is the perfect time for proclamations of love and desire. She hopes for it, tensing slightly, ready to give him an experience of a lifetime. But no, he cares only for himself. With a grim smile of conquest, he reaches down to pull her panties from her. She lifts her hips and he pulls her panties down. A past memory intrudes here: she sees herself in the mirror of some room, her legs spread wide and her wet pussy gleaming in the light. She smiles seductively and caresses her breasts, letting gravity pull her legs wider open. A figure begins to move into view... Back to the present past: he untangles her panties from her ankles and draws himself up, inspecting her. His eyes are smoldering slits. His attention darts from her heavy breasts to her inviting triangle, back and forth, never looking at her face. She realizes that she's once again the only one fully naked in the car. If someone should come upon them...another past memory: he's pounding his dick into her, the windows of the car open to the summer night air. Suddenly a light blinds her. Confusion and a chill as he jumps off her. The beam of light travels down her body, pausing on her heaving breasts, sliding down to her sex as inevitably as a bee to a flower. Her eyes have trouble adjusting. The light fills the car, yet the beam is focused on her wet pussy, sweat and her juices gleaming like dew drops. One arm is twisted and trapped beneath her, so she uses her other to cover her crotch. The flashlight shifts to her breasts, still rapidly rising and falling as her body responds to the danger. She notices Steve has managed to pull up his pants and even button the fly. She can only remain exposed, though, through the lecture on the evils of parking in private parking lots, even if the condos are nowhere near completion. In the present past: she feels exposed and vulnerable to discovery again, but the thought excites her. It's been a favorite fantasy for many months now. She looks down to see that Steve has released his cock from his briefs. It sways slowly, engorged and seeking a new home. As he plunges it home, I share a feeling of fullness and bliss, the aggregate of this and several other penetrations. His strokes, while hard and filling, do not create an altogether overwhelming feeling. She closes her eyes and listens to his various grunts and groans. His pace picks up and she murmurs to him, urging him on, if only to end this a little more quickly. "Yes, yes, yes!" she cries to him, feeling only the vague stirrings of passion. It's over as quickly as it began. He stiffens into a macabre rictus, the cords in his neck standing out like train tracks across the delta. His moans reverberate in the small space as he bangs her once, twice, again, each thrust accompanied by a spasm that adds to the wetness between her legs. The musky odor of his cum permeates the air; the smell of sex is so strong it almost makes her eyes water. Suddenly she's left feeling empty as he withdraws. A quick kiss on the lips and a murmured "That was great, babe," are the only acknowledgements she receives. Her heart feels hollow. She's lost her way... I left the thread then, feeling excited and somewhat forlorn. So excited, in fact, that I had to wait several minutes for my hard-on to subside. I left in the opposite direction, not even risking a glance in her direction, afraid she might see in my eyes the intimacies we had shared. Besides, I had work to do.