Flee the motel

You think quickly. The first thing to do is find a new identity and escape. The businessman seems like the ideal choice - generally they want to get away from their red light rendezvous as soon as possible. You listen against the wall: there's still the faint thud of sexual activity. You frown. He's going to be at it for a while. Then you hear a noise outside.

"No. Way. Jack, I'm not staying here. Did you see that toilet?" The voice is a woman's, with a faint accent you find it hard to place.

"I've already payed the creep at the front desk the money, all right? It's fine. You've slept in worse."

"Yeah, in Mexico, Jack. Mexico. This town actually has clean running water. I think we can afford to stay somewhere a little... cleaner."

"Oh, stop being such a princess about it, Sandra. We're not going to trail around town to find another motel. Do you really want to sleep in the van? 'Cause that's what will happen." A third voice: another woman's, though far less prim, far more indie.

"It's a better choice than this dump, at least."

"But I've already paid!" Jack protests again.

"Then...unpay. Please?" Sandra is laying it on thick.

"Ugh. Is your little cheerleader brain really rattling around, struggling to understand the concept of 'no refunds'? This place is a dive. Customer service is not a priority."

"Screw you, Kat. Just because you like to slum it. Look, Jack. I'll pay you back. I'll pay not to stay here. Just... just look at that toilet. Go back to the room and look at it. It's not even been cleaned."

"OK, fine! If it stops you whining we'll go somewhere else! Kat, you cool with this?" Jack seems exasperated by the bickering.

"Just... ugh, fine. Whatever. Bring your girlfriend back to the car, OK? I swear though, if she's going to be like this all the way, I swear I will kill myself with prescription pills at the next **** store we pass."

"You should be lucky we're bringing you on this road trip anyway, Katrina."

"Someone has to be able to read a map when there's no cell signal, don't they?" Kat practically spits.

"Will you two quit it! You've been at each other's throats since we left, and we've got at least another twelve hours to go! Come on, Sandra. Let's return the key."

"Wait. Let me get my frickin' backpack, first, all right?" Kat again.

"Fine. You drop off the key. We'll see you at the van."

"Uh...whatever."

You hear the footsteps separate outside: this is your perfect chance. Casually, you open the room door, bringing it to a close behind you: you don't want someone to look inside and see four skin suits lying across the floor, after all. You look left, just in time to see a couple head down the stairs, then to the right, just in time to see an army surplus green jacket head into a room. You don't hesitate. You walk along the corridor and push open the door.

"Sorry," you whisper as you level the brown pen, seconds later the black, and fire them simultaneously.

The next couple of minutes are a mad scramble as you virtually claw away the clothes and pull on your new face as quickly as possible. It's much smaller than your own frame: the woman (22-year-old Katrina Holly Brown, a film studies major) is barely above five foot two, but you're still able to slip into her petite skin easily. You pull on her head and shake her hair, dark roots bursting through a bleached white with blue ends. Amazingly, her piercings seem to have transferred with the skin, and you've got a stud in your nose and through your tongue. You don't have time to pause though - your pursuers will be here any moment. You throw on her cargoes, T-shirt, and green surplus jacket. Then you grab her backpack and head to your own room.

You only have time to slip Jessica's skin into your pack, and the pens into your jacket. Lucy and Denise will just have to wait for rescue; you're sure the organization are capable of cleaning up such a mess. You slam the door, drop Jack's room key at the front desk and head out to the carpark, falling naturally into Kat's slouched, casual rhythm as you walk toward your new friends.

"You took your time." Sandra - it has to be Sandra - spits as you reach the beaten up VW van. You slide open the back, toss your pack inside and throw yourself in, closing the door behind you.

"Whatever. Just drive, OK?"

The van heads down the road, into the night. As you begin to pick up speed, you look out the back. Another set of headlights have appeared in the distance; a set that turns into the motel parking lot. You breathe a sigh of relief, and slouch back against the van side.

You've escaped. You're itching to return Jessica to normal as soon as possible, but that would mean getting away from your new friends. But you're also curious about the pens. Maybe you should find out what they can do before you return your girlfriend to normal.