Fulfil your contract

You arrive at Lakeside Apartments precisely at nine, the silver bracelet from Zoe cool against your wrist. The off-campus housing complex is nicer than the dorms—clearly catering to students with money. You find Building C and make your way to room 204, where your client awaits.

You knock twice. The door opens to reveal a tall, lean man with perfectly coiffed dark hair and the kind of smile that suggests he's used to getting what he wants. This is IdentityCollector—or as he introduces himself with an extended hand, "Tyler Brennan."

"Right on time," he says, ushering you inside. The apartment is tastefully decorated in that generic wealthy-student way: expensive furniture that still somehow lacks personality. "Drink?"

You decline politely, keeping your focus professional. "Let's go over the details. How exactly are you providing access to Vicky?"

Tyler grins, opening a sleek metal case on the coffee table. Inside rests what looks like an ornate hair clip. "Latest tech. Proximity hopper. Just need to get close enough to clip it on her hair or clothes. Sends the consciousness to a holding pattern while allowing remote access." He sees your expression and adds quickly, "It's completely safe. Military-grade. And temporary."

"And illegal," you add, though you've certainly used similar tech before.

"Only if you get caught," Tyler shrugs. "But Vicky's got a standing 8:45 PM study session at the library every Thursday. She'll be back by 10:30. That gives us about ninety minutes."

"And Jessica?" you ask, referring to the girlfriend who remains unaware of the hopping plan.

Tyler gestures toward the bedroom. "Waiting for her 'boyfriend surprise.' She thinks I'm bringing wine." His smile turns wolfish. "She has no idea about hopping tech. Thinks it's just rich kid stuff that doesn't affect normal students."

You raise an eyebrow. "So you're dating someone who doesn't know about your... interests?"

"Opposites attract," he says with a dismissive wave. "Besides, she's hot, uncomplicated, and doesn't ask questions. Perfect, right?"

Something about his tone makes you uneasy, but $800 is $800.

"Here's how we'll play it," Tyler continues, pulling up photos on his phone. "This is Vicky. You'll come in, act surprised to see us together, then gradually show interest. I've watched them interact—you need to be slightly sarcastic, call Jessica 'Jess' exclusively, and mention something about your shared Anthropology class."

You study the photos carefully. Vicky is indeed a petite brunette with an athletic build, large brown eyes, and a smile that seems genuine. Nothing about the photos suggests she's aware she's being documented.

"And you're sure Jessica will be into this?" you ask, your professional instincts kicking in.

"She'll love it once it starts," Tyler says with absolute certainty. "Trust me."

He hands you the hair clip. "Vicky should be returning to her car now. She parks in Lot B, just behind this building. If you hurry, you can 'accidentally' bump into her, attach the clip, and we're good to go."

You take the device, feeling its weight. The bracelet Zoe gave you pulses once, as if detecting the proximity tech.

"$400 now, $400 after," Tyler says, holding out a small envelope of cash. "Plus a nice tip if you make it convincing."

You slip out of Tyler's apartment and head down to Parking Lot B, the clip device concealed in your palm. The evening air carries a hint of autumn, campus lights casting long shadows across the asphalt. You scan the lot for Vicky, positioning yourself near the pathway from the library.

After a few minutes, you spot her—the petite brunette from the photos, walking with purposeful strides toward a blue compact car. She's dressed in a loose-fitting sweater and jeans, a heavy backpack slung over one shoulder. Perfect target acquisition.

You pull out your phone and pretend to be absorbed in a text message, timing your trajectory to intersect with hers between two parked SUVs.

"Oh!" you exclaim as you deliberately bump into her. "I'm so sorry!"

Vicky stumbles slightly, her books tumbling from her arms. "No worries," she says, kneeling to gather them.

You drop down beside her. "Let me help. I wasn't looking where I was going."

As you collect a scattered notebook, you notice the titles of her textbooks—Advanced Anthropology, Cognitive Psychology. This matches what Tyler told you about her and Jessica's shared class.

"Thanks," Vicky says, accepting the notebook from you. Her voice is lower than you expected, with a slight rasp that suggests late nights. "First week back and I'm already drowning in readings."

"Tell me about it," you reply, using the moment of casual conversation to reach toward her hair, as if brushing away a leaf. With practiced fingers, you clip the device onto a strand near the nape of her neck, hidden beneath her thick hair. "Anthropology major?"

"Minor," she corrects, standing up. "Psych major. You?"

"Just getting my bearings," you say with a smile. "Freshman."

Vicky hefts her backpack higher. "Well, good luck. First year's always the wildest." She has no idea how true that statement is about to become.

As she walks away, you feel the bracelet on your wrist pulse once, then twice. The connection is established. Your phone vibrates with a notification from the hopping app: Target secured. Ready for consciousness transfer.

You watch as Vicky unlocks her car, tosses her backpack inside, and drives away. In about two minutes, according to the app's countdown, her consciousness will be temporarily suspended, creating the vacancy you need.

When the countdown reaches zero, you activate the hop. The world around you warps and stretches, your vision tunneling to a pinpoint of light before exploding outward again. The familiar disorientation of consciousness transfer washes over you—that nauseating moment of being everywhere and nowhere at once.

Then suddenly, you're gripping a steering wheel. Your hands are smaller, fingers more delicate than your own. The car smells of vanilla air freshener and coffee. In the rearview mirror, Vicky's face—now your face—looks back at you, her brown eyes now animated by your consciousness.

You take a moment to acclimate, flexing fingers and rolling shoulders to get a feel for this new body. Athletic, as Tyler mentioned, with a core strength that suggests regular exercise. You can feel Vicky's muscle memory wanting to take certain postures, hold the steering wheel in particular ways.

A quick glance at the car's clock shows 9:20 PM. Time to turn around and head back to surprise Jessica and Tyler. You make a U-turn at the next intersection, adjusting to Vicky's body with each movement, preparing for the performance ahead.