author's footnotes:

1) This fictional tale depicts detailed and(at times)explicit circumstances involving physical attraction to/physical relations with paralyzed or "statued" women.  All readers are hereby cautioned as to content, and any individual under the ageof twenty-one is prohibited from reading further. Similarly, any person who disagrees with the philosophy and/or intent of an ASFR story page should now exercise their freedom guaranteed under the US constitution and NOT continue.

2) The anonymous author of the "Quint-Quarts" series retains all ownership rights to concepts and characters created by him. Although comments are welcomed, no edit, adaptation or extension of the story line or characters should be under-taken without the author's written permission. Please contact this story pageadministrator to correspond. Your consideration in this matter is appreciated.  As needed, the standard legalese ..."any similarities to persons living or dead (or previously penned) is coincidental"...applies.

Copyright © 1998B.B.

Previously, the megalomaniacal genius Mademoiselle Mensa has used her raygun to steal the intellect, knowledge and experiences of brilliant females in the fields of physics, bioengineering design, ESP and neural pathway research to assist her in the completion of a "brain-train" thought controlling device. During a battle with MM which saved world-famous ESP expert Sharon Marshall, the Quintessential Quartet paid a high price for underestimating the evil villainess' weaponry. Maw has been turned into a karate-kicking stone statue, Emma was helplessly stupefied in mid-stride, and a raygun-induced catfight between Ingeno-Lady and Looker left the dazzling blonde beauty frozen stiff.
 

COMIC PAGE SEVENTEEN: Inga sits nervously behind the flight controls of the too- rapidly-descending Ionoshperic Clipper with anxious concern etched across her face. Although pre-programmed knowledge from the final stages of her muta-cloning provide the principles and basic technical skills to pilot the QQ's Space-Shuttle-like transport craft; she hasn't yet logged practice time in their top-secret base's flight simulator, much less in the actual IC pilot's chair. However, under the circumstances, Ingeno-Lady has no choice but to fly her companions home. Empath Girl lies restrained in the lower bunk of the sleek airship's sick bay, subdued after her unfortunate encounter with Mademoiselle Mensa less than an hour ago. One might mistake her physical condition for simple sleep, except that her lovely coal-black eyes now refuse to close, revealing crossed and rolled-back irises and dilated pupils. Inside the plummeting ship's cargo hold teeter two motionless women, held upright and in place by multiple elastic tie-down straps. Standing inside a widening pool of water is the knockout beauty Looker, still frozen in the same menacing pose and with the angry expression she held when struck by IL's ice-encasing gauntlet ray. Maw is tightly lashed to (and facing) the IC’s port side bulkhead, with her stone cape extending upward and back in mid-flutter. Her muscular legs are poised in a wide stretching karate stance, drawing attention to the pebble-gray bikini-clad derriere held in a taught flex. She poses rigidly within a coiled attack lunge which, if permitted to continue, would have ended the malevolent Mademoiselle's evil plans. But the brain-ingrain had petrified her instead.

"Warning...approaching unrecoverable descent angle...engaging vertical thrusters for emergency compensation..." intones a mechanical voice of the computer co-pilot to the nearly-panicking Inga. The IC is some 5 miles above and 30 miles away from their base's New Mexico runway; however the brave and ingenious leader of the QQ's is discovering first-hand just how tricky and delicate the landing of their supersonic aircraft can be. It is comparable to firing an arrow some 1500 miles (from NC), then adjusting its three small tail feathers to make the projectile land flat, rather than striking point-first into the ground. But much to IL's dismay, this latter outcome seems ever-increasingly-likely. Trickles of sweat dampen her raven-haired locks and girl-next-door facial features. "Ingeno-Lady to Professor Johannson...come in please...Mayday...Mayday", she calls but gets no response; except from the dispassionate computer: "velocity now exceeding recommended terminal limits...preparing to jettison pressurized cabin escape module...maneuvering control lost". Just then, a drenched and shivering companion grabs the co-pilot controls and careens the IC over into an inverted loop-the-loop and barrel roll. Airspeed indicators go off scale...

COMIC PAGE EIGHTEEN: Some two hours later inside her New Orleans hideaway, the malicious Mademoiselle takes full advantage of her newly-acquired ESP and telepathic knowledge to complete microcircuitry and wiring inside the brain-train's emitter module. So named by her mysterious accomplice, the goal of this evil weapon is to force multiple victims simultaneously "all aboard" in following mental commands of a single "conductor". Closing the maintenance access panel on the 12'x15' massive device, she throws the power switch for its interior cold fusion reactor and watches with glee as the control panel meters and indicator lights spring to life. Glancing at the wall chronometer next to a large video monitor, MM notes with satisfaction that she has accomplished final assembly according to their original timetable- although with only fifteen minutes to spare. Already dressed seductively for a scheduled teleconference with her male partner (in a semi-transparent short pink nightgown and matching lace panties), the evil genius wishes to make her next progress report as glowing as is possible. An initial test of the multiple-target thought controlling mechanism seems in order. Swaying her incredible legs and veiled backside atop four inch pink heels, she crosses her lab to the table where the insidious brain-drain raygun sits in its recharging bay. Next to this weapon rests the control helmet and selector for the device she just completed. Donning the high-tech headgear (resembling a chrome yamakah skull cap with dozens of encircling golden wires) atop her pretty platinum blonde hairdo, she engages its hand-held remote control box by hitting the POWER button. With her green eyes and patented wicked smile flashing, she heads for the adjacent hangar bay.

Three dubious characters from the New Orleans underworld occupy the airship hangar. Most notable is Hugo Mancini, son of the notorious mafia Don Giovanni Mancini. This handsome 25-year-old future mob boss currently bides his time pursuing a passion for exotic jet aircraft. MM has struck a deal with Hugo, whereby he oversees maintenance and test flights of the airship (keeping it ready and at top operating performance for her whenever needed) in exchange for unhindered and undisclosed occupancy of this hidden warehouse laboratory. Openly fascinated by the sleek, crescent-shaped (formerly the Artificial Intellicorp) supersonic jet, Hugo had immediately agreed to this arrangement some five weeks ago. Even now, just after MM's return from North Carolina, he is personally attending to the refueling and upkeep of "his baby". Mancini's ubiquitous and stereotypical bodyguard is Guido Sartucci. A lifelong loyal servant to the Mancini family, Guido is now somewhat over-the-hill. Gray-haired and balding in his late fifties, his $1000 Italian silk suit strains at the midriff from thirty recently-acquired excess pounds. The upper-right-hand side of his jacket strains against his favorite Uzi semi-automatic pistol. Guido sits at a small table containing a late lunch of lobster bisque, crabmeat-and-cheese canapes and Perrier-Jouet champagne. A sexy companion has shared this repast with him.

Lisa Mazzeo has had her fill of food and wine, and is now intent on reapplying her dark crimson lipstick with the assistance of a diamond-studded compact case. She fidgets impatiently on a barstool chair, crossing and uncrossing her lovely curving legs- displayed to perfection in sheer navy stockings below a stunning sequined blue cocktail dress. Her maneuvering has no impact whatsoever upon the mafia boss' son, who is engrossed in the inspection of one of the airship's engine turbines; however, Guido appears to be having difficulty ignoring Lisa's intermittent show of garters and apparent lack of panties. She does not fully conceal a teasing smirk aimed at the bodyguard. First succeeding in making Guido's crotch area obviously uncomfortable, she next petulantly shouts to her boyfriend, "HEY, Huggy...how much longer ya goin' to BE sweetie? We've got reservations at Antoine's in less than an hour, and I was thinkin' you and I could first...Uh Oh, it's the bitch...er, I mean, Hiya Mademoiselle! Nice outfit, dearie. Expectin' some company?" Both men are transfixed at the sight of MM's sheer babydoll nightgown. Guido leers openly and wolf-whistles, while Hugo gazes appreciatively at the villainess' exceptional cleavage while striding toward her. He has intended to add MM to his list of conquests since the first moment he laid eyes upon her. Lisa senses this open lust from across the hangar and shouts, "HOLD IT Huggy...What do ya think you're doin’? What's SHE got that I haven't got?" leaping up from her stool. Her face flushed with anger, this early-twenties olive-skinned beauty rushes toward the mischievous Mademoiselle. Lisa's ample busom is nearly bounding out the top of her low-cut dress as she briskly walks over.

MM takes this verbal cue and runs with it, saying, "One theeng I now have that you do not, cherie, ees pozession of your free will!", while hitting the MULTI setting on the brain-train remote control. Simultaneously, both Hugo and Lisa move slower and slower in their paces, to the point of seeming to advance into a frame-by-frame VCR special effect. The leering Guido is halted at mid-motion in the act of picking his teeth.

Mademoiselle Mensa giggles and then mentally commands, I want your total obedience!!

Three victims instantly stand straight and fully upright, with glazed eyes staring blankly at their master. They await their next commands with anticipation, never contemplating anything less than total fulfillment of her desires. MM sizes them up (curly-haired Hugo especially) for a long moment. She now decides to test the strength and full capacity of her control over them while also enjoying herself in the process. The absolute power of the brain-train arouses her, and she gently squeezes her large breasts through pink lace.

An amazing erotic scene plays out inside the hangar bay over the next fifteen minutes. The three gangsters jerkily walk (almost robotically) to stand in a line about ten feet in front of the evil villainess. Next, they begin an involuntary aerobics routine- running in place, touching their toes, stretching and jumping. Then suddenly, while still continuing with their forced exercises, Guido, Lisa and Hugo begin to take off clothing. In under two minutes the trio performs squats, leg lifts, knee bends, etc. while totally nude. Our megalomaniacal Mademoiselle fondly examines various male and female body parts bending, bouncing and flapping before her in exhibition. She notes with appreciation the generous endowments of both Hugo and Lisa while tweaking her own nipples to rigidity. The aging overweight bodyguard, however, is something of a turn-off. She switches to the SINGLE setting on the helmet remote control to influence each victim one-by-one.

Both men again stand at attention to watch the curvaceous long-haired moll begin to wriggle and writhe seductively. Crimson-nailed hands are commanded to massage her own black pubic bush, breasts with oversized mocha nipples, and tan-lined rounded rump. The response in both male groins is obvious. Just then, a weakness in the brain-train thought controller is revealed. Now several minutes into the experiment, MM’s total physical dominance is maintained; yet the three victims begin to regain control over their speech enough to utter verbal protests: "Huggy, what is she DOING to us? I can't stop my hand from rubbing my swollen clit...OHHhhh....but it feels GOOD!" moans Lisa. Hugo says, "Mensa, you're making a life-ending mistake by...YES MISTRESS.. I must now be silent and put my tongue to a much better use for you!" Moments later, the video monitor buzzer at the communications desk sounds, and the screen brightens. MM thinks quickly.

COMIC PAGE NINETEEN: That very same day in the nation's capitol, Senate majority leader (and well known filibuster-obstructionist) Entrench Alot succeeds in cajoling and threatening his colleagues from both political parties so as to gain the 69-31 chamber vote necessary to override the Presidential veto of Congress' budgetary overhaul. Not very surprisingly, given his overt affiliations with conservative religious leader Perry Godspell, Senator Alot attaches amendments to the original budget bill which would mandate school prayer, reinstate "creationist" curriculums, provide tax rebates for private Christian school tuition, and offer prosecution immunity for right-to-life hostilities against abortion clinics.

These changes throw the bill back into House-Senate conference committee, necessitating a crucial override vote in the U.S. House of Representatives, scheduled in four days time.

COMIC PAGE TWENTY: Three U.S. Air Force security guards struggle under the burden of carrying the turned-to-stone Maw from the IC's base hangar into Professor Johannson's genetic engineering laboratory. Grunting and sweating from the weight of their granite charge, they now complete their chore by gently lowering the "statued" QQ warrior into an upright position in the middle of the control room. The muscular super-heroine wobbles side-to-side slightly as she is set down onto the floor in her marshal arts wide fighting stance, then settles back into a stock-still pose. Her frozen expression of surprise betrays no sign whether she is aware of the scientists and Genesis Donors now surrounding her and closely examining her petrified predicament. Maw's vacant gray eyes stare toward the open conference room door at two companions seated at a round table.

Ingeno-Lady places a thick woolen comforter around the shoulders of the still-shivering Looker. A terrycloth towel now wraps the recently-thawed beauty's strawberry blonde wet tresses inside a green turban. She holds a large mug of steaming hot chocolate close to her lovely body, sipping from it intermittently. Looker's "showstopper" costume lies drenched on the outer laboratory floor. The QQ's expert Ionospheric Clipper pilot had saved them at the last moment, "de-icing" just in time to daringly recover maneuverability of their airship and complete a successful landing onto a secret New Mexico base runway. Both she and Inga now await debriefing from their mentor, Nils Johannson. "Wow", Inga says, "it certainly was lucky that the Professor placed my freeze-ray default settings down so low. I had argued for a much stronger incapacitating effect, lasting several hours and requiring a hypothermia-apnia-equipped ER to resuscitate my ray targets. But if he hadn't overruled me for safety reasons, and set-synchronized a self-recovering 45-60 minute ice-encasing effect, we would all be smudges at the bottom of a big desert crater by now".

Nils enters the room holding a miniaturized audio-video recorder usually hidden inside Looker's costume mantle. Although the video portion of the tape is useless after the brain-disdain ray blanketed both QQ's (all that can be seen is out-of-focus tumblings from their struggle), the audio recording of MM's taunting of the by-then-stupefied Emma can be heard clearly in the background: "...of my brain-train! Control over Thomas' little fraternity ees now within our grasp. He will be thrilled, and I will be very rich!...". The brilliant geneticist addresses his young proteges, "Inga, Looker, I am relieved both of you have returned safely to us, but I am heartbroken over the helpless conditions of your two companions. The possibility of their recovery is remote, and we must consider beginning anew processes for generating strength and empathy muta-clones to assist us in battling Mensa". "That might be a little bit premature, Professor," says a familiar voice behind him.

COMIC PAGE TWENTY-ONE: "Judging from that sexy outfit and the big smile on your face, you've got some good news to report. Am I right Jackie?", queries MM's anonymous male partner over the video monitor speaker. Our mischievous Mademoiselle makes a tremendous effort to keep her facial expression under control and replies, "Mais oui, Thomas. As I promized to you, I have completed construction of the brain-train according to our original timetable. Preliminary testing has been most ....OOooohhh... favorable!". She leans forward slightly and grabs the edge of the communications desk to steady herself. "You mean you've already tested the mind controller? Was performance as expected"? Unable to contain herself under the circumstances, Jacqueline Abrutez-Vous runs her hands up under the sheer pink fabric of her babydoll nightgown, pleasantly stimulating her elevating pale brown nipples before continuing, "YEeessss...cheri, device performance- not to mention that of ...AaaaHhhhh... the lab rats I am testing it upon- ees exquisite! All three are mozt eager to fulfill my every wish and whim, both individually and as a group. Total control over motion and physical activity ...uuunnhhh...appears to be indefinite; however some speech ees regained by the victim about five minutes following implant of any command." Thomas thinks this over and replies, "Well, that's unfortunate, but I think we can live with such a shortcoming if I'm careful about my timing. Any more problems I should know of, baby"? Her eyes had fluttered shut while he spoke, and MM only now forces them back open to address her accomplice, saying, "Well...mmmnnnnhh... range of the brain-train seems limited to around 250-275 feet, even with Dr. Fujitoyama's cold fusion reactor power." Thomas is highly agitated by this news, shouting,"WHAT??!! Jackie, how I am supposed to get that electronic monstrosity past security to within 100 paces of the floor?" Spreading her stance slightly wider(for added stability?), the seductive villainess reassures her partner with, "Stay calm, monsieur, PLEeeasssse...I already have formulated plans to miniaturize the device. And I know JUST the person to help me," she adds while glancing at a nearby computerized map locator . A blinking red dot lies within a close-up area detail of northern New Mexico. Her computer has labeled the site "USAF Area 57- Top Secret Access Only". MM continues, "Ooh La La!! Cheri, it seems you will need to call in a big favor from your military friends for this one!" First adjusting the monitor camera to display the locator results for her partner, she waits in ecstasy while Thomas replies, "General Hawke of the Joint Chiefs has been pestering me about a signed copy of my new book for his wife. I'll arrange for a meeting with him tomorrow morning, and perhaps you might drop in on us too... and would you bring the train's headpiece"? He says nothing about the top of a curly-black-haired head now made visible by the new monitor camera angle, bobbing just below MM's waist. But his face flushes red with anger.

As the telemonitor screen fades to black, the evil villainess arches her back and lets forth the repressed sexual buildup in a series of loud guttural moans. Hopping up to sit on the comm desk edge, she spreads her luscious legs as wide as the pink panties around her ankles will allow. Hugo Mancini continues with the enthusiastic oral sex he obediently has been providing uninterrupted for the past ten minutes from this new angle. Finally, the libidinous Mademoiselle issues her subject new mental imperatives. He stands and slowly penetrates his generous manhood inside her. In her more-than-ready frenzied sexual state, she orgasms quickly, while Hugo is building to his own climax. MM, however, is finished with her sexual toy du jour, and depresses the MULTI then NEUTRAL buttons on the brain-train remote. The mafia boss freezes in mid-thrust, and she departs laughing cruelly.

COMIC PAGE TWENTY-TWO: Ingeno-Lady and Looker both simultaneously shout the name of their companion, "MAW!!", while rushing toward the powerful QQ leaning for support on the conference room door frame. Scott McGillicutty appears from behind her and places an arm about her trim waist. Maw is so exhausted that she can barely stand. She had insisted Scott and the Genesis Donors let her surprise the Professor and her two colleagues. And surprise them she did. Astonish them is more like it. IL is the first to voice the question on everybody's mind, "But Maw, HOW did you manage to change yourself BACK into flesh and blood? Weren't you solid granite? Unconscious?" The still-dazed super-heroine in the bodybuilder's blue bikini shrugs and says, "Beats me, Inga. Last thing I remember is getting ready to clobber Mademoiselle Mensa, when I was hit with a weird yellow light. My mind went blank, and my body began changing.. stiffening... petrifying! Next thing I know I'm back at base, with ‘mother’ staring at me teary-eyed".

Professor Johannson warmly hugs his reanimated creation and states, "Yaah, fate was our ally the day Scotty and I decided to accelerate your muta-cloning to completion 100 hours early. The resulting instability in the proto-matter crystalline matrix apparently caused a breakdown in Maw's adjusted molecules, which then subsequently reverted back to their neutral state.The result is the living and breathing woman you see before us! Now relax and recover, all of you. You shall rest tonight, for tomorrow we must plan our next steps. Emma's future depends upon our ability to track Mensa down before it is too late".

COMIC PAGE TWENTY-THREE: Bob Clampett’s Press Secretary, young Tom Stepalloverus, is making a prepared statement at the White House media room podium.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Press Corps, may I have your attention, PLEASE! We here at the White House have been as puzzled as everybody else by the political extremism and back room maneuvering on Capitol Hill these past weeks. It seems clear that certain key

Congressional figures are determined to shove a far-right-wing government agenda down the throats of the American people. However, President Clampett has total confidence in the Constitution and our political system. These conservative budgetary blitzkriegs have been successfully thwarted by veto before; and we are optimistic that the House vote three days from now will again be cast in our favor- and to the benefit of the country! In fact, the President is planning to make a rallying speech to the nation from the Rose Garden on the afternoon of the House veto override attempt. He is reshuffling his schedule even now to make time for this important message. That morning, he will shorten to 45 minutes each of his four "interviews" with female White House intern finalists. Our Chief Executive will also delay briefly the start of private "recognition ceremonies" with newly-crowned Miss United States and her four runner-ups, to be held at D.C. Hot Tub Rentals later that day. Bob Clampett will restore your faith in the honesty and integrity of this country's leaders!

COMIC PAGE TWENTY-FOUR: Early in the morning of the next day, we see MM emerge from her living quarters dressed in a counterfeit United States Air Force major's uniform. She pauses momentarily at the comm desk to appraise a brainwave-neutralized Hugo Mancini's pose. Still paralyzed, his penis retains fully all of its vigor held when MM hit the brain-train remote NEUTAL setting more than 12 hours before. In a hurry, the villainess simply gives his cock a playful squeeze, and spanks his still-thrust-forward taut buttocks. She departs for the airship hangar carrying raygun, helmet. and remote control.

At the threshold of the hangar bay, the malevolent Mademoiselle laughs vigorously as she considers a second frozen tableau vivant. Guido Sartucci stands naked in side view with his hands clasped behind his back. His knees are slightly bent, back fully arched, and his head is thrown back in pleasure. Guido appears to be halted in mid-moan with his eyes closed. Located beneath the bodyguard's gray-hairy stomach paunch is the beautiful face of Lisa Mazzeo. Kneeling nude before her playmate with one hand wrapped affectionately around the shaft of his still-erect manhood, she entertains the circumcised tip inside dark crimson lips. An expression of adoration is cemented into her eyes as she gazes lustfully upward toward Guido's face. Lisa's other paralyzed hand is caught reaching back behind her, fingers between bent ass cheeks to fondle her own labia. Her mocha nipples are erect.

The platinum blonde bombshell advances on the helpless mafia moll, saying, "Well, cherie, I see you took my ‘suggestion’ yesterday that the two of you become an item most seriously...perhaps in the future you will think twice before calling me a bitch"? Next MM places the brain-train helmet on her head and depresses the remote MULTI setting. The neutralized couple instantly reanimates and continues where they left off twelve hours ago. However, after a few moments, power of speech is restored to them due to a 'glitch' in the microcircuitry. Guido simply moans, but sexy Lisa protests vehemently her sad situation between earnest sucks with, "MERCY Mademoiselle...PLEEEASE let me go...I'm SO sorry about name-calling ..YEEAACHH!...Please STOP...Guido is such a fat old PIG!..."

At that moment, a dazed Hugo arrives at the hangar doorway to witness the oral sex. He becomes enraged, and lunges for the Uzi weapon lying atop the heap of Guido's clothing. MM focuses on him and regains control over his willpower just as he is about to pull the trigger and blow them away. "Temper temper, mon petit chou chou! Perhaps the time has come to end our little trial experiments. I have a greater need for your other maintenance zervices to get me off- to the Pentagon! Yet, I think Lisa ees correct about Guido here..."

Focusing her attention on the overweight and balding bodyguard, the villainess' bright green eyes flash. Guido's eyes pop wide open in shock and disbelief, and he next staggers several steps backward away from his beautiful lover. He stares pleadingly at MM in protest while shaking his head "no" for 1-2 seconds before the brain-train order overwhelms his mind. Incredibly, the underworld assassin begins snorting and grunting noisily, then drops onto his hands and knees. Raising his "snout" to loudly sniff the air of the hangar bay, Guido seems irresistibly attracted toward the table near the door. With his large flabby buttocks wobbling side-to-side as he progresses slowly on all fours, he lets out a series of squeals and 'oinks' which confirm his thought-controlled transformation. Lisa's description has become Guido's humiliation, with Mademoiselle Mensa's cruel help.

By nudging a table leg, the swinish victim succeeds in knocking onto the floor crabmeat canapes and lobster bisque, which he sloppily rummages through and laps up with his lips, teeth and tongue. Our villainess doubles over with laughter, saying, "Tres bien, cochon!"

Turning to her other two guinea pigs, she mentally commands, You both remember nothing of these experiments. Behave now as if they never happened!! The duo quickly return to tasks they were undertaking before captured by the brain-train yesterday. A still-naked Hugo completes his maintenance and pre-flight check of MM's airship. Lisa sits nude on the barstool and recommences lipstick touch-up using a diamond-stud compact. As a parting gesture, the evil villainess forces the dark crimson crayon to wander, covering the moll's nose, eyebrows, nipples, etc. Lisa becomes a living "connect-the-dots" puzzle.

COMIC PAGE TWENTY-FIVE: "One hundred forty seven...one hundred forty eight...

unhhhhnn...one hundred forty nine...urrghhhh...one hundred fifty!...wheewh"!! Maw lets the three-hundred-fifty pound barbells slam back down on the base gymnasium floor mat, where they land with a bouncing CLANK. Having completed her third repetition of 50 clean-and-jerks as finale to her twice-daily weight lifting and exercise routine, she heads down the hall toward the shower in her living quarters. Rippling muscles glow and shine under a coating of perspiration. Anticipating cleanup and cool-down, she absent-mindedly tugs off the shoulder straps of her red-and-white striped unitard. Looker's door is open.

Inside the suite of the companion super-heroine, a usually-dazzling beauty labors to recover from the ravaging effects of Inga's freeze ray on her appearance. Strawberry blonde tresses which were turned into an icicly, tangled disaster now sit fully coiffured and styled inside a hair-drying machine. Looker's Genesis Donor-mother assists in the process by providing an expert manicure from across the coffee table. The muta-clone herself is putting finishing touches on her own make-up (although it's 10:00 at night) and too-long appraises results in a hand-held mirror. Neither notices the topless weight-lifter in the hall.

"Damn", begins the 'Mom', "I ran out of Jamaican Sunset on your last fingernail. I think there's one more bottle down in my travel bag in the guest room. Be right back, sweetie!"

The world-famous supermodel enters the hallway passage leading to the complex main elevators just in time to glimpse Maw bending to completely step out of the unitard as she crosses her own room threshold. In-between two bronzed, perfectly-sculpted buttocks muscles, dozens of glistening crinkled blonde nether-region hairs are revealed. In the next instant, both women are gone- Maw into her shower and 'Mom' inside the elevator.

DOING!! The doors of the elevator open slowly at the laboratory/guest quarters level of the QQ base, and Looker’s donor-mother emerges while humming the theme to Baywatch (her favorite show). Passing by the experimental materials storage locker, she glances into the design-testing facility workroom. This brightly illuminated area contains three figures. Nils Johannson and IL hover over a laboratory examination table from which radiates dozens of electrical monitoring cables and wires. Lying on the table is a saffron-saronged Empath Girl, enveloped by EEG electrodes attached to both temples, forehead and base of her skull. A medical eye bandage has been placed over her face to cover the immutable cross-eyed expression of stupefication; and she appears to be at peace. Of course, emotions are now beyond her capacity. Connected to Emma's head by two gold wires is a strange-looking headpiece sitting on an adjacent table. Similar in shape to a set of in-the-ear Walkman headphones (only slightly larger), this silver-chrome device blinks alternately blue, red and yellow from a small control panel on its left side. Inga first picks up a micro-solderer and tinkers with the fine-tuning of this contraption’s interior wiring, then closes a tiny maintenance hatch. Next, she dons it atop her wavy raven locks.

The supermodel curiously considers IL's actions while strolling into the workroom, and begins, "HEY...I know what you guys are doing. I saw this once on an old episode of Gilligan's Island! You're picking up radio waves through Emma's teeth, and Inga's listening to music on those headphones...am I RIGHT"? Nils and Ingeno-Lady exchange a look of incredulity, and IL rolls her eyes. The Professor responds, "No, Kathy. Inga and I have surmised from your 'daughter's' audio recording of Mademoiselle Mensa that she plans to use Empath Girl's fledgling telepathic knowledge to create some sort of thought-projecting weapon. Using our data records of Emma's pre-programming and her genetic makeup, we are attempting to design electronic counter-measures to combat her. If we succeed in calibrating this emmitter headpiece to an exact reverse-sinusoidal bioresonant frequency of Emma's muta-cloned brainwaves, we should be able to generate a nullifying projection field capbable of deflecting Mensa's telepathic commands". The air-headed Genesis Donor has absolutely no clue at all what Nils has just said, and stares blankly back at him for several long seconds. Finally she mumbles, "Yeah? Uh...OK...whatever...", and quickly departs for her guest room to find the nail polish. IL and the Professor again make eye contact across the examination table, and then both chuckle momentarily.

"Yaah, we reach a critical stage. I shall go retrieve seventy grams of proto-matter needed to synchro-install inside our invention". Heading down the hall into the materials storage locker, Nils uses robotic arms inside a radioactive chamber to transfer a small quantity of glowing thick purple gelatin into a lead-lined hypodermic dispenser. As he heads for the hallway, he hears Looker's 'Mom' cry out, "HEY! Who the HELL are Y...," followed by a bright green flash and a loud THUD. Crossing the threshold into the hall, he views the miniskirted supermodel crumpled onto the floor with her hands clutching her head. For an instant, Nils' libido gets the better of him, since the unconscious woman's upraised, out-of-place skirt and silky-thin panties leave little to his imagination. But then he hears an accented voice originating from inside the elevator, "Ah! Bonsoir, Professor"!

COMIC PAGE TWENTY-SIX: Ten minutes earlier, USAF Captain Katherine Wilkens was sitting at the high-tech surveillance command desk in an anteroom near the top-secret New Mexico base's main entrance. The front gate had just signalled to her that the soon-to-be-expected Major Havoc had arrived from Washington. Havoc's security clearance and orders were letter-perfect, coming straight from highest possible command echelons.

Scanning the visitor's service record on her computer monitor, Katie was very impressed with the meteoric rise of this woman's career through officer ranks. A decorated F-119A fighter-bomber pilot in the Persian Gulf and an electrical engineering design expert? Now that's one Air Force major this pretty, dishwater-blonde 25-year-old just had to meet.

Besides, Katie's gut instinct was shouting to her that this lady might be a little too perfect.

She glanced at the bright red "panic" button on her console which activated a loud alarm linked directly to the quarters of a squad of Navy Seals. She also unstrapped her pistol.

Katie heard two USAF guards snap to full attention as the base front doors swung open.

"Excuse me, Major, but security regulations require me to look inside your briefcase..." was all Katie managed to say to the tall platinum blonde before things took a bizarre turn.

First, an unexpected blast of yellow light burst from the briefcase and surrounded Katie's head. She had reached for the panic button, but her index finger halted two inches above it, and wouldn't budge any further. She sat motionless with an expression of dumb surprise stuck on her face while her brain emptied of all thought and reasoning, except for the command Escort me safely through all security to the lab entrance!! Despite her lethal training as a security officer, whose duty it was to protect and prevent unauthorized entry to the QQ base, Katie soon was heading for the elevator flashing a big stupid smile.

The guards at the front door had suspected nothing as the two women walked down the hall. Downstairs, however, the Commander of the Navy Seals had been suspicious of Katie's slightly mechanical (almost robotic) walk, her glazed expression, and her providing all necessary passwords and countersigns in a droning monotone. He was rewarded for his caution with a blast of red light from the major's briefcase which blanketed him and his entire squad. To Katie's amazement, the Navy Seals had then begun to hotly argue among themselves, and the disagreements rapidly escalated into a full-scale fist-flying brawl. With eleven elite military assassins reduced to the mental level of bratty boys having a slug-fest, Katie obediently used an encrypted magnetic access card and her personal identity codes to open the doors leading to the base commander's checkpoint. Major Havoc had forced some sort of medical pill down the young brain-ingrained escort's throat as they neared the final two security guards; then she greeted them with a thrown golf-ball-sized object that exploded upon contact with the floor. A thick green vapor rendered both of the men unconscious in mere seconds, although neither woman was affected.

In final and full compliance to her irresistible orders, Captain Wilkens mechanically strode into the base commander's office suite, and ignoring icy stares of disbelief from both the general himself and a female adjutant-colonel, went over to pose dumbly beside the top-secret laboratory's elevator access port. Without saying a word, Katie then stood tall and straight with her legs sligtly apart and one knee bent, shapely hips pivoted around to the right, and (with a flourish) swung both arms up to frame the elevator's high-security control panel with her open palms. She could just as easily have been a television model highlighting Showcase #1 on The Price is Right. One difference, however, was that Katie would now remain in this pose, as stiff and still as a department store mannequin, for the next several hours until the raygun's effects subsided. She had become nothing more than a curvaceous knick-knack decorating Mademoiselle's showdown with the base's 'top brass'.

Major-General William J. "Old Bullhorn" Hadden and his operations officer-aide Colonel Margaret Howell (known as "tightass" among USAF airmen, because of her strict 'by-the-book' style, as well as her complete lack of any outward sign of emotion) watched with growing anger as the hapless Captain Wilkens disregarded all military protocol and security procedures before their very eyes. The general was a large man in his late 50's, who had earned his reputation (and nickname) from his ability to verbally reprimand and discipline troops in an acerbic style and at decibel levels few others could hope to achieve.

Today, he was at his tongue-lashing best. Lacing into the cute brain-ingrain victim at point-blank range, he was astonished to discover that his VVA (vicious verbal abuse) had absolutely no effect whatsoever on the lady captain. Her body pose, pretty-but-vacuous smile- even the catatonic hundred yard stare- all remained frozen as if molded from plastic.

Of course, this non-reaction simply further infuriated the base commander. So, when our Major Havoc sauntered into the office suite from the vapor-filled hallway, "Old Bullhorn" more than lived up to his nickname. However, the short-tempered villainess tolerated the general's ranting and raving just long enough to subtly maneuver him over next to the lab elevator's security control panel. Then, with Hadden's index finger pointing into her face, she opened her briefcase, switched her raygun to the DRAIN setting, and perfunctorily stupefied him in mid-bellow. Thereby stealing mental access to the top-secret codes and passwords necessary to enter the genetics lab, MM stood smiling evilly as the general's intellect assimilated into her own. Next, while pivoting the motionless commander into position for the elevator's retinal scan device, she exclaimed, "Ooh La La! It seems that zee ladies are not zee only ones affected by my raygun!" Nine solid inches straining against Hadden's trousers would get the better of a mischievous Mademoiselle's curiosity, and he soon stood on display for her with mouth wide open, eyes crossed, unzippered and erect.

Removing the general's circular-style turnkey from the chain around his neck, MM faced Colonel Howell. In a manner similar to the failsafe firing procedures used to launch nuclear weapons, the end-of-the line security precaution for QQ lab elevator access was a double-turnkey enabling mechanism. Both Hadden and Howell must simultaneously insert and turn their keys into separate round locks (located some ten feet apart) in order to open the doors to the lift. Addressing the modestly-attractive, mid-40's African-American career operations officer, the evil villainess said, "Your decision against ezcaping to the gas-filled hallway was both wize and timely, colonel. I now have need of your assistance." Howell knew she was trapped like a cornered cat, and worried about ending up like her stupefied and mannequinized fellow officers; but the brave, by-the-book "tightass" wouldn’t give in.

"HELL NO! Want ME to help you get downstairs?? YOU can just go %!#&*$ yourself!"

Mademoiselle Mensa angrily pondered her defiant words momentarily, then smiled cruelly. Sliding the in-line selector on her raygun to the INGRAIN position, she retorted, "On the contrary, cherie...", and fired. After a moment of resistance, the villainess' newest victim rose from her desk with a completely blank expression on her face, and proceeded to her turnkey socket. Seconds later, the access port to the genetics laboratory elevator stood open. But MM's brain-ingrain orders to the colonel did not stop there. Margaret returned to her desk, mechanically unbuttoned her blue military skirt, and pulled down and off half-slip, pantyhose and underwear.Unable to stop herself, she hopped up to sit on the desktop, spreading her feet and legs as wide apart as possible. Both hands slid up creamy brown thighs until they reached her jet-black crotch, which was now on lewd display and rapidly becoming moist. After 2-3 minutes of involuntary stimulation to her own labia and clitoris, Margaret found herself plunging first one, then two, then three fingers into her wet vagina. Major Havoc(who now truly had lived up to her pseudonym)turned General Hadden about to face this exhibition, placing both his hands around the shaft of his impressive cock. MM then departed with, "Tres bien, mes amis! You two make such a cute couple...Au revoir"

COMIC PAGE TWENTY-SEVEN: And so, remarkably, it happened that Jacqueline Abrutez-Vous (aka Mademoiselle Mensa aka Major Havoc) slipped undetected past the ultra-tight security precautions of the QQ's underground laboratory base; and thus stands inside the complex main elevator with her funnel-shaped raygun pointing directly at an astonished Nils Johannson. "It was nearly ten years ago, Professeur, and you probably do not remember, but I was once a biochemistry student of yours at zee Sorbonne," she says while switching her weapon onto the DRAIN setting. He replies, "Yaah, it is a very small world Jacqueline. And why do we have the pleasure of your company this evening? Is not poor Empath Girl's stolen intellect sufficient to complete your diabolical plans"? The sexy villainess responds with,"Oui, merci beaucoup, monsieur.Your lovely empathic muta-clone did indeed prove to be most helpful in the completion of my brain-train. Her telepathic bioresonant frequencies have also facilitated efficiency improvements in this delightful toy I now hold. In a few seconds, you may be less-than-happy to realize that my raygun can now successfully drain three subjects of average intelligence, while still providing five firings at its ancillary settings. And now, I need your clever miniaturization design skills which that other Quint-Quart so ably displayed atop the bell tower. What was her name"?

"I am known as Inga to my friends; but YOU can call me Ingeno-Lady," shouts a familiar voice from the far end of the lab hallway. Mademoiselle does not have any time to react.

In the next second, two small pillbox-shaped projectiles whiz past the Professor's left ear, and impact squarely with a dull THUMP against the fake medals and ribbbons protruding from MM's ample chest. Instantly, hundreds of thin white synthetic cords whirl and spin outward from these objects, wrapping about the villainess' neck, torso, left arm, hips and legs to capture her in their constricting (almost mummifying) grasp. Inga's new hyper-lariat gauntlet weapon has passed its first test on a live target! Forced off balance by unexpected extreme tension in the bonds around her pressed-together legs, the misguided Mademoiselle teeters for a moment, then crashes headlong into the interior left wall of the elevator. The force of the blow stuns her, and she falls to the floor in her cords, with the dreaded raygun clattering into the hallway. IL and her mentor both breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thank you very much, Inga my friend. That escape was much too narrow for my own liking. I am afraid that our upper-level base security has been compromised. Such a possibility has worried me ever since I discovered that homing device in Emma's sarong.

And yet, how could Mensa obtain the necessary security clearances and paperwork so as to reach the front gate at all? Only one person in the entire US military has the authority to accomplish such a deceit. We must contact General Hawke of the Joint Chiefs at once"!

Ingeno-Lady walks over to check on Looker's sprawled donor-mother, who was a victim of the brain-pain ray. "Kathy...can you hear me?...are you OK?" IL begins, but just then she notices movement out of the corner of her eye. She suddenly screams,"Professor, LOOK OUT!!", and desperately lunges nearly five feet back down the hallway to roughly shove Nils onto the floor. However, quite unfortunately, Inga now finds herself caught instead within the swath of a wide blue beam. Unnoticed while regaining consciousness only seconds before, our megalomaniacal antagonist had wriggled like a snake inside her bonds to within reach of the raygun using her still-free right hand. In one last attempt to drain the brilliant geneticist's intellect, MM had unwittingly ensnared the brave and selfless Quint-Quarts leader. Trapped in a forward-stepping, legs-apart stance, with both arms still thrust straight out after her rescuing shove, Inga is bathed in the lab hallway by the brain-drain while mentally screaming,"OH NO!! My thoughts...fading...go..ing...blan......" After ten seconds the raygun enters auto-shutdown and reloading mode, and the villainess notes from its LED display that merely 63% of IL's cognition has been transferred by the initial blast. Mensa is impressed that another long firing is needed to compete the task begun.

Unlike most other victims, Ingeno-Lady offers few initial audible or visible clues as to her now-dumbfounded state. She maintains that last look of desperate concern on her girl-next-door facial features; and her irises and pupils neither cross nor roll backwards. Instead, the usual brightness in her pretty steel-blue eyes now appears to be extinguished, and Inga stares vacantly at the wall above the stunned Professor's collapsed form. And yet finally, after a minute or two, her sad condition becomes more evident. Although every possibility of voluntary movement is gone(due to loss of knowledge), the sheer weight of the four defense-gauntlet weapons pulling against her outstretched forearms has inevitable effect. Both arms begin to sag slightly,and IL slowly bends down and forward at the waist.

Rotating in halting stages to just 35 degrees above parallel to the floor, the super-heroine resembles a wind-up doll losing all remaining tension in her inner spring mechanisms. MM watches this gravity-driven "wind-down" with amusement, while her warped imagination pictures the QQ to be bowing before her in homage. Reaching an equilibrium bent-over position, this most-recent brain-drain target mindlessly fixes her gaze on the floor twelve inches ahead of her left foot. This new pose accentuates the stretch of her nearly-skintight green-and-yellow spandex costume at critical spots. As a result, the apple-round curves of (and crack between) her athletic ass are displayed in breathtaking detail; while the raygun-hardened nipples on her suspended breasts poke down through the costume's 'QQ'insignia.

Finally IL's jaw gapes open, and the oval tip of her tongue lolls to the corner of her mouth.

As the stunned Nils recovers, sits up and begins looking around, he is shocked to discover his intelligence muta-clone Inga has been transformed by MM into a stupefied statue.

It quickly becomes clear to the merciless Mademoiselle that IL's engineering and miniaturization design skills are at least the equal of the Professor's. Her newly-absorbed knowledge seems fully capable of reconstructing a much smaller brain-train. Therefore, she switches to the INGRAIN setting and fires nearly point-blank at the still-groggy Nils. The villainess mentally commands Free me from these ropes!!, and the Professor fetches a sharp knife to involuntarily begin obeying the beautiful blonde. However, the raygun's LED display flashes a warning message: ERROR #69: CHARGE INSUFFICIENT… INGRAIN EFFECT EPHEMERAL. The minimal power of her final blast provides just barely long-enough control over Johannson's mind for her to be cut free; then the two fall into an intense physical struggle. As might be expected, the egghead academic proves to be no match for the battle-hardened woman. Two minutes later the Professor lays writhing in pain, and MM scoops up her briefcase, raygun and the proto-matter while reboarding the elevator. Appraising the helplessly-bent-over Quint-Quart a final time before the doors slide closed, she taunts, "Adieu, super-heroine. I now rename you Inane-o-Lady!" Once upstairs, she first appreciatively saunters back past the mannequinized and masturbating officers, unconscious USAF guards, and eleven Navy Seals still battling under the spell of her brain-disdain. Finally, Mensa fights to suppress maniacal laughter while unsuspecting airmen at the base front gate deferentially salute her as she drives out into the desert night.

COMIC PAGE TWENTY-EIGHT: At 8:00 a.m. the next day, the buzzer on General Nathan R. Hawke's large televideo monitor signals arrival of an incoming message. As the screen activates, we see the faces of Professor Nils Johansson and Inga's Genesis Donor. In contrast to Emma's 'Mom', who took the news of her own daughter's stupefication so emotionally that she hasn't left her guest quarters since, this renowned Ph.D. investigates every possibility within her considerable intellectual abilities which might restore the QQ's stolen minds. Surprisingly, Joint Chiefs Chairman General Hawke doesn’t answer his own private Pentagon line. Instead the handsome face of an early-30's Native-American dressed in a blue business suit fills their screen. "This is FBI special agent John Straightarrow speaking. Please identify yourselves", he says. "I am Nils Johannson, director of a top-secret military research project located in Area 57. My colleague and I must speak to the general ASAP. We have a level-10 security breach here." Looking somewhat sheepish, the federal agent replies, "I'm afraid that isn't possible, Sir. General Hawke's aides summoned his personal physician yesterday evening, fearing that he had suffered some sort of seizure following a meeting with a Congressional big-whig. When the doc ruled out catatonia due to any medical causes, we were called in to investigate. Look!" Behind him, the general stands immobile, dumbly-but-jovially frozen in mid-handshake. His other half-extended arm grasps a copy of House Speaker Gangreen's new book, Do It The RIGHT Way... MY Way...Or Else!! The significance of this clue does not escape the scrutiny of ‘Doctor One’.
 

Narrator’s Note: With Inga joining Emma among the ranks of MM’s stupefied victims, will Looker’s beauty and Maw’s strength be sufficient to stop Thomas and Mademoiselle before they can employ the brain-train on its intended target? Will the #!^&%!* author ever abandon his melodrama and simply tell us who the villain and Genesis Donors are?

The final QQ’s versus MM showdown is scheduled for publication in July. Stay tuned. -R.