The Camera, Part 1 (Patreon)

I'm planning to finish this one by the end of the month, released in three sections. No AB/DL stuff in this first section, I'm afraid. Trying out a first-person story with multiple viewpoint characters. Let me know what you think in the comments.

Natalie Divine, Director of Special Projects, A.T.I.S.

My heart beat faster as I watched her pull into the parking lot. I didn't know which vehicle she would be in, but the building was empty apart from myself and Dr. Fitzroy, so it wasn't too much of a stretch to imagine that the slender little black Miata pulling into the parking lot would be hers. I permitted myself the luxury of watching her from my office window as she parked and emerged into the cold winter sunshine. She had a bored, disinterested look on her face, and why not? This was just another ordinary day, doing a perfectly ordinary photo-shoot. Not even a particularly well-paid shoot. I calculated the offer carefully to ensure that it would be sufficient to ensure her attendance, but not so generous as to arouse suspicion. I watched as she trudged toward the doors, dressed in a simple pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved gray jacket. It wasn't the sort of outfit that really suited a body like hers. The dull colors of her clothing clashed painfully with her lustrous green eyes and fiery red hair, and of course her curves were nowhere to be seen under the thick jacket. Still, this would not be an issue for long.

I tapped my earpiece. “She's here. Is everything prepared?”

“Been ready for an hour. Just need our leading lady and we can get started.” said Dr. Fitzroy. I detected a note of irritation in his voice, which I suppose is only to be expected. Fitzroy is a proper genius, intelligent enough for it to qualify as a medical oddity. Sadly, he is aware of this fact, which greatly reduces his usefulness to me. I generally prefer my employees to be less aware of their own talents, and thus more prone to be grateful for the positions I have assigned them. A man like Fitzroy is liable to go off the reservation if he feels his work is being under-compensated, or even if his ego is not being sufficiently stroked. Still, his latest project truly excites me. If it functions as advertised, I may find myself with no further need for his services. At the very least, I may end up in a position to dictate my own terms, and I greatly appreciate such positions. I waited a few minutes before I left my office and headed downstairs to let Molly into the building, listening to the doorbell ringing in the lobby as I checked my hair and suit. I had given the poor girl specific instructions as to when to arrive, and she was actually  two minutes early. Inside, I was positively giddy to get started, but it wouldn't do to let my eagerness show. I waited until five minutes after the agreed-upon time to arrive at the front doors and let her in. Showing up a little late lets the other party know that your time is more valuable than theirs, which sets the tone for the relationship going forward. Of course, if the project was the success that Dr. Fitzroy assured me it would be, I would hardly need such tricks in the future. The thought was enough to put a smile on my face, which I managed to remodel into my professional smile when I finally opened the large glass doors that led into the main A.T.I.S. offices.

Molly Brannon, Professional Model

I tapped my foot as I waited in front of the door. The doors were marked with a corporate logo, showing a green and blue spiral with the letters A.T.I.S. underneath. I'd never heard of the company; some tech startup that got too big for its britches by the looks of things. I pressed the button beside the door, which briefly turned red and made a harsh buzzing sound, as though I had entered the wrong PIN number or something. I checked my messages. I checked Linkedin. I pressed my face against the glass and peered into the large, tastefully furnished lobby. I frowned.

This wasn't my usual gig, and it was starting to annoy me. My agent (Linda, love her) told me that the customer wanted the shoot to take place on their property, and that I wouldn't need a camera crew, wardrobe, make-up, or any of the normal bric-a-brac that my usual studio had on hand. Typically, the customer would just send over their shoes or gloves or glasses or exercise equipment or food processor or whatever random thingie they were inflicting on the world this week, and then I would be photographed while wearing it or standing next to it with all kinds of poses, outfits and expressions. They sell their stupid thingie, I get my paycheck, the world keeps turning. Something felt off about just showing up at a big corporate office with no crew or preparation on my end. Especially on a Sunday. Hell, there were only three cars in the parking lot (one that could easily accommodate hundreds more), and one of those was mine. Don't get me wrong: the pay was good and all, but I'd just had a solid week's work. I was cutting into my me time for these people. The least they could do is be on time.

Finally, a woman approached the glass doors. She was a tall, strongly-built blonde with her hair in a very tight little bun. She wore a neatly-pressed pantsuit and the kind of performative smile I had come to associate with corporate types. She didn't so much “smile” as “display her fangs”. Still, kinda hot in an icy, inaccessible kind of way.

“You're Molly Brannon?” she asked as the doors swished shut behind me. I didn't bother answering. Who else would I be?

“My name is Natalie. Thank you for coming on such short notice. Let's just get a few preliminaries out of the way, and we'll get started.” she said, gesturing over to the reception desk, where a clip-board was waiting. “If you could just sign here, please. Standard NDA.”

I glanced at the neat stack of papers. “Uh, shouldn't I have my lawyer look over this or something?” I asked. She gave a fake little chuckle. I guess that's what passes for a joke in her world. “That won't be necessary. This is just your agreement that you won't talk to our competitors about any of the proprietary technology you'll be seeing today. Unless you're secretly a corporate spy, it shouldn't be an issue.”

I shrugged and put my name down. “Proprietary tech, huh? Anything interesting?” I asked, mainly just for something to say.

“Oh, yes. We've developed a new type of 3D camera. We've just finished the preliminary testing. I'm putting together a presentation to show it off to our shareholders. Of course, they're meeting tomorrow, so it has to happen today. You know how it is.”

I paused a little once my name was down. Something felt a little off when she said that. Maybe she had spoken a little too quickly. It was like she had rehearsed that series of sentences in the mirror several times this morning.

She stared back at me, her plasticy smile never wavering. “Is there a problem?”

“Hmm? No.” I said. Something about this woman was creeping me out. “Sounds interesting.” I added, again mainly for something to say. I was used to be used as a human stage prop, so nothing she had said sounded outrageous. If anything, it was weird that she felt the need to tell me anything about it. Long as I get paid, I really don't care that much what the pictures are for. I looked at a giant building like this, and all I wanted was to grab some cash and make a run for it. Natalie seemed like the kind of gal who wanted to move in a live in a place like this. It was...unsettling.

“I'm glad you think so. Right this way and we'll get this over with.” she said, turning and leading me further into the building. I wondered if she had sensed my reluctance, but I doubted it. She seemed to have no real interest in me. I was just something she had ordered, like a pizza.

She led me down several sparsely decorated halls. I got the impression that at least part of this building must be used as a spa or retreat of some kind. There were bowls of glass beads with burnt-out sticks of incense sticking out of them, cheesy abstract paintings, wind chimes, and little statues of what might have been the deities of some Polynesian culture or another. The kind of rummage-sale nonsense that might decorate a beauty salon or a massage parlor. It really clashed with the Silicon Valley feel of the building's exterior. Still, once we were through the white double-doors marked R&D Department, the New Agey vibe came to a screeching halt and the joyless cubicles began. Even the pictures of cats and inevitable old Dilbert cartoons looked sorta creepy with no one around. The building was probably pretty noisy when it was actually open. There was room here for hundreds of workers, but right now it was like a clean, well-lit mausoleum. Beyond the maze of short walls coated in gray fabric, there was a door marked “Testing Area”. There was a lengthy set of rules beside the door listing what safety equipment was supposedly required within, but Natalie paid no attention to it as she breezed through the door, and I decided not to bring it up.

Dr. Jared Fitzroy- Neurostimulation Specialist, A.T.I.S.

I sipped my coffee as I waited for Natalie to bring in the subject. I could barely contain my excitement. This moment has been a long time coming. When I first developed the technology that would eventually become my device, my mind had been full of grandiose plans. The potential was simply incredible. No less than the total transformation of human civilization was possible, nay, inevitable with the process I had conceived.

Of course, it took a long time and many false starts to realize that initial vision. It would have been impossible to develop the technology with only the resources of my little lab at UC Santa Cruz. I would need a workforce of skilled technicians, enough space and materials to build dozens of experimental models, and of course a budget in the tens of millions. That was where Natalie Divine came in. Tragically, she couldn't just hand over the resources I needed and piss off without interfering further. She was a natural-born leader, a social climber, a woman destined for greatness. A giant pain in my ass, in short.

I had discovered a way to record thought patterns via electroencephalography, decode them, and then reproduce them in the brain of a recipient at range via tightly-controlled electro-magnetic stimulation. The recording process was tedious and required a lab's worth of equipment in itself. The decoding had to be done on a supercomputer the size of a two-car garage.  The projector was once even larger, but after years of development, the cameras, control system, coolant system,power supply, processors,  and the projection device itself could now all fit semi-comfortably on two medium-sized workbenches. The projection device was the real miracle here. My baby. My brain-child. I described it in such dry terms in all of my reports. I would never be so crass or incautious as to describe it as what it really was: a mind-control beam. A hand-held version was still a ways away, but even this bulky version could change the world. At the very least, it could change me into an incredibly wealthy and powerful man.

Of course, at the moment it was the intellectual property of A.T.I.S., under the careful management and watchful eyes of Natalie. Disentangling the fruits of my genius from the loathsome corporate tentacles of A.T.I.S. will be child's play compared to wrestling the awesome power it represents from her harpy-like claws. You see, she doesn't realize how much I know of her plans. She gives me orders and I carry them out to the letter, which gives her the impression that she's the one in control. I'm sure she plans to get rid of me the instant she believes she has the means to operate and reproduce the device without my help. Luckily, I am two steps ahead, as usual. I have tempted poor Natalie with an offer she cannot refuse. I recommended to her that we test the new device on someone from outside the company, someone who's participation could be secured without the mountains of paperwork and delays that would usually accompany this sort of thing. I suggested we hire a model, and test the device on her under the pretext of testing a new type of camera. We had already tested the effects on a rabbit, then a dog, and finally a chimpanzee. Good ol' Bobo still believes that he likes broccoli more than grapes. I knew my device was capable of so much more, but to test out its really sophisticated capabilities, I needed human subjects. I asked Natalie what sort of behaviors we ought to include in the recording to both effectively demonstrate the capabilities of the device, while also preventing the subject from effectively telling anyone of our research. If we wanted to test the thing with proper ethical standards, it would be decades before we were allowed to test on humans, if we even got that far.

She said she would consider it, in her usual disinterested tone. I could tell something sinister was cooking behind those eyes, and a few days later she presented her recommendations to me in the form of an email full of “a few questions, just to give me some notion of the capabilities and limitations of this technology”. For that I read “Oh could we, could we, please, please, please!”. The list made interesting reading, to say the least.

Normally I would have simply pretended that only a few of her perverted suggestions were actually possible, just to avoid a lot of extra work and to conceal the full capabilities of my device. Still, I recognized that this could be my opportunity to dethrone my rival and test my device at the same time. She would never willingly allow me to aim my device at her, even under the pretext of a low-powered test. I obviously would never allow her the opportunity to use the device on me for similar reasons. Standing between Natalie and absolute control over another human mind is like standing between a tiger and a three-legged gazelle covered in barbecue sauce. But now, I know her weakness. She thought she could bury it by hiding it on a list with a bunch of other, random-sounding items. So transparent. She isn't just planning to steal my device, she's planning to use it to satisfy her twisted sexual urges.

Well, once I have this little rent-a-trollop degrading herself for Natalie's sick amusement, I'll turn my crosshairs on Queen Bossy-Britches and turn her into my devoted slave, dedicated to fulfilling my every command. Then I shall be free to do exactly as I please, especially to pack up my technology and sell it to the highest bidder. I wonder who that will be? I'm sure the C.I.A. would be interested, or perhaps the C.C.P.? Or maybe I could simply enthrall everyone at this dismal corporation, and use their resources to expand my empire still further. There's no telling how far I'll go with this technology, once Natalie is out of my way.

Natalie strode into the room, clipboard in hand and self-satisfied smirk pulling up the corners of her mouth.

“This is Jared, he'll be operating the camera today. Jared, this is Miss Molly Brannon. Say hello.”

I reached across my desk and grasped the lovely vixen's extended hand. “A pleasure to meet you, young lady.” I said in a warm, friendly voice.

Molly Brannon, Professional Model

I shook Jared's hand, trying not show any signs of my discomfort. Jared looked to be in his early thirties. He was short and scrawny, with a sad little almost-beard and yellowish teeth.  He was wearing a dirty labcoat and his dark hair had that dry-but-also-wet kind of look. His mouth didn't quite close after he was done speaking. At least his eyes were both pointed in the same direction, fluttering between my breasts, my butt, Natalie's butt, and Natalie's breasts like a perverted little moth. I immediately decided that I didn't want to be stuck in a confined space with this creep. Oh, well. May as well get this over with.

“If you could just stand over there, on that little 'X' marking, I'll get the camera adjusted.” he said, sitting back down behind his laptop. At least he stopped leering at us once he was hunched down and clicking away.

I took up a position on the two little pieces of masking tape on the floor, faced toward Jared, and adopted the half-smile that served as my “neutral” expression. The testing room was small and practically empty except for Natalie, Jared, his laptop, and the ridiculous tangle of machines, wires, and hoses that I could only guess comprised their fancy new camera. I had never seen the prototype of a new electronics product before. I suppose the final version will be a lot smaller, or they'll never sell any. The thing began to whir to life as Jared tapped away on his laptop, looking like a hacker from a nineties action movie. The centerpiece of the nest was something that looked like a raygun that Ming the Merciless might use to turn Flash Gordon into a gorilla. It even began emitting a pinkish glow around the lens. Natalie stood behind Jared's workbench, looking over his shoulder as he tapped away.

“Could you look at the camera, Ma'am? It's the pink thing.” said Jared, not looking up.

Thanks. I gathered that from the way it rotated on its tripod and minutely adjusted until it was pointed straight at my head. Nothing about this made me feel comfortable.