Amélie Dulay, 4th may 2049

I slowly stood up from my weathered seat, watching, observing the man entangled in the blackberry vines. He didn't register it, but he already was hurt, blood painting his otherwise rather fetching face, tickling from a fresh cut on his forehead, which he was still in the process of pressing against the thorny vine that cut him in the first place.

Everything about this place, at least every memory I already had reminisced on during my short stay, could be explained by mundane, rational means. Weird blights and fauna are found all over the world. As are eccentric uncles. For that matter, so were shitty parents who focus so much on one thing that they completely lose sight of everything else- including what may well have been their motivation for a given course of action, once upon a time.

Yes, mundane, if not outright boring rationalizations. No such luck with the man in the blackberries. No platitudes fed to me by overpaid shrinks, in their arrogance, good-intentioned compassion, clinical mind, or clinically arrogant intention. I often asked myself if I wanted to believe them, to be cured or treated; whatever the hell that even meant. Well, that were hours upon hours on the couch down the drain. I wasn't quite sure if I was regretful about that, or… liberated. Apart from that certain other thing, the man was irrefutable evidence that my memories were not constructs conjured to hide some childhood trauma. Face the facts Amé. A callback to your childhood stands before you, compelled to flay itself upon the blackberry vines in a mindless effort to reach the mansion behind you.

Before I tried talking to him, for all the good that would do, there was something else I could try. Right. The other thing constituting concrete evidence that my psychiatrists were wrong. I reached within and without myself, concentrating on what I expected the man to feel- a compulsion not unlike withdrawal, an inability to feel pain- or rather, the sensation meaningless, drowned in an all-encompassing mire of pain and impressions from all the senses, the means by which humans assessed their environment and their own body- and sensations beyond that. A cessation or at last disruption of all higher cognition, with at best infinitesimal moments of clarity, immediately vanquished by the inability to concentrate, of ever coming further than the realization that something was very, very wrong. Above all else, a sense of unease, subtle and unspecific in this case, but ever-present, imprinted on the man as an inevitable hallmark of any successful organism in an environment where it may as well be synonymous with success and thus survival. A primal sensation, possibly the oldest and most fundamental. Fear. I reflected on that and took a deep breath. The meditative aspect of the act, and the reflection on the intended target may well not be necessary- what I was about to do, I usually could do quite literally asleep- at least, to normal people. But that was the way I trained, so long ago, to my uncles encouragements, suggestions, cheers and good-hearted admonishments, on the very hill I stood on. I verbalized what I wanted, another part of the procedure which may or may not be necessary.

“Regardez-moi dans les yeux.” I sounded arrogant, haughty, condescending. As if I have no doubt he would do as I say, as if he is beneath me, his own will not even worthy of reflection, much less respect. Of course, while horrible, none of that is false, at least for a command that wasn't going to interfere with his current compulsion. And of course, that arguably unconscious husk of a man… complied, his gaze snapping into my own, while never stopping to push through the vines, and heedless of the further cuts the motion caused.

I didn't actually know if looking into my eyes had any effect, but it felt appropriate, given the popular depictions of similar acts- and, admittedly, the fact that people I did this with tended to also lock gazes with me. People I did this to, really. Victims of mine, helpless and unprepared in the face of a phenomenon they likely believed to be no more real than UFOs or monsters- and so many more things most people remained blissfully unaware and wrong about.

The way we speak, along with our demeanor, communicates a lot, with arguably the majority of communication happening nonverbally. For me- doing what I was doing now- it also changed a variety of subtle things.

If I compelled somebody to do something, but phrased it as a plea, it was no less inescapable. However, it is more flexible in its execution, not to mention that it could completely hide what was happening to people I used it on, making them think they were acting on their own free will. The additional leeway given to them made it more unpredictable how exactly they would obey, though. I didn't plead now, but endowed the next word with every bit of authority and command I could muster, barking an order that would compel the most obedient pauper just as well as a king, president, or holy man: "Dormez!"

The man fell forward like a puppet with cut strings. For a second, it seemed that this was enough. But soon he stirred, shaking off the compulsion to sleep, rising in a disconcerting way, almost artistic in its strangeness. His eyes opened, found my gaze, before turning back towards his goal. Figures. As impressive as my ability was in general, and more specifically in this case, able to influence somebody already under something related, my command to "sleep" had interfered with his goal on top of lookout hill, whatever exactly he was compelled to do up there.

Not being able to use my power, at least not fully, was… strange. I used to think about it a lot, with the vast majority of people, and everybody not associated with my little world, being susceptible and helpless when faced with it. Not being able to use it in a potentially dangerous situation made me feel vulnerable, exposed. It also led to the soothing realization that regardless of what my depression tried to tell me, I was ultimately human. ‘Remember the most important insight of your predecessors, Amé’ I heard my uncle’s most repeated mantra echo in my memories.

Musings on my humanity aside, this still left me dealing with the man, as a vulnerable, mortal woman.

I put on my business smile, not having to fake the note of sympathetic agony, as I sometimes do with the more unpleasant or unreasonable clients. I gave the man an open-armed shrug, despite the fact that he was now more focused on the hill behind me. "Hello. Sorry for that. It was worth a try, and could have made this less complicated for me, and less traumatic for yourself. If you lost consciousness, I could potentially have dealt with the fallout of your current condition in a much more elegant way. Yes, I know what is wrong with you, or at least, I have a much better idea than you likely have. I know you don't understand at the moment, but you may still remember what I am saying after I help you snap out of this. That would make this slightly less disorienting. But hello, I am Amélie. I am trying to help you.”

I hiked my skirt up halfway and took off one of the items strapped to my inner thigh. My uncle drilled into me the need to be prepared for any situation, and I was a studious pupil. I always had a number of things discreetly hidden from plain view, things both mundane… and less so. The pouch I now took out and opened belonged to the former category; it was an assortment of lightweight wilderness gear. I took out a foldable survival knife, opened it, and held it so the man would see it.

“No worries, I am just going to help you out of the blackberries you are currently so intimately entwined with." I smirked and winked at him. "You can thank me later.”

An attempt at awkward humor may or may not go over well, but that was a bridge to cross later. I went to work on the vines, gradually freeing him. Finally, he broke through and stumbled forward past me, uncoordinated but undeterred. I quickly put the knife away and caught up to him.

“Yes, sorry. There really is no way to make this comfortable.” I grabbed his shoulder. Immediately, he swung for me, as I knew he would. Other than the sleep, which he immediately shrugged off, this was the first time I actively impeded him. Which changed my nature from a pebble on the roadside to what the blackberry vines were- an obstacle to be overcome, in the most direct way, any other option be damned. I turned to the side, caught the arm, guiding it and the man on a new path- face-first into the dirt. He may not react to pain, but a lever is a lever, and as Archimedes said, a long enough lever could move the world, and so much less was needed to floor a man, altered state or not. Not letting go of him, still momentarily stunned and already discoordinated, I changed my grip and joined him on the floor, getting on top, pinning him. Yes, my most obvious means of problem-solving in violent situations might not work, but it is not like I was unaware of this possibility, or unprepared. I was a good student. And I didn’t come empty-handed, using a hand to unholster something while I used the other and my weight to hold him in place.

“I sincerely hope you have no heart condition. Again, I am sorry.” I jabbed the stun gun into his side, felt him seize, and then go limp. Taking out two of the more unusual items, the next thing I did was again jabbing him. This time with a self-injecting syringe claiming to be a dose of epinephrine for application to counteract anaphylaxis. It very much was not. He may be able to shrug off my compulsion, but try to stay awake against the chemical siren’s call of a generous dose of tranquilizer. As for the other item, I bound his hands with a set of plastic restraints. It wasn’t like I would depend on the tranquilizer working, not on somebody in his condition.

So far, however, it seemed to work, which was good because I hadn’t brought a muzzle and was fresh out of cuffs.

Sighing, I gave myself a moment to stretch, before beginning to drag the now properly unconscious man uphill. Memories, weird tastes and smells, a mansion with so many secrets, and a man I had to throw and electrify because my supernatural ability to force him to obey didn’t work. Uncle? It seems I have come home alright.