"I want to use my evil powers."

“Hey,” you say, looking around at the crowded tables in the cafeteria. You and Meg have wandered back to the dorm building around lunchtime, leaving Kitty to the tender mercies of the frisbee boys, who’d probably let her go eventually. “There’s no place to sit!”

“Oh my god, it’s always like this.” About seventy percent of the women in the cafeteria are girls, their plates stacked high with tacos, pizza, chocolate cake, surprisingly good sushi. Every chair seems to be taken. “Do you want to go somewhere else, or…”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. I want to use my evil powers to clear a space.”

“Oh, right, you have evil powers! I totally forgot about that.” You’ve been chatting about comic books for the last half hour, exchanging theories about what you think Marvel should do with Spider-Man next. “Which girl do you want to target? They’re all pretty cute. Maybe that curly-haired girl with the big boobs, or the tall skinny one with the glasses, or the one who looks exactly like Scarlett Johansson… wait, is that Scarlett Johansson? What’s she doing here?”

“Meg. Dear, sweet, darling Meg. You think so small. Check this out.”

Behind the lunch counter, there’s an enormous freezer chest full of ice cubes, intended for cooling drinks on this hot summer’s day. You smile. Your eyes crackle with dark power.

The freezer chest springs open.

A dozen ice cubes sail into the air. They fly across the room, unseen in the commotion, and dart towards the curly-haired girl with the big boobs who’s sitting at the end of the long table on the right, waving her cake-stained fork in the air as she describes something to her friends. They hover around her head like tiny hummingbirds.

Four of them dive down into her cleavage. Two more duck down the back of her top. The rest zip below the table, to fly right up her skirt.

There’s an ear-piercing squeal.

The curly-haired girl leaps into the air, batting at her breasts and squealing as the ice cubes squirrel their way into her panties and bra. They make a beeline for her nipples and pussy, pressing their cold damp bodies against the most sensitive parts of her anatomy, twirling around her boobs, caressing her buttocks and sliding into the small of her back. She can’t get rid of them.

“EEK EEK EEK! COLD!”

You smile wider.

More icecubes leap into the air.

The tall skinny girl is the next victim, followed by the Scarlett Johansson lookalike, unless she’s actually just Scarlett Johansson. They leap squealing into the air as the icecubes fly into their clothes, ruthlessly seeking out their intimate regions. Squeal after squeal follows as more and more young women are sought out by the flying, frigid pests, their tits and pussies victimised by slippery wet ice, dancing and slapping at their bodies in a vain effort to rid themselves of the cold menace. The boys are doing nothing at all to help.

“OH MY GOD! GET IT OFF!”

The curly-haired girl is the first to surrender herself to the obvious decision. She grabs her shirt and rips it open, sending buttons flying everywhere, baring her white lacy ice-filled bra. She sticks her hands into her bra, but she can’t get a grip on the ice. It merrily evades her fingers. She shrieks as she’s goosed by a particularly insolent cube sliding between her ass cheeks, and throws caution to the wind by lifting up her skirt.

“Help!”

“Eek!”

“Aah!”

It’s no use. As long as there’s underwear in the way, the cubes of ice will stay trapped intimately close to the girls’ naked skin, resisting all efforts to get rid of them. One by one, you watch them work through the logic of this.

“MAKE IT STOP! EEK! COLD COLD COLD!”

The tall slender girl is the first to roll her panties down her legs, snatch at the ice cube burrowed between her labia and fling it as far away from her as she possibly can. She gets about five seconds of relief before it comes soaring back, like a persistent mosquito, aiming directly for her clit. She bats away two more cubes, seconds before they make contact with her naked nipples, and sprints towards the exit, kicking her jeans off her ankles as she runs.

All around you, pretty college girls are hastily stripping off their clothes, unfastening their bras and pulling down their panties to get rid of the horrible persistent cold flying icecubes. It’s pandemonium. Someone slips and plants her boobs in a chocolate cake. Someone else lets out a piercing yelp as cold melting ice slides between her breasts.

There’s a gigantic set of double doors at the far end of the room, leading out into the gardens. The nude panicked girls stampede towards it. Three or four try to break from the pack, running towards less conspicuous exits, but the icecubes converge on them in a mass and herd them back towards the group. One by one, they tumble out into the gardens, breathing heavily and dripping wet.

Maybe seventy stark naked college girls.

The doors swing slowly shut behind them. The icecubes are gone.

“Smile, ladies,” says Dr. Mungus, the head of the film and photography department. He’s a tall, saturnine man with slicked-back hair, standing atop the stairs that wrap around the semicircular patch of lawn outside the building, holding the most expensive and high-definition digital camera it’s possible for a private citizen to own.

All around him, on the stairs, encircling the girls completely, are three rows of film students. Every last one of them is also holding a camera.

There’s a long moment of silence.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!”

The squeals pierce the heavens and send birds squawking out of trees three blocks away. The double doors have automatically locked, of course, but the boys inside the cafeteria can watch through the plate glass wall as the squealing nude college girls tumble over each other, trying to get away from the flashing cameras. Some bang on the windows, their breasts squished against the glass, trying to get back inside.All this does is encourage the boys to get out their cell phones.

“Cool,” says Meg, as picture after picture is taken of the exposed bodies of the helpless trapped bare-naked red-faced college girls, documenting every last inch of their jiggling flesh for the university archives. “Now we can get something to eat.”