Back at their dorm room, Andrew and Nathan went online via laptop and searched the student directory. There he was. Eisenberg, Alan. Freshman. Psychology major, minor in history. Nathan leaned forward, looking over Andrew's shoulder. "Didn't he graduate valedictorian or something like that?"

Andrew scrolled down, running his tongue across the front of his teeth as he thought about it. "Full academic scholarship too, I think."

"Smart. I mean, it's not like we're stupid or anything, but he grew up to be quite the brain trust."

Andrew searched Alan's name under club memberships and focus studies. "Dig it. Psych major, Psychology Club, Human Behavior studies group, Insights Into the Human Psyche lab, and he's president of the psychology department's..." Andrew paused. "... he's president of the psychology department's Intro to Hypnotherapy focus committee."

Nate and Andrew looked at each other. Nate took a breath. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"If he can help us like I think he can", Andrew said, "he can have the damn books."

"Wanna begin our search for him tomorrow?", Nathan asked.

"Yup. And I have a pretty good idea where we're gonna find him." The boys kissed. For luck.

Alan was, as usual, hard at work in the library. Andrew and Nathan found him surrounded by stacks of books, a flurry of notebooks and sheaves of papers spread before him. He was scribbling madly and pretended not to notice the boys as they stood at the end of the table where he'd set up shop. They waited silently as he continued to write, flip through oversized tomes, organize and reorganize his notes. He was so involved in his studies that Andrew and Nathan kept quiet as they waited for an appropriate moment to speak. Finally, not looking up from his work, Alan began to talk to the desktop.

"I assume that you want something, unless you two just came here to watch me. If that's the case, sit over by the card catalog so you're not blocking my light."

"We need your help with something", Andrew said.

"Mm-hmm." He still didn't look up. He began to shuffle note cards furiously.

"We need to know some stuff about hypnosis and mind control", Nathan added. "Like, how to do it."

"How to do it safely", Andrew amended. "You know, if like, just two friends were experimenting with it."

"For fun", Nathan clarified.

Alan stretched over and grabbed a crumbling paperback and carefully turned pages by their post-it bookmarks. "Mind control is not something you do for fun", Alan said into the book. "Whoever it is you want to play mind games with, you do not want to venture into this territory. Forcing someone to do something against their will can devolve or even explode into multiple disastrous outcomes, but I can guarantee it won't be fun. You may notice I'm working here."

"We wouldn't do that!", Andrew said quickly. "We're not gonna force anyone to do anything they don't already want. They really, really want this, trust me."

"Doesn't matter. And I'm still working."

Desperate, Nathan blurted out, "Look, it's for us. We want to try this with each other. It'll just be between the two of us. We won't try it on anyone else, ever. We swear. It's just, you know, for us."

For the first time, Alan looked up. "You want to mind control each other? What the hell for?"

Andrew stumbled a bit, "It's just, like we said, for fun. There's the whole feeling of being made to do something against your will, the loss of control, having someone else pulling your strings--"

"You said this was something you wanted to do. If it's something you want, then how can you be doing something against your will?"

"No, no, it's not like that! It's just, like, not knowing what suggestion--"

"Or command", Nathan interjected.

"Or command", Andrew agreed, "that your friend is going to give you next. It's this kind of rush, or high, but without doing drugs or getting drunk or anything. I mean, that's safer, right?"

Nathan smiled broadly. "Like becoming someone's puppet." Playfully, he nudged Andrew, who smiled back at him.

Alan went back to his work without another word. Seeing his reaction, Nathan amended, "We're not going to be programming someone to kill anybody or anything. It's nothing like that."

"It'll be for fun, not to recruit assassins", Andrew said.

"Then try looking up stage hypnosis techniques", Alan said gruffly. "Then you can make each other cluck like chickens to your heart's content and I can get some work done."

"Alan, come on--"

Alan looked up, his eyes hard. "Guys. No. I'm not going to waste my time teaching you what I know so that you can pursue some kind of drugless high. Just go get stoned like the rest of the male student body."

Andrew felt hurt and irritated. "We don't want to get stoned. That's the whole point."

"Well, I have a senior thesis to nail down, which I can't do if I'm playing mind games with you two, and that's my whole point.

Nathan spluttered in surprise. "Your senior thesis? Dude, you have like four years to come up with that! Give it a rest for a weekend and come hang with us--!"

Alan slammed one of the heftier books closed. A few other students at nearby tables looked up in surprise. "I. Said. NO." His eyes darted towards the door and he continued to stare at the boys until they got the hint and departed.

As the duo exited the library, Nathan stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at Andrew. "So now who do we go to?"

"No one. We're on our own."

Back at Alan's table, a shadow fell over his books. Alan felt a surge of resentment in his gut and began to speak with an edge in his voice to match. "Look, I told you to get lost. Take a hint and just--"

It wasn't Andrew and Nathan. It was Joshua Muskcovicsz. And he was smiling, which is never a good sign. Alan sat back in his chair and tapped his notebook with his pencil. "Josh. What trifling info do you have to subject me to today?"

Joshua waved a thick wad of papers enclosed in a clear three-ring presentation cover, his grin widening. "Not trivial, boyo. I think it's pretty damn fucking relevant for you. And your precious thesis."

Alan's eyes widened. "What about my thesis?"

"It's all been done, it's all been done, its all been done...", Joshua sang the chorus of the Barenaked Ladies song off-key. He then tossed the large report over to Alan. Alan read the title page. "Mind Control Techniques and Their Unfortunate Results" by Seth Greenwood. Seth Greenwood was a legend among the college's Psych department. He was in grad school and was on his way to a promising career in psychology.

Alan flipped through the report, skimming over the text. "He covered the brainwashing techniques of the Cold War? Of Vietnam and Korea?"

Joshua rocked back and forth on his heels. "Better. He starts in World War I and traces it all the way through to Iraq. He was pretty thorough with it. Department heads are awfully impressed." Joshua, clearly loving that he was the bearer of bad news, began to shuffle around the study table and fiddle with the many papers, books, and note cards. "Hmm...already put in a few hours on this little project of yours, huh? What was it, again? Redundancy in university academia and it's sorrowful waste of our nation's brain power?"

"You could have told me about this."

"Mm. Could have."

"Don't tell me you didn't know about it."

"I knew. For a couple months. Maybe three."

Three months? Alan looked at the mounds of work he'd done in that time, all of it now for naught. "I could have been working on something else", he grumbled. "Something original, something unexplored."

"But you seemed to be having so much fun in your own little world of intellectual superiority. And you kept telling me to go to hell every time I came by to help."

"To hinder, you mean. Or get me to do your assignments."

"So, I stayed away. Besides, it was better to have the finished product on hand when I told you. Enjoy." Joshua turned to walk away, then commented over his shoulder, "Oh, and you can just go ahead and keep that copy. I have an autographed one back in my room." He laughed, a humorless snort, and made his exit.

Alan felt sick. All those hours of work, and for what? Alan chewed his pencil, something he hadn't done since high school. The taste of that yellow paint splintering away in his mouth brought back memories of early SAT's, scholarship contests, and long hours of grueling work studies. He couldn't simply cast everything aside and start fresh with something entirely different. Not after so much research into the psychology of mind control. But where would he find a new spin on the topic that had been so completely explored?

Nathan pushed opened the back door to the theater and groped around the corner for the light switch. With a dull click and a soft hum, dusty and cobwebbed fluorescents blinked to life overhead. Nathan stepped inside, pushing over a large cast-iron doorstop to hold the door open. Andrew walked in behind him, giving a low whistle as he gazed around at the squalor and collective filth.

"What a dump", he marveled.

"You should'a seen it before I started my work study", Nathan remarked. He slapped Andrew on the shoulder. "C'mon, I'll give you the whirlwind tour." Nathan gave his buddy the three dollar fly-by of the dilapidated old theater that had fallen into disrepair since the induction of the university's new auditorium and convention center. While hordes of students were fleeing the campus for their hard-earned break after mid-terms, the duo of Nathan and Andrew planned to spend their time cleaning up, organizing, and revitalizing the disused theater. And then, of course, putting it to good use as their own personal playpen as puppet boyfriends.

The more they walked around, the less Andrew realized they truly had to do, thanks to the hours on end Nathan spent with the school's drama coach, learning the ropes of running a theater while he mopped and scrubbed.

"What's in here?", Andrew asked, pointing to a darkened side room just off the backstage.

"Prop stuff, old flats, set pieces, extra building material that never got used, like that."

Andrew stepped through the threshold and flipped on the lights as Nathan continued his tour, unaware he was talking to himself. "Found this awesome stash of old show posters. They're wrapped up in plastic bags, so they should still be in pretty good shape. We can hang 'em up once we've got the walls cleaned up. Oh, and look at this!" Nathan stooped to open a dusty cardboard box. "Old music stuff. Not just sheet music, but phonograph records, cassettes--dig it, some of these are actually 78s!" Nathan began to read the labels. "Ain'tcha Comin' Out?, some old Glenn Miller song. Oh, oh, and I love this one--these two British guys singing The Dancing Marionettes, whatever that is. There's, like, all this background Vaudeville music, and--Andrew?"

Nathan stood up once he realized he was alone. He walked slowly around, retracing his steps, wondering what had become of his companion. "Andrew? Where'd you go, man?" Finally seeing the light coming from the prop and set room, Nathan checked inside to find Andrew, standing slack-jawed, staring.

"Andrew, bud, what the hell are you doing in here?"

Andrew slowly turned his head to look at Nathan. "Dude, you never told me there was so much fucking wood in here. There's so damn much to work with! And most of it's good, too! Almost none of it's warped, no knotholes, damn, it's a carpenter's paradise!" Andrew threw his arms around Nate and hugged him tight. "I love you, man!"

Nathan peeled his friend off, laughing. "Okay, okay, I love you too." Nate kissed the top of Andrew's head. Then the two boys stared into each other's eyes, frozen for a moment. Slowly, Andrew began to move closer to Nathan, his lips reaching his friends.

Nate suddenly grabbed Andrew's hand, saying, "Wait. I gotta show you something first." Leading his boyfriend by the hand, Nathan led Andrew down a side hallway, through the main house, and to a small anteroom at the back of the theater. Nathan pulled the string on a bare bulb overhead in the close quarters and indicated an old, metal spiral staircase.

"Well, this is good setting for a horror movie", Andrew mused.

"Better than that", Nathan answered. "Come with me." Still holding Andrew's hand, Nathan led him up the curving stairway to a cramped room at the top. Nathan stepped inside, letting go of Andrew, who stood puzzled in the dark.

"Where'd you go?", Andrew asked.

"Not far", came the voice from the darkness. "Hang on." With that, there was a soft click and lights came on throughout the room. Only it wasn't a room, it was a control booth. The lights shone from desk lamps strategically placed throughout the room, illuminating work stations filling the booth from left to right.

Andrew stepped slowly inside all the way, his mouth slack as he took in the modern equipment, lighting controls, switchboard, floor director's station, and music setup that seemed wholly out of place in the otherwise dated theater. "Holy shit...did you do all of this?"

"I set up most of it", Nathan beamed. "Turns out a lot of this stuff had already been paid for when the plans for the new auditorium were announced. "No asked for it to be returned or exchanged, so here it sat, gathering dust."

"Until you came along", Andrew said with pride.

Nathan ushered him over to the main controls. He flicked a few switches and stage lights came alive before them in the distance. Andrew smiled, laughed. From their vantage point, they could control everything. With an exaggerated gesture, Nathan waved about his index finger and then brought it down upon a large white button on the sound console. There was a small screech, making Andrew's shoulders hunch, followed by the recorded fizz of an old gramophone record, and then big band music circa 1939 blared to life.

The theater was filled with the affected yet sweet voice of some forgotten vocalist as she belted out a corny song saying she wanted "A Hat With Cherries". Andrew laughed louder as Nathan's fingers deftly flitted over the controls, bringing up the curtain and stabbing spotlight beams across the stage.

Together, the two giddy boyfriends engaged in a makeshift jitterbug there in the tiny control booth, their party only just beginning.

Andrew and Nathan showered together, as they had been doing since they got their own dorm room. "To conserve water" they joked. Their smooth, slender bodies pressed tight together, their hairless arms caressing each other's backs as foam and suds caught in the crook of their elbows and spilled down the back of their legs. Puddles collected on the worn tile floor as the warm spray cascaded down upon their shoulders and drenched their hair.

Andrew reached his hands around and massaged Nathan's ass. Nathan sighed, resting his chin upon his best friend's shoulder. Nathan gently traced Andrew's spine with his fingertips and nuzzled Andrew's neck. Andrew kneaded Nathan's waistline, prompting Nathan to kiss Andrew's neck. Both boys wished the affection they shared so freely behind closed doors could be disclosed in public, but both knew that neither had the wherewithal to do so. It had once been called "the love that dare not speak its name" for a reason.

Nathan began to nibble Andrew's ear, his one great weakness. Andrew gasped, a shudder of delight arcing through his chest and back. "Wh-whoa-oa..."

"You like that?", Nathan muttered, knowing full well he did.

Andrew felt his body going weak, which was something he both disliked and adored.

"N-nathan", Andrew said.

"Hmmm?", Nathan kept nibbling, his hands now massaging Andrew's neck.

"S-say the oath. Take the oath for me."

Nathan moved down and was kissing Andrew's shoulder. "Mmmm...now?"

Andrew braced Nathan's head with his hands. "Yeah, right now. Do it for me."

Nathan held onto Andrew's wrists, and said, "I do so solemnly swear to be a good little puppet." Andrew tried to keep his expression serious. "To relax, submit, and have a lot of fun." Nathan began to run his hands up and down Andrew's smooth, wet arms. "I will accept every suggestion, and obey every command." Nathan placed his forehead against Andrew's. "Without thought or hesitation." Andrew's face broke in a beautiful smile. "And to move forward of my own free will nevermore, but only at the pull of my strings." Nathan leaned forward and kissed his boyfriend tenderly. Pulling back only an inch, he then whispered, "I am now, and ever shall be, a puppet. I am your puppet."

Andrew ran his hands through Nathan's soaking hair and kissed him again. Nathan looked into Andrew's eyes and said softly, "Now you."

Arms intertwined around each other's shoulder's, the two began to slowly sink to the floor of the shower stall. "I do solemnly swear", Andrew began. The two settled down on the floor, the drain between them. "To be a good little puppet." The boyfriends sat with legs outstretched in the cramped shower, pulling together in a tight embrace. As Andrew pressed his head beside Nathan's, he went on, "To relax, submit, and have a lot of fun." He completed his puppet oath and the two sat together clinging to each other, apparently unaware that the water had ceased to be warm some time ago.

"Andrew, you have got to see this."

Andrew dropped the endless coils of rigging he fought to untangle in the wings, and followed Nathan to a separate control area where his friend was bouncing with delight. Once there, Nathan revealed a strange looking pair of body harnesses, each attached to a thin but surprisingly strong cable. With a grand gesture, Nate said, "Ta-daa!"

Andrew stared at the contraptions. "What am I looking at?"

Nathan tapped the control board with his finger, drawing Andrew's eyes to the label written in black magic marker on strips of masking tape. It read:

FLYING RIG Harness #1 FLYING RIG Harness #2

One set of levers were marked "UP and DOWN", the next marked "SIDE to SIDE". Andrew's mouth dropped. "No fucking way."

Nathan was nearly giggling with glee. "Way."

Andrew spoke softly. "Man, do you realize what this means?" Nathan nodded, and the two boyfriends hugged, leaping up and down and squealing like little kids. After composing themselves somewhat, Andrew smiled, saying, "Looks like we can finally retire that oak tree setup, huh?"

A change came over Nathan's face for a moment, whereupon he slapped Andrew on the arm. "You asshole."

When Andrew and Nathan were still kids and freshly obsessed with puppetry, the two had devised their first scheme to turn themselves into puppets. Using the massive oak tree in Andrew's backyard, the two attached a series of bungee cords, complete with Jim buoy harness, to a set of athletic knee and elbow pads. Then Andrew, clad in a set of coveralls, wore the harness and pads with the bungee attachments. Nathan, too frightened to try it himself, was relegated to the role of puppeteer, which he tended from a high bough in the tree he scaled using a ladder.

The brilliant plan involved Andrew stepping off a lower rung of the ladder to dangle from the tree as Nathan manipulated his limbs. Presto, instant puppetboy.

The unfortunate result involved Andrew plummeting to the ground, and upon the ankle-spraining impact, the bungees yanked him up into the branches at dizzying speed. Andrew was knocked nearly senseless while a panicked Nathan tried desperately to control his flailing limbs as the elastic bungee cords jerked him this way and that.

The end result was that Andrew was left hanging, upside-down, from the tree, his arms pinned to his body (one to his side, the other across his chest with his hand over his face) and Nathan's own arms tied securely to the same branch by the tangled control ropes. They were stuck that way for nearly two hours.

That was the summer they officially vowed to find a new method if they were ever to experience life as puppets. It looked as if they'd found it.

Nathan was covered in dust and grime. He had just finished cleaning out the prop room, and swept up all the connecting hallways. Everything was neatly stacked, sorted, and organized. It looked as if a team of a dozen theater techs had been at work for a week, rather than two determined college freshmen for a few days. It had taken late nights, early mornings, and even sleepovers for early starts, but they had made truly remarkable progress.

"Nate." Nathan turned around to see Andrew standing in the doorway, no less filthy than he was. "You must see this. Come with me." Without pausing to question, Nathan set the push broom against the wall and followed his best friend at a brisk trot.

They stopped at a large, open room not far from the lighting equipment storage area. Nathan crossed the threshold and was amazed at the sight. It was the woodworking area Andrew stumbled upon earlier. Only now the room was spotless. Jigsaws, plywood, nails, hinges, and a plethora of various other devices and materials were neatly arranged on pegs for the creation of sets, props, flats, and whatever else might be needed for a stage production. Andrew had been hard at work seeing to it that there was a place for everything, and everything was in its place. Saw blades sparkled from polish, the concrete floor shone from scrubbing.

"Nice job, man", Nathan admired. "You really got into this. Good work."

"That's not what I brought you in here to show you, though." Andrew motioned for Nathan to follow him to the far end of the work area, to a work table over which he'd thrown a tarp. "You ready?" Nate nodded, and with both hands and a mighty yank, Andrew whipped away the tarp to reveal his finished project. It glistened a bit under the work lights, the varnish still fresh on the smoothly-sanded surface. Nate could only stare, open-mouthed with amazement.

"Andrew, you are a fucking god, man."

Andrew smiled, pleased with the result of his efforts. "I like to think so."

The two laughed a bit, as high from their exhaustion as the fruits of their labors. They held one another, and gently, slowly, they kissed.

The two boys stood in the doorway of the theater, their arms loaded down with overstuffed duffles and boxes. "God, this is gonna be so fucking awesome", Andrew said, his voice a bit higher than usual.

"Awesome isn't even the word for it", Nathan agreed.

Andrew leaned over, stumbling a bit due to his burdensome load, and gave his boyfriend a quick kiss. "Let's get started." And they did. They had been planning this for months, dreaming of it for years. It took them just under two hours to do their setup, to check everything, then double-check. With another kiss for luck, the duo stripped their clothes off each other, then immediately helped each other get dressed.

Not long after, they were both soundly asleep, blissfully unaware of absolutely anything.

Alan sat in his academic counselor's office, sullen. He leaned back in the visitor's chair in front of the counselor's desk, tapping the end of his pencil on the chair arm, a nervous habit he'd picked up in grade school. The habit resurfaced every time Alan thought he had reached an insurmountable obstacle.

The spectacled, and relatively clueless Mr. Bob Driscoll sat with fingers interlaced atop his desk blotter, trying his best to look concerned and supportive. "Now really, Adam--"

"ALan."

"Alan, yes. Well, Adam, I fail to see any real cause for alarm. Your grade point is 4.0, you have a full scholarship to cover your financial needs, and according to my most recent memos, no one in your immediate family is ill or recently deceased." Mr. Driscoll took off his glasses, placing one bow in his mouth in a pathetic attempt to appear attentive, and said, "Feel better?"

Alan stared as if he couldn't believe he shared the same planet with this moron. He gave his pencil two very sharp raps on the arm of his chair before returning to his rhythmic tapping. "No, I don't feel better. My senior thesis has been uprooted by Seth Greenwood, leaving months of hard work wasted. And it's ALAN."

Bob Driscoll looked confused, a common occurrence for him. "Seth Greenwood? How is he my concern? I only handle students with surnames A through F."

Alan leaned forward and tapped the copy of the thesis on Driscoll's desk viciously. Mr. Driscoll looked at it blankly, and then, putting his glasses back on said, "Oohhhh, is THAT what that's doing here! Yes, yes, well, are you saying this young man cheated by copying your work? Serious, serious accusation to make--"

"NO", Alan stressed, "I'm saying he beat me to the punch and did the same topic I had in mind for my own senior thesis and now I'm lost. Adrift. I need some academic guidance. That is what the sign on your door says I can get here."

Bob Driscoll blinked. He looked at the thesis on his desk, he looked at his computer screen, then looked at Alan. "Well according to my transcript for you, you're a Freshman. And you're doing a graduate thesis?" He took off his glasses. "What kind of advanced program are you taking, Adam?"

"It's. Alan. And I'm starting my grad thesis NOW so I can take four years to make it perfect. That's all. Or it was, until I lost my subject."

Mr. Driscoll looked over the thesis cover page, reading aloud. "Mind Control Techniques and Their Unfortunate Results. A historic overview of manipulative terror. My, my. Doesn't anyone do a thesis on things like the intricacies of the life of the tetsie fly anymore?" He looked at Alan and smiled. "You know, I did my thesis on the tetsie fly."

"Which could explain how you wound up here", thought Alan. He rested his chin in his palm and sighed, pencil tapping, saying nothing.

"Now, Alan--" Mr. Driscoll paused. It is Alan, isn't it?" Alan nodded, rubbing his brow with three fingers, attempting to stave off a mounting headache. "Alan, this really isn't the end of the world."

Alan continued to just sit there, tapping the end of his pencil against the arm of the chair.

"It's only your first year, for heaven's sake. No one begins their graduation thesis in their foundation year."

"They do if they want to accomplish the level of thoroughness that I do", Alan grumbled, speaking into his palm.

"Look, Alan, I can understand your drive to succeed, your motivation in academics, and I applaud you. We need more students like you. But you've got to let this one go. Seth Greenwood has it locked up, as they say. He's covered every possible aspect of this--what was it--brainwashing and mind control business that you can think of." He flipped to the extensive bibliography. "If even half of this is right, it would seem that every important case that's been documented is addressed in his paper."

Alan stopped tapping his pencil. A light came on behind his eyes. "Did you say documented--?"

"Yes, son", Driscoll said, a bit of an edge coming to his voice, "every documented case that--"

"What if I found a case that had never been documented? What if I happened upon, through my research, a case of mind control so rare and current that nothing like it had every been documented or analyzed? What then?"

Mr. Driscoll sighed, adjusted his glasses, and leaned forward on his desk. "Alan, you've really got to let it go. If something as important as what you're describing existed, it would have already been documented or would be in the process of same." He sat back, arms gesturing in annoyance. "The only other option would be to actually recruit subjects to undergo such an experiment. And considering the heinous nature of the subject matter, you can hardly expect people to...I don't know...chase you down in the research library for the purposes of volunteering." He crossed his arms in defiance and glared. "Well, Adam?"

Alan began to chew the end of his pencil. "You know, sir, that's a very good point."

Andrew woke up first. He felt groggy, but had no recollection of why he would feel that way. He tried to roll over, only to find himself swaying back and forth as if he'd fallen asleep in a hammock. "Hmmn?", he murmured, as his eyes fluttered and he attempted to get to his feet. Again, he swayed lazily from side to side, this time in a greater arc, and was unable to get his feet beneath him. He could feel his toes barely scraping against the floor. He attempted to steady himself with his arms and sit up, but found that his arms, while hanging limply at his sides, were being restrained all at the same time. What was going on?

Andrew shook his head and blinked his eyes as he brought himself to full wakefulness. He looked around and realized that he was on the stage of the auditorium. The lights were dimmed, but it was certainly light enough that he could take in his surroundings. There was a blue overhead spotlight gently shining down on him from the catwalk above. As he glanced upwards at it, Andrew felt something brush against the top and back of his head. He tried to reach up and swat away whatever it was, but his arms couldn't reach that far. He rolled his shoulders and tugged his arms forward to no avail, save to add to his swaying motion. He kicked his legs a bit and tried to place his feet flat against the floorboards, but proceeded only to swing around in a circle. He bent forward and found that whatever was brushing against his head would pull him back hard if he leaned too far.

As Andrew dangled there, wondering what was going on and how he had gotten into this predicament, he spun slowly around to see that he was not onstage alone. Nathan, sound asleep, hung not far from him on the stage. His sleeping friend was supported by stout body harness cables that stretched up beyond the catwalk, presumably to the elaborate and sturdy flying rig the boys had discovered previously. Whether or not Nathan was held in a harness, Andrew could not tell. Because Nathan was covered head to toe in an incredibly elaborate puppet costume.

"Costume" may have been too casual a word for it. Nathan's entire body was covered in immaculately crafted wooden sections, each conforming to him perfectly. His arms and legs were encased in smoothly sanded and brightly varnished braces, with impressive hinges at the elbows and knees. Larger pieces covered his torso and pelvic region, both carefully carved to imply the chest, ribs, and groin. Rounded wooden boots covered Nathan's feet and wooden mittens encased his now-fingerless hands. More hinges were visible at the ankles and wrists. His head was braced with a wooden skullcap that mimicked the wave and shape of his hair, painted in a harsh, flat caricature of his true hair color. The hairpiece/head brace seemed to be attached in the back to a wooden brace around Nathan's neck.

The first of the stout and formidable-looking suspension cables (or to call them what they really were, puppet strings) extended up from atop Nathan's head. There were eleven in all. Two more at the elbows, and two at the wrists, and the same again at the knees and feet. The main support looked to be from the two heaviest wires, set in the shoulders.

Nathan's face had been delicately painted so that when it caught the light properly, it actually appeared to have a soft wood grain finish. His cheeks had been painted with stage makeup blush, his eyelashes were thick with actor's mascara, making them long and lush. His face didn't appear as garish as it had with the red circles painted on his cheeks, but he still looked strangely unnatural. As Nathan hung there, slowly rotating into the light, Andrew saw the final surreal touch on his friend's face. A bold black line ran across his lower lip, with two more connecting lines painted down his jaw from either corner of his mouth to curve under his chin. Once in the light, Nathan's face was no longer his own, but that of a marionette, complete with jaw hinge.

Andrew stared wide-eyed at his transformed buddy, and swallowed hard. Then, he slowly and hesitantly looked down at his own arm. It too was encased in a wooden shell and ended at the hinged wrist with a fingerless wooden hand. Andrew didn't need to look around at the rest of his body to know the truth. He was in the same predicament as Nathan. He was a puppet, too.

Andrew stretched his mouth in a yawning motion and could feel the heavy makeup painted on his lower lip and jaw. He was done up as fully as his friend, from wooden body to jaw hinge. But the big question now was who had done this to them, and why? And the next question, which caused a cold knot to form in Andrew's stomach, was what was going to happen to them now?

"Nathan." Andrew's voice sounded cracked and hoarse. It came out no louder than a whisper. Nathan continued to doze as he dangled peacefully from his puppet strings. Andrew swallowed, cleared his throat. "Nathan", he said again, louder. "Nate, wake up." Nathan the marionette moaned contentedly, wrinkled his nose, and kept sleeping. Andrew kept calling to his best friend, but as he raised his voice, a thought began to nag at the back of his mind and grow in intensity. "A good little puppet shouldn't speak unless his strings are pulled to make him."

Dimly, Nathan could hear something just on the edge of his perception. It sounded like his own name, the one he used back before his dream came true. What was his dream again? It didn't matter, he felt so peaceful right now. Warm, comfortable. He sighed softly as he hung in his rightful place. Hung? Wait a minute. Had he said hung? No matter, this felt right, it felt good. There was his name again. It was being spoken by his best friend. His friend Andrew who also fulfilled his dream. Their dream they had held together in secret. "Nathan." Andrew's voice was getting louder. No, don't rouse me, thought Nathan. I feel so good just like this, so at home as a--"Nathan!"

Nathan groaned a bit, feeling as he did on the first day of school when he was little, being pulled rudely from a sound sleep to do something he'd rather he avoid. His first response was to burrow under his covers. He tried to move his arms to yank the blankets up over his head and roll over onto his side. But there were no blankets to be found. And his arms only moved the tiniest bit. Rolling over was of no use, either. Then he felt himself swaying, as if he were caught up in a tire swing. Nathan blinked his eyes open, and as his focus cleared, he saw his beloved friend Andrew, dangling not far from him. Nathan's heart jumped a beat, as he realized Andrew was as Nathan had always fantasized seeing him. A puppet. A living, beautiful, human puppet on strings, no control or will of his own, but a mere plaything for whomever held his strings.

Nathan reflexively moved to reach out to Andrew, to perhaps grasp those strings, to bring his friend under his control and love him as he never had--as he never could have before. That was when Nathan found his own arms were restricted. He tried to straighten himself, to stand up tall and gain his perspective, but found that his feet were suddenly ineffectual. Nathan looked at his arms and saw the heavy, taut strings. He glanced down at his feet and saw them, now smooth and wooden, hovering above the floor. Nathan's heart sped up as he began to understand his situation. "Oh no..."

Nathan began to call to Andrew, but was stopped as he realized Andrew, his head drooping, was muttering something over and over. "But I am a good little puppet. I am, I am. I am a good little puppet..."

Nathan hollered to his friend. "Andrew!" Andrew kept muttering his mantra, as if he were caught on a continuous loop, his head shaking slowly side to side. Nathan looked over his head, seeing the suspension rig wires stretch upward past the catwalk above, the glare of the few lights focused on them making him squint. He was caught but good. They both were. "Andrew!" Andrew continued to mumble as if he were apologizing to someone, asking forgiveness. A thought occurred to Nathan. He wasn't Nathan anymore. And Andrew wasn't Andrew. Nathan cried out, "Puppetboy!"

Andrew's head snapped up, suddenly wide awake. "Nathan--?" His eyes grew sharp a she once again was aware of where he was. "Nate! Dude, what the hell happened to us? We're puppets, man!"

"Yeah, I got that. You remember how we got like this?"

"Nope. I just woke up like this." He looked around as Nathan had, seeing no way down from their strings. "Nate, I'm freaking out. And I--and I feel like--" Andrew stopped himself, trying to kick his feet and move his arms to grab his strings, to no effect.

Nathan completed Andrew's thought. "I feel it too. Like we belong here. Like we were born to be puppets and we've finally come home, like we shouldn't try to get down--"

Andrew began to struggle more aggressively, trying not to let the thoughts take over again. "I know."

Nathan just dangled from his wires, spinning ever-so-slightly. "We shouldn't get down, Andrew. We can't. Good little puppets only move with their strings, and if we try to get down and break our strings we're not being good little puppets, it's weird, but I can't stop thinking about it, we should stay here and wait to be moved, because otherwise we're not good little--"

"I AM A GOOD LITTLE PUPPET!!", Andrew shouted. "Stop saying I'm NOT!!"

Both boys froze, equally shocked at Andrew's outburst. After a moment's silence, Andrew swallowed. Quietly, he said, "Jesus, we are so screwed."

At that, the spotlights above them clicked off. Before the duo could panic at being plunged into darkness, bright colored lights burst on from the control booth far above the auditorium. The footlights came alive, and a mirrored ball descended from above to provide a sea of cool white flashes sparkling along the flat against the back wall of the stage. The sound speakers at either side of the stage crackled to life and an automated tape began to play. Their show was about to begin.

Both Nathan and Andrew could feel their strings grow a bit more taut, their arms and legs suddenly being manipulated by some unseen puppeteer. They could feel their self-control slipping away, replaced by an overwhelming desire to submit to the pull of their strings.

Andrew looked over to Nathan in panic. His eyes were wide with worry and he licked his lips, his tongue feeling the thick latex paint covering his lower lip with his mock jaw hinge. Nathan gasped as he tried to speak again. "Andrew, I love yo--"

That was as far as he got. Nathan's face split into a beautiful, broad smile, his eyes bright and his expression seeming sincere. His arms spread wide in a welcoming gesture and his legs jutted out in a frozen dance step. Before Andrew could question what was happening to his friend, he felt himself smiling broadly as well, his own body striking a similar pose to Nathan's. As he did so, he could feel the strings attached to his harness controlling his motion. Whatever fix they were in, it had now started in full swing. They were now quite literally puppets in reality as well as appearance. Andrew's eyes stayed wide and his expression cheerful, but inside his puppet gear he felt terribly frightened. He looked to his smiling, ecstatic-looking puppet pal and knew that beneath his happy veneer, he was equally afraid.

"I love you too, Nate", Andrew thought. And the music began.

Alan was less than thrilled with the idea that he would have to apologize to Andrew and Nathan for his abrupt dismissal of them in the library. But if the two of them were going to serve his purpose, he'd have to start by sucking up a little.

The idea itself seemed amicable enough to Alan. The two boys wanted to learn about hypnosis and mind control. To, in fact, experience control by an outside source. Alan needed a unique subject for his thesis without letting all his prior research work go to waste. Provided the boys would submit to being used as guinea pigs (and let's face it, if they made responsive enough subjects, how would they know?) each party could get what they wanted. It was win-win.

Alan knocked on the boys' dorm room door, only to have it come open a crack under his knuckles. Alan pushed the door open the rest of the way and peered inside. The place was a mess--typical dorm room--but looked unoccupied. "Um, hello? Anybody home?"

Alan stepped over piles of clothes strewn about, discarded schoolbooks, a couple backpacks, and the occasional empty pop can. The floor was filthy, but at second glance, Alan could see it wasn't the usual dust and tracked-in dirt. Alan knelt down and touched the floor with his fingertips, picking up a bit of the grainy debris to examine it. Alan scrunched his brow. "Sawdust."

Brushing his hands off on his pants, Alan rose and continued his investigation of the cramped quarters. This was a classic two-man dorm room. Unlike those cavernous suites always featured on television programs, there was barely room to turn around, with what little space made available by a rickety student-built loft for the bed. Alan glanced around looking for a cot or sleeping bag, but saw nothing. Odd. There was only the one bed. Flipping through stacks of books and homework papers confirmed, however, that there were indeed two students staying here. Alan's mind did a quick tumble. Just how close were these two college buddies?

All over the one desk, atop the tiny TV with the tinfoil around the ancient little antenna, and scattered upon the bed were books about puppets and puppeteering. What was it they'd said they wanted? To be someone's puppet? It looked like they may have meant that literally.

There were two doors in the room besides the one that led to the hallway. One went into the small bathroom that was shared by the dorm room next door. Nothing unusual there. Toothpaste, razors, and shaving cream crowded the miniscule counter top and the tiny wastebasket overflowed with wadded up kleenex and Q-tips. the shower stall floor was lined with various shampoos and gooey-bottomed bar soaps. On the floor beside the toilet was a small stack of magazines. Where you might expect a college boys' lavatory to have girlie mags a'plenty, these were all men's workout and other exercise and fitness monthlies. Not overly suspicious in and of itself, except that neither of the boys were terribly buff. They were no weaklings, but at most their builds were fair to average.

Alan went to the second door in the room, and found it was a closet. Out of which came tumbling a variety of woodworking projects in various states of completion. Tools were stacked on the closet floor helter-skelter, each one showing signs of considerable use. A small model stood out among the various pieces of carved and sanded wood. It was a wooden marionette, about 12 inches tall, with carefully articulated arm and leg joints. It had notes scratched on its surface indicating how it might be taken apart and then put back together. Alan snapped it open easily, for it's front was hinged to it's back. It opened like a door to a tiny keepsake box. Or a miniature suit of armor, perhaps. Inside the hollow mannequin was more writing, scrawled notations to where padding might go. Padding for what? Alan looked back in the closet to see if he could find the little puppet's head. After two minutes of searching for the head, he felt a light bulb come on over his own. This puppet was a scale study for something larger. Much larger. It would not have a head. But what went inside it would.

The two puppetboys were being jerked about lightly on their strings, arms and legs moving about nimbly but limply, devoid of any thrust or force. On the overhead, Nathan and Andrew's giggling voices sang along to an old-fashioned recording they'd discovered during their theater inventory. On stage, the real boys moved their mouths as they'd been hypnotically programmed when they heard the musical cue, eyes bright and lips moving just slightly out of sync with the dated lyrics.

"Summer holidays are here

Kids are gathering on the pier

Come to see if we're still here

The dancing marionettes!"

"Legs forever tangling,

Jokes we can't resist.

Little arms a-dangling,

Fleet of foot and limp of wrist!"

"Now you know just why we're keen.

Keen to show you what we mean

Take you through the full routine

Of the dancing marionettes!"

Then the tempo of the music changed. The recording lost it's aged crackle and Andrew and Nathan were suddenly engaged in a highly energetic synchronized song and dance of the Disney production number variety. Their arms and legs were manipulated with precision, causing their every move to seem exaggerated and overblown. They leapt, high-stepped, and even two-stepped, and for all the enthusiasm they displayed, you would think each movement were for a grand finale.

The boys' voice were raised loud in song, their faces masks of sheer delight. They looked as if they were performing for a national children's TV program before a live audience of youngsters. Neither boy was all that accomplished a singer, despite their participation in high school choir, making their vocal efforts all the more comical.

Neither boy felt particularly jovial, however they may have looked. They belted out a happy song about being puppets, never having heard the song before (or at least that's how it felt), yet not missing a beat nor skipping a verse. They clomped about on their wooden feet, their strings yanking their elbows and knees high. The chipper tone of their chorus expressed joy at having gone through the reverse of the Pinocchio fairy tale, of having been transformed from real boys into puppets.

Andrew and Nathan winked at each other, clicked their heels, and were pulled up off the stage to do a slow back flip. Every step, every movement seemed well rehearsed, yet each of the boys felt he was experiencing it for the first time. Technically, they were right. They had never gone through this elaborate choreography before, but mentally they had been running through the routine again and again in their heads for weeks on end. They had it down pat. Yet each had a creeping sensation that they were about to made to do something neither of them had ever done before.

Alan sat in the boys' dorm room, making use of a tattered beanbag chair. He was looking over everything, the books, the magazine, the notes. It was becoming clear that Andrew and Nathan truly were intent on turning themselves into puppets.

The thing that most fascinated Alan were the recordings. Cassette tapes were now clustered into little piles all around the room, but had been secreted away in such a fashion that he'd never have found them if he hadn't looked for them specifically. Had he not read of them in several of Andrew's notes, he wouldn't have thought to do that much. The boys had recorded them together. All of them done in accordance with their research into brainwashing and mind control. Their tapes were in many ways a step-by-step How To guide in messing with your best friend's head while he did the same to you.

On the recordings, Andrew spoke to Nathan, Nathan spoke to Andrew. They gave loving instructions in soothing voices, using the other's name in direct address often. They always spoke in the present tense, as if the desired commands were in a constant state of execution. "You want to be a puppet, Andrew. You can feel the hinges, you can feel the strings, Andrew." "Nathan, you want to be a puppet. You were born to be a puppet, Nathan. It feels good to be a puppet."

Alan fast forwarded to get the jist of the subliminal messages. "Andrew, you can feel control slipping away, a little more each day. You can move, but you feel you are being controlled by your puppet strings, Andrew." FFWD. "Nathan, it feels so good, so peaceful to just let go and allow yourself to be controlled. It's soothing to know you are a mere puppet at the will of another, Nathan." FFWD

After the commands cassettes, there was hours of mantra tapes. "You are a good little puppet. A good little puppet is easily controlled. Repeat this. I am a good little puppet. I have no will of my own. I am aware of my puppet nature, but am unable to alter it. I am a good little--" FFWD

Next came the instructions to hide what they were doing to each other. "Andrew, you will listen to these tapes faithfully each night while you sleep. You will retrieve them each evening from their hiding place and return them in the morning. It will become reflex, Andrew. You will do it without thinking." FFWD "Nathan, each time you hear this tape the truth of the words becomes more and more set in your mind. You cannot sleep without your tapes, Nathan. You cannot rest without knowing your commands are in place." FFWD "Andrew, you will continue to create new tapes with Nathan of increasingly advanced suggestions." FFWD "Nathan, each time you record new command tapes with Andrew, you will hide them immediately afterward and forget what you have done."

Alan began to feel a shiver running up his spine. He began to dig through the tapes in search of something very specific. FFWD "You will listen to your tapes at least three times a day, in your walkman as you go to and from class, in the background while studying." FFWD "You now think of yourself as a puppet, in the back of your mind." FFWD "Andrew, you want to obey--" FFWD "Nathan, you are compelled to obey--" FFWD "Repeat to yourself, I am a puppet--" FFWD "I am a puppet--" FFWD "I am now and ever shall be--" FFWD "--a puppet'--"

Alan threw down the small handheld recorder. The boys had done an admirable job in brainwashing themselves, in mind controlling each other. But there was something missing. Something vital. The off switch. Where was the tape, where had they put the message that would snap them out of it, or would gradually change them back? The two had become so obsessed with their mind control puppetry that they never considered planning a way out. And with the care they'd taken in masking their own progress from themselves, they were probably experiencing their much-desired puppetdom with absolutely no clue of how they got there. Far from being fun, they were most likely scared out of their wits.