"Big Mike" - a brutish oaf, well past his prime.

You try to remember last night - you were at the strip club. You were a bit high and very drunk. As fog clears, you remember: you fell asleep in the back alley behind the club. Not very graceful, you think, but what can you do? You had no cash and the taxis wouldn't take you back to the motel for free.

You look down at your breasts - your hands slowly creeping up to inspect this foreign weight.

What the fuck is going on? I have tits... And they're damn fine.

You slip your hands down to your hips.

And I'm thin? What the fuck.

You push your long red hair back.

I need to find a mirror...

You look down the street and notice a quiet coffee shop - you just need a second to process this. You pat the pockets of pants looking for your wallet. There's no wallet. You pull a scratched iPhone out of your pocket and a weathered driver's license. It says you're twenty-three years old and your name is Leah Taylor.

You sleek past the disaffected barista and into the restroom. You're met with the image a stunning young woman, she couldn't be a day over nineteen. You have large grey-green eyes, soft ginger locks, and a formidable bust.

Okay, you think, rubbing your new face with your slender fingers, I'm definitely a girl.

You compare the face in the ID against the one the mirror. They're clearly different. This must be a fake ID.

Sitting down on the toilet seat you put your head in your hands.

You pull out her phone. She uses a passcode... and the battery is at 10%.

Well, fuck, what do I do now?