Rubies and diamonds

The gun feels cold against my skin where I concealed it under my clothes.

It shouldn't be so easy. She shouldn't trust me like this, dammit. Not with the threat of compulsion technology around. But hey, such things never happen to you, do they? And why would you suspect your best friend, your trustee, from something like that? It's not like I'm giving her any signs that would rouse suspicion.

Not even here in the dressing room, where she and I are standing. I watch her slip into her blood-red ballroom gown, fiddling with the zipper on her back with one hand while she holds up her dark curls with the other. She's not even watching me. Why would she. It's like the preparation for any other event we've been to, she and I.

She as the representative of the council, and me as her secretary, her right hand, her best friend. The one she sits around with and drinks rosé wine with after those boring meetings are over, the one with whom she makes fun of the other council members. We've done it countless times before. Why should this one be any different?

It is different this time, because I am being controlled. I can feel them in my mind, taking over my basic functions. It's very odd to be sitting in the backseat all of a sudden, watching everything that my body is doing, what my eyes are seeing and my ears are hearing, but unable to do anything. It's like I have first row seats on what is happening in my life, but I'm all tied up and unable to do anything.

I can't even warn her. I'm trying to speak, but when my voice comes out, it's pleasant chatter, relaxed and friendly, in the way Nynah and I always chatter before meetings. I want to scream, I want to tell her to run, not to trust me, I want to slip hidden hints that they're going to make me kill her, but it just does not happen.

I'm just very aware of what is happening but I feel helpless at the same time, because even the urge to scream is taken away from me. Compulsion technology. It always sounded so laughable. I could never understand how it was used. I thought that one would be able to break through, to leave hidden messages, or at least to kill oneself before she or he would commit that heinous act. Not a chance.

Even the thoughts of such are kept out of reach. Urges to do anything are killed before they reach the action part of my brain. I know that technically I should be able to do something, but the notion of it just never takes a hold of me. I thought it would be like unconsciousness while someone else would take over… but it's not that, either. It's worse. It's like a nightmare; I'm helpless and aware.

"Could you help me with that blasted zipper?" Nynah asks with her trademark beloved smile on her face. "I think it got stuck again."

"Of course," my mouth speaks, and I feel how I am smiling back. My body crosses the dressing room; the ten feet to where she is standing, in front of the vanity stand and the dressers. The lights around the vanity stand shimmer on her jewelry around her neck. "Are those real diamonds?" I ask.

She nods. "Yes, they're the real thing. The local jeweler borrowed them to me. He thought it would be good press if a council member would wear them."

"They look gorgeous with this dress," my voice says, while I observe the tiny diamonds and the rubies in the choker around her neck. My body moves around her to help her with her zipper, and I just want to hug her and tell her that I am sorry, that she should run, but it just doesn't happen. I zip up her dress and tell her that she looks lovely.

"As do you," Nynah smiles at me, taking in my own formal attire; a flowing skirt of cloth-of-silver and a loose white blouse. She doesn't see where the gun's stuck behind the band of my skirt, and I can't tell her. She cocks a cheeky grin. "So, are you ready for the meeting?"

"Always," I say.

As we exit the dressing room through the endless hallways of the conference building, the metal against my skin warms up. It feels as if it's becoming a part of me and I hate it. I walk behind her, a bag with notebooks and pens slung over my shoulder – like so many times before. It's just like any other time.

Apart from the fact, of course, that this time when the camera's are upon us, I'll draw the gun from my clothes and shoot her. Nobody ever thought to check my stuff for weapons. I'm Nynah's best friend, her secretary. Some even speculate that she and I are lovers. Who would suspect me?

Who would suspect that last night they raped my body and turned it into a weapon? The threat of compulsion technology is real, but nobody thinks that it will ever happen to them. Security has become lax with many years of no threats.

Oh dear Nynah, can't you see that I am not myself?

We enter the conference room and suddenly there /are/ security guards.

I struggle against my compulsion and lose; but there must be something they see or sense, because Nynah turns around and eyes me quizzically. "Are you okay?" she asks me, and just when my compulsion opens my mouth to say of course, the security guard asks me to come with them for a bit.

Her dark eyes regard me thoughtfully as they take me away and I know that I've been caught. I don't know how, but they /know/. And thus my compulsion kicks in once more, pushing me to the side, cutting me off from all sensory input but my eyes – I can see what happens. Smell, touch, sound, it all fizzles out. I want to scream, to warn.

Instead, my hand reaches into my skirt and with a fluid, controlled motion, I click off the safety and shoot the two security guards point-blank in the chest.

I've never even shot a gun in my life. And now my hand, controlled and steady, has taken the life of two people.

They fall to the ground, eyes growing glassy with surprise and death. One of them clutches his chest and breathes painfully once or twice before his heart also gives out.

The room suddenly crackles with tension and panic, but everybody just takes cover. Nobody even tries to stop me.

In that half-moment, there is no control. I struggle against my bonds, against the compulsion, I fight for control over my brain and find the way to my speech again. "Stop me!" I scream, before my hands grip themselves tighter around the gun and my index finger crooks around the trigger once more.

Nynah never took cover. She's just standing there, her dark eyes misty with tears. Her pretty face is contorted with grief – oh, she is taking my betrayal so hard.

Why doesn't she take cover?

A few minor adjustments, before I find my perfect aim at her chest. Nynah's hand goes to her chest, perhaps in a gesture of surprise, of shock, but as soon as her slender fingers touch the fine jewelry around her neck, a light flashes and she's suddenly encompassed in an azure light; a bubble of protection around her.

Our eyes lock through an azure light and I know my bullets cannot touch her anymore. In the quiet depths of my mindprison, I weep with relief.

"Why?" she asks, and suddenly I can hear again and feel again. The gun feels heavy and dead in my hands, and I drop it.

"It was not me," I blurt out, my voice breathless. "It was-…" and suddenly a searing, burning sensation explodes in my mind. "Argh!" A smack, and I'm lying on my side on the polished marble floor, spasms of pain racking my body. My head slams against the ground, and I feel sticky blood welling up.

They won't let me tell her. If I tell her, they'll let me die to erase all evidence of compulsion technology they left in my mind. They'll burn me out so the police can't track them down. I can't tell. The mission failed, and I'm happy about that, but I can't tell. I stare up at her azure-shrouded face and weep, because I know it's all over. "I'm so sorry…"

The door opens and more security guards enter. And that's my cue.

It doesn't even take long, thankfully. Just one stab of intense pain. That's all.