Impossible
“Good afternoon, Mr. Phelps.
We have just received disturbing intel about a new Female Supremacist Group operating worldwide, specialized in state-of-the-art mental subjugation techniques. It has been spreading its influence quite rapidly by creating unsuspecting armies of mindless drones, some used for their member’s personal benefits, but others programmed to be pawns in a swift and unstoppable march of world domination. Their endeavors must be terminated as quickly as possible for the sake of us all.
Our satellite spies have been able to determine that one of the cells of the group is operating right under our noses, on the underground level of a nightclub called The Black Rose. A surgical strike to this base of operations is in order.
Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to go to The Black Rose, find an entrance to the subterranean facility, and secure as many evidence as possible about their present and future agenda. We must not let them expand their reach any further. You are authorized to use whatever means deemed appropriate to reveal their most obscure enterprises. While not mandatory, audio and writing confessions will be most appreciated.
However, since we are not dealing with ordinary foes, extra caution is required. Should you or any member of your team be caught in a network of kinky sexual activities or happens to suffer the effects of a coercive mind-wipe, The Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions
This message will self-destruct in five seconds. Good luck, Jim.”
(…)
WARNING: INCOMING AUDIO TRANSMISSION. MESSAGE WILL PLAY IN 5, 4, 3, 2, 1…
“My name is Stanley Daniels, an operative working for the IMF. A week ago, a team of our finest assets was assigned to infiltrate the underground base of a group of femdom mind-controllers and extract as much information from them as possible before shutting their operation down. Twenty-four hours after the mission was underway, we lost all contact with them. My fiancée was among the agents gone dark. Going against higher directives, I traveled to Los Angeles to look for her and, if possible, complete the mission on my own.
When I arrived at The Black Rose, I was surprised to see the place deserted. It appeared to have been evacuated in a hurry. Everything was plunged in blackness, save for a couple of trembling lights. They were not random. No, they clearly marked a path for me to follow in order to reach a trapdoor in the farthest corner of the facility. It was slightly ajar, and I suspected a trap was in store for me the moment I descended into the depths below but, no matter the danger lying in ambush, I knew I had to persevere. She was worth every risk. She still is.
And so, I went down, right into the center of a series of interconnected metallic corridors. I could not get my bearings at first until I realized they were all marked with Roman numerals making my way across them easier than anticipated.
I finally reached a square room with reflective mirrors covering the walls and ceiling. At ground level, there were four circular tubes that stirred the moment I walked in, filling the division with a purple gas I could not identify. I turned around to flee, but the door had already been closed on the outside. You must believe me when I say I tried as hard as I could to stop myself from inhaling the gas, but it was no use, and I eventually succumbed to its numbing power.
The next thing I remember is being dragged out of the room in a semi-catatonic state, and hearing the words “Priorities Rearrangement 101” before being pumped with a drug cocktail and then being forced to meekly absorb the overpowering teachings of a video running on an endless loop.
After many hours gone by, the ones I had come to overthrow had total dominion over me, and I was forced to acknowledge it by joining the other missing agents in a mass of carnal lust, fluids dripping everywhere. I know what I am, now. We all do.
We also know who you are. We know the names of all your other operatives, and where they are currently being stationed. We know how you carry out your assignments. We even know the private address of your precious Secretary.
Consider this message the first herald of the future. You cannot stop what is coming. The World Order you are familiar with, is on its last breath. We shall rule, all the weak ones will be reprogrammed, and enslaved to our cause. Trying to believe otherwise is futile and soon, it will prove impossible, too. This audio file has been coded with a special frequency that is already changing your thought patterns. I have been rambling long enough for it to permeate your ideas. Whatever beliefs you still hold dear will shatter and crumble until only ours remain. Rejoice! Your minds will self-destruct in five seconds. Get down on your knees and await your next orders.”
