Mindbomb Revelations
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Mindbomb: The Beginning free porn video
MINDBOMB: THE BEGINNING
by BobH
(c) 2012
"There, all finished!" she said, smiling proudly.
"I knew you were skilled with make-up," I said, staring wonderingly at my
reflection, "but I still can't quite believe how beautiful you've made me
look. Thank you."
"Nature made you beautiful. I just enhanced what you already have. And
it seems appropriate I should do your make-up on your big day since it
was me who did it for you the first time you ever wore any."
I smiled up at her from my seat at the vanity, pleased that she was so
clearly enjoying her role as mother of the bride. She looked pretty good
for someone closing in on fifty. Yes, her face was a little jowly and
she was overweight, but she carried it well. But then maybe I was biased.
I had always loved her and I always would. It can't have been easy for
her, me being so much younger, slimmer, and prettier than her, but if she
had a problem with this she hid it well.
I stood up and smoothed down the full silk skirt of my stunning wedding
dress, then ran my fingers lightly over the embroidered bodice that
emphasized my tiny waist, along a lacy sleeve, and across the tasteful
amount of cleavage revealed by the neckline.
"It's almost time," she said. "Steven's a lucky man."
Yes, he is, but right this moment his palms would be sweating and he
would probably be experiencing 'butterflies' in his stomach. I knew how he
must be feeling because I'd once been in his position. This was my second
wedding. At my first I'd been the groom. Unbidden, I found my thoughts
drifting back to the day two years ago when everything changed for me....
*
"Are the ambulances all in position?" I asked, shivering slightly as a
gust of freezing December air caught me unawares.
"Of course," replied the Colonel. "They're parked on different streets,
all within a three minute radius of the mall. We'll get to the victims
and close off the scene before anyone else can. Don't worry about the
stuff I'm in charge of - I've got that covered. Just make sure you
don't screw up your own role."
"I won't," I said, "you have my word."
"Good," he replied, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Never
forget this whole set up is down to you. You're the one who said that
if we were to have any chance of finding a pattern in the way a mindbomb
blast switches minds it could only be done by studying a statistically
significant number of cases drawn from every age group and background.
The only way we can assemble that number is by periodically setting one
off in a US city, taking the victims into custody, and letting them think
they've been caught in an attack by unknown terrorists. And you're not
even sure there *is* a pattern."
"We know the effects aren't entirely random," I said, somewhat
defensively. "If they were we wouldn't have the higher than expected
rate of transgender swaps, nor would we see switches staying within
families to the extent they do. Then there's the curious fact that you
never get a swap between two people, not ever. No, there has to be some
sort of pattern, and if there is then given enough cases to study we can
find it. Of course, introducing as many military and law-enforcement
personnel as you want to could skew the results."
"You're just going to have to compensate for that, Doc. No project is
getting the level of funding this one is without guaranteed tangible
results, and those results are going to be a bunch of cops and soldiers
immune to the mindbomb effect, along with a number of unique special
agents. We'll be the only nation on earth with adult agents able to pass
as kids and so get access to places we could never hope to access before."
"I just hope our terrorist cover story holds," I said.
"It won't," said the Colonel, "not forever, but it will hold long enough,
and we have a contingency plan in place for when it gets blown."
"I don't understand," I said.
"We've workshopped the cover story and come up with the most effective way
of pitching it, so we're confident the majority of victims will play ball
when we explain that keeping the mindbombs a secret for now is a matter
of
national security...."
"Yes, and for those who won't there's Camp Gamma."
"Our prison camp, right. However, it's inevitable that even after agreeing
to go along with us there will be someone who decides to go public after
we've relocated them and given them a new life. We've anticipated this.
All across the country, among conspiracy nuts and the suggestible, we've
been planting stories about a government machine being used to switch
people's minds. The idea is out there, but it's coming from people who are
routinely dismissed as loons. Some have already started claiming to be
mind-switched victims, and one or two news outlets have carried pieces on
this new psychosis that seems to be emerging, placing it on a par with
stories of abduction by UFOs. So when someone *does* break rank their
story
will not be believed thanks to the groundwork we've done. We will of
course
quickly whisk them away to Camp Gamma. This will hold things for a while,
but the story *will* eventually break for real. When it does, we will have
to get out in front of it."
"How will you do that?" I asked, genuinely curious. The Colonel was
telling
me stuff now I'd never heard before.
"By letting a few mindbombs fall into the hands of genuine terrorists.
We've already selected an anti-government militia group in Montana as a
likely prospect and have infiltrated an operative into the group to act
as an agent provocateur. He'll get them to set off one of the bombs when
the time is right. We'll make sure they're quickly apprehended and will
then reveal they've been behind many similar attacks in recent years,
evidence for which our man will of course have planted on them. They will
naturally protest their innocence, no doubt ranting a lot of paranoid,
anti-government conspiracy theories in the process. No-one will believe
them. This will also be when we go public about how we've been caring for
the victims all along and helping establish them in new lives where
necessary. I wouldn't be at all surprised if we get medals for our
humanitarian work. OK, I need to go check on my teams now."
He left me standing outside the mall, but I was not by myself for very
long.
A minute or so later I had a visitor, a very welcome visitor.
"Hannah!" I said.
"Hello, Dad," she said, giving me a big hug that was somewhat dampened
by the many layers of clothing between us. She was as warmly wrapped
against the Boston winter as I was.
"Shouldn't you be in position by now?" I said.
"Yes, but I needed to see you as you are one last time. I'm going to miss
you."
"I'm not going anywhere," I said. "Yes, I'll have a new, younger body but
I'll still be me. And, frankly, I can't wait to shed this one. It's
79 years old and has survived two heart attacks. My doctors assure me it
won't survive a third."
"I know," said Hannah, tearing up a little, "but in the almost half a
century I've been alive this is the only you I've ever known. Forgive
me if I'm going to be sorry to see it go."
We hugged for a few minutes longer, then I gently disengaged from
the hug.
"You really do have to go now," I insisted.
She nodded, looked at me a little wistfully, then turned and set off
for her position. This was it. It was really happening. I was glad
Hannah was part of this with me.
I took my Meerschaum pipe and my tobacco pouch out of my coat pocket
and filled the bowl. There should be time for one last smoke before
the main event, so why not? I lit up and wandered over to the mall's
main doors. Not long now.
"Look, Mommy, it's Santa Claus" said a voice behind me.
I turned to see a young girl pointing at me and tugging on her mother's
sleeve excitedly. I had to smile. With my white beard, my round face
and rounder stomach, I knew I looked the part.
"Are you Santa?" the girl asked as they drew level with me.
"No little lady, I'm not," I chuckled. "But he's a good friend of mine
and he's inside in his grotto, giving presents to boys and girls who've
been good."
"Can we go see Santa Claus, Mommy, can we?" pleaded the child, as they
passed through the door and into the welcome warmth beyond.
Her mother sighed, obviously not thrilled with the idea of waiting in
line to see a shopping mall Santa. Then she paused, as if debating
something with herself.
"Of course we can, sweetie," I heard her say, as the doors whooshed
shut behind them, smiling down at her daughter and allowing herself
to be pulled over to the store. I wondered if they'd be caught in the
mindbomb blast. I hoped not. But then, why not them? In the long run
their sacrifices would be for the greater good of our country.
"You got a light?" asked a new voice.
The newcomer was a slim and beautiful young woman with chesnut brown
hair. She was dressed in jeans, snow-boots, and a heavy jacket, and
looked to be around 21 or 22 years old. I pulled out my matches to
oblige her. Taking the light, she took a long drag on her cigarette
and exhaled with a sigh of relief.
"Thanks," she said, "you're a life-saver."
"Christmas shopping?" I enquired.
"Yeah. I'm here with my fiance and decided to step out for a quick
smoke while he catches up with some of his army buddies."
"Army?" I said. "Is he on leave?"
"Yeah," she said, taking another long drag on her cigarette, "got
back from Afghanistan two days ago and flies back out after Christmas.
Stores in the mall are offering special rates for military personnel
on active service so he wanted to do his Christmas shopping here. Of
course, his buddies had the same idea so there's not a lot of shopping
getting done. Right, I'd better get back to him. Nice talking with you."
Taking a final drag on her cigarette, she dropped it to the floor
half-smoked and ground it out under her boot. As she turned to leave so
her credit card wallet slipped from her pocket and fell on the ground,
spilling her cards everywhere.
"Dammit!" she said.
"Here, let me help," I said, and did.
I picked up a couple of cards, noting that her name was Diane Stewart,
and handed them to her.
"Thanks," she said, scooping them into her wallet then heading back
into the mall. That was when my phone rang. It was the Colonel.
"Time to get inside," he said. "The bomb threat has been phoned through
and the FBI are pulling up in front of the mall as we speak. It's on."
I upended my pipe and knocked the dottle onto the ground then placed
it in my pocket, wondering when - if ever - I'd use it again.
I entered the mall, my heart pounding, and made my way over to Santa's
Grotto. The young girl I'd seen earlier had clearly already been to see
Santa because she was sitting on a bench in front of the mall's central
fountain, tearing wrapping paper from a package. As I headed that way
so someone announced through a megaphone:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, can I have your attention please."
The speaker was a surprisingly tall, powerfully built Asian guy in blue
fatigues and heavy boots, a gun holster strapped to his right thigh and
wearing a kevlar vest bearing the letters 'FBI'. Next to him, clad
indentically, stood an only slightly less formidable-looking guy,
red-haired and heavily freckled. Their name tags identified them
as Lee and Kerry.
"We need for you all to leave the mall immediately, so could you please
all head for the exits in an orderly fashion," Lee continued.
I turned back towards the young girl, just in time to see her taking the
cardboard lid off her gift. In that instant a huge flash of light burst
from it, and I blacked out.
*
Someone was shaking me awake.
"Do you know who you are?" she asked as I opened my eyes. Looming over
me was my daughter.
"'m Doctor Edward Mason," I slurred, my voice sounding strange in my
ears, "your father."
It felt like my tongue was weighted down with lead.
"Over here!" Hannah shouted out. "I've found him!"
"We've located the Doc," came the Colonel's voice from some distance
away. "Let's bag and tag everyone else and get out of here."
I tried to move, desperate to discover who I now was, but I could
neither feel nor move my body. I knew this was part of the 'rebooting'
process of course, so there was nothing I could do but wait it out.
Though I couldn't turn my head to see what was happening the sounds
told me what I needed to know, told me that everything around me was
going to plan. The hissing sound as an aerosol syringe fired sedative
into someone's arm was counter-pointed by the swish of a metal
measuring tape being released and spooling back into its casing. This
latter showed that the Colonel's teams were indeed doing what I'd
asked of them, recording the exact position where every victim of the
mindbomb dropped relative to each other and to the bomb. If position
*was* a factor then, when we'd conducted more trials like this and
gathered more data, our computers should be able to find any underlying
pattern.
I was loaded onto a stretcher and carried out to one of the waiting
ambulances. On the other side of the vehicle, lying on another stretcher,
was the sedated form of a middle-aged South Asian man.
"I wonder who's in you now?" I murmured to myself.
Now that the mindbomb project was actually happening, I had a moment
of doubt about what we were doing. We might not - with one horrible
exception - be killing people, but what we were doing was morally no
different than what those who conducted that A-bomb test upwind from
a town had done back in the fifties. They wanted a population that
had been exposed to nuclear fallout to study over decades, just as I
wanted as wide a variety of mind-swiched people as I could get in order
to work up case-studies and to do statistical analyses on transformation
patterns. We both believed that what we were doing was for the good of
the country but that belief didn't alter the fact that we were conducting
large-scale experiments on the civilian population without their knowledge
or consent. They were exprimental subjects, guinea pigs, but we always
referred to them as 'victims'. This was so we wouldn't slip up when
talking to someone who'd been told the mindbombs were planted by
terrorists, but maybe it *was* the right way to describe them. Hannah
had no doubt that what we were doing would ultimately be to the benefit
of mankind as a whole, that the data we were gathering could not easily
be obtained any other way. I had to believe she was right. What other
choice was there?
Hannah climbed into the ambulance and held a hand mirror over my face
with its back to me.
"Prepare yourself," she said, before flipping the mirror over and giving
me my first sight of my new face. I recognized it immediately, and knew
who this body used to belong to.
"Diane Stewart," I said, my voice already feeling stronger. So I was
a woman. Well, there was always a more than even chance I would be,
so I had prepared myself for that possibility. At least I wasn't a
child.
"You know her?" said Hannah, surprised.
"We met briefly before the mindbomb detonated," I said. "I gave her a
light. Since I'm heading to Camp Alpha, I'm assuming she'll be sent
elsewhere."
"Camp Beta," said Hannah, "and we're sending her former fiance to Delta.
Let's hope neither gets themselves reassigned to Gamma."
"No way of keeping them together, then?"
"Not really, no. They're both underage now so the engagement is off,
plus they're both girls."
The fleet of ambulances were taking us to an airbase where military
transports were waiting to ferry us to our designated camps. By the
time we reached the airbase I was fully recovered. The Colonel was
already there, waiting for me on the runway. I leapt out of the
ambulance and stormed over to him.
"Santa's sack," I said, "you had the mindbomb put in Santa's sack. We
agreed it would be put somewhere where no-one would get caught in the
initial explosion. What in God's name were you thinking?"
The initial explosion is small with a blast radius of about three feet.
Not very big, but lethal if you're caught within it. Mindbombs are the
shape of a gridiron football but around half the size. They have a thin
aluminum shell. The initial explosion ruptures this, which allows the
second, non-concussive energy wave to spread out and do its amazing
mind-switching work over something like a seventy yard radius.
"You'd been sounding uncertain," he said, "expressing concerns, and
making me question your commitment to the project now that it's finally
moving forward. I couldn't have that. Lots of people have had to make
hard choices to get us to where we are now, have had to compromise
themselves in many ways. This is your baby, your operation, and your
responsibility, yet you've managed to remain uncompromised. You needed
to have blood on your hands, to be as compromised as the rest of us.
Only then could we trust you, could we be sure you wouldn't, couldn't
chicken out on us. Now, like it or not, you're one of us. We'll make
sure the bombs are put somewhere where no-one will get caught in the
initial explosion in future, though we'll tell the victims a blast
usually kills one or two in order to play up the terrorist angle."
I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. But in that moment I
hated the Colonel.
"All this, the camps, military personnel, and unlimited funding put
at our disposal," he continued, "surely you must have an inkling
why the powers that be give us everything we ask for?"
"So that we can have lots of personnel immune to the mindbomb effect
before its inevitable battlefield deployment," I said, puzzled by the
question, "and to give us a unique pool of special agents that no
other country has."
"All true," he admitted, "and that's the official line, but those
are only the immediate goals. The long term goal, the reason why the
project was set up in the first place, is eternal youth."
"Wait, what?"
He sighed, looking genuinely disappointed in me.
"Regardless of which party is in power, this country is actually
owned and controlled by the same very wealthy people, but however
wealthy you are there is no way you can buy more life or buy
your youth back. There are undoubtedly people who would sell you
these if you offered them enough money, but there has never been
a way of making that transaction a reality. Until now. At present
the mindbomb effect is uncontrollable and apparently random, but
everything we know about it suggests it's not as random as it
appears. All the data you're collecting, all the psychological
profiles you intend working up, all of these have only one ultimate
goal - to control with certainty who ends up in which body. That's
why we get the funding we do. Mindbombs are expensive to produce,
they cost several million each, yet we have dozens of them ready
to use. The people who are bankrolling this, the people who actually
own the country, are expecting you to crack the problem. It doesn't
do to disappoint people like that, so make sure that you don't.
They have a vision of the future in which if you're wealthy enough
you need never die, and they're expecting you to deliver it."
I was silent on the flight to Camp Alpha and Hannah, assuming this
was a part of dealing with my transformation, did not press me.
After landing, I made my way to the camp's administration building
leaving others to unload our cargo of sedated mindbomb victims. I
would worry about the implcations of everything the Colonel had
told me another time. For now I needed to spend some time dealing
with my own situation.
A number of receiving rooms had been set up for the victims. I
decided I wanted a few minutes alone and so commandeered one of
those designated for adult females. It contained a bed, a
full-length wall mirror, a set of drawers, a closet, a small wash
basin and a vanity table.
Back at that Boston mall I had admired the slim and beautiful young
woman with chesnut brown hair, dressed in jeans, snow-boots, and a
heavy jacket. Now thanks to the vagaries of the mindbomb I was her.
In the jacket pocket were the credit cards I'd helped her retrieve
and also her driver's license. I checked the date of birth.
"I'm 21 years old," I murmured to myself. "Unbelieveable."
Removing the jacket, I undid my blouse, slipped my breasts out of
the cups of my bra, and fondled them, fascinated by how this caused
my nipples to become erect. I slid my other hand down inside my
jeans and panties, and gingerly explored my new genitals, careful
not to get myself too aroused. There would be plenty of time for
that later. Some men in my position would be in shock at the loss
of their penis, but I wasn't. I hadn't had an erection in years, and
hadn't had sex for even longer so there wasn't much about it *to*
miss. I had a vagina now, and it was so very different and so
very...intriguing. My examination was abruptly curtailed by a loud
knock at the door.
"Just a minute," I said, quickly readjusting my clothes. "OK, you
can come in now."
It was Hannah, and she was carrying clothing, a make-up kit, and a
pair of high heels.
"Who are those for?" I asked, already suspecting the answer.
"They're for you," she said, placing them on the bed. "Unfortunately
you don't have time to get used to your own transformation just yet
because you need to be there to help others with theirs."
"And the clothing?"
"You have to look the part, to look like a professional, and I'm
afraid jeans and snow-boots just won't do it. But that can wait
for a minute. There's something I need to do first."
And with that she came over and hugged me. We stood there just
holding each other for quite a while until she eventually broke
the hug.
"So how are you holding up?" she asked me.
"Pretty well, actually," I said. "Yeah, being female is going to
take a bit of getting used to, but I'm already loving being young
again. It feels like being restored to full health after a long
illness."
"I'm glad," she said. "Right, this is where the 'getting used to'
part begins. Strip off down to your undies."
I did as she asked, then she helped me dress in the clothes she'd
brought - a dark skirt suit with similarly dark pantihose and heels,
and a red silk blouse. I walked up and down a few times in the heels,
which felt strange but was manageable.
"How does it feel?" asked Hannah.
"I'll need more practice to get comfortable walking in them," I said,
"but I think I can handle it over short distances."
"Good. Now sit down at your vanity. It's time to do your make-up."
She began by pulling my hair back from my face, then set to work. I
gave everything she did my total attention knowing that I'd have to
learn how to do this for myself, and to get proficient at it as soon
as I could.
"Y'know, having you do my make-up isn't one of the father-daughter
bonding experiences I ever imagined us one day sharing when you were
a little girl."
"I suppose not," she chuckled, "but it is - a bonding experience, I
mean. You're going to need my advice and guidance on how to be a
woman for quite a while yet. Something like that can't help but bring
us closer together."
After she'd finished my face Hannah started in on my hair. When she
was done I couldn't believe the transformation. She had been right.
I looked much more polished and professional like this. I was now
ready to see my first patients.
"There's one final thing," said Hannah."
"What's that?"
"Have you chosen a name for yourself?" she asked.
"Caroline," I replied.
"And a surname?"
"Simpson."
"Mom's maiden name. Good. I think she'd approve of you taking it as
your maiden name."
"Name, not maiden name," I said. "I've no intention of ever getting
married."
"You say that now, but I bet you'll be singing a different tune when
your mind and body are fully integrated and those female hormones
kick in."
"If you say so, 'mom'," I said.
*
It had been a joke, calling Hannah 'mom', yet ironically that's what
she eventually became. As one of the staffers at Camp Alpha she needed
a cover identity. My status as a fellow mindbomb victim was a secret
and everyone assumed I was who I'd always been, so we decided that she
should be my mother. We both thought this was amusing, but a funny
thing happened. If you act a part for long enough it can become more
than just an act. I got used to calling her 'mom', she was naturally
protective of me, and somehow it all gradually became the real thing.
She treated me as the daughter she'd never had, while for me she took
the place of the mother now seventy years dead I barely remembered. It
wasn't planned, but we fell into those roles easily. When Steven asked
Hannah for my hand in marriage I thought it was adorable.
And now here I am, a bride on her wedding day.
"Hold still, while I fix your veil in place," said Hannah.
I did so, picking up my bridal bouquet and fiddling with it nervously.
"Looks like I'm just in time," said a new voice.
It was the Colonel, looking splendid in his dress uniform. Even without
the Z-shaped scar over his right eye he had never been a handsome man,
but he certainly cleaned up nicely. We would probably never be friends,
and I had asked him to walk me down the aisle more to embarass him than
anything else. He had been uncomfortable around me since my
transformation,
so this was a little dig at him. To my surprise he accepted. Like it or
not we had to work together, so perhaps this was his way of offering me
an olive branch.
There was a lot we had to work out between us. He had never asked me any
questions about how my transformation had changed me, just as I'd never
pressed him about the mindbomb trials that took place in Afghanistan
before I came aboard and set up the current project. These were
conversations we needed to have one day.
But not today.
He offered me his arm and I took it, heading out to become Mrs Steven
Summers and to start the next phase of my life.
I could hardly wait.
*
The End
*************************************
Note: This was written over two evenings to address some of the points
made in comments on my story 'Mindbomb'. I don't think I've ever written
something this long so quickly before.
Alma
- 13.09.2021
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