Make a run for it.

You are sure there is a tracking device inside of you, but you can't let this go on any longer or you know you will end up like the real Amber. Hell, for all you know they had no idea you had an internal air supply and were more than willing to let you die in your last fuck session. Still dripping cum, dressed only in a pair of ripped white stockings, and a pair of white **** heel shoes, you hobble passed the doc's office, your conviction to get away giving you a new found burst of strength with every step. A few moments later you are shocked as you push on the door, and it opens. The cool air hits your skin, but you are a bit surprised to find that you are now apparently slightly resistant to temp, as you see a tiny readout in your field of vision spring up that lets you know the ambient temp and beside this the tiny word, compensating. “Cool.” You say as you look around. There is a dumpster that smells like stale shit, some junk and boxes, but that is about it. Knowing if they haven't found the prototype or your stashed gear, you might just be able to get away. Running off into the night you only get a block before your computer warns you that a tracer inside of you has just started transmitting. “Fuck, block it.” You yell at yourself and as you think about it, your internal com link does exactly that, with a little warning telling you that this disables your com link as well. So while they might not be able to find you, you can't contact your fixer or anyone else that might help you till it is removed.

It doesn't take long to return to the roof top where you stashed everything, but sadly it is gone. “Fuck me.” You exclaim, and begin kicking things around looking for any clue. Just when you are about to give up you spot a familiar silver case. Your heart leaps as you race over and find the still sealed case holding the stolen prototype. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You say hugging the case. Weighing your next move, you take a moment to survey your surroundings. If it is still there, you have a car just over six blocks away. That seems to be your best bet. You are able to slip down the side of the building with amazing ease, letting you know that while you clearly don't have any activated cybernetics, you have something going for you, beyond the ability to take a massive cock up your ass, and deep throat like a pro.
Heading off into the night, sticking to alleys and as deserted streets as you can, while still trying to make as hasty a retreat as possible in the general direction of where you now seem to remember where your car is hiding. Several times you hear various gang members, hookers, john’s, and god knows what else, and every time you hear so much as movement, you dive for the nearest cover and hide, making the trip take easily twice as long as you would have hoped. That said 5 city blocks, many many times diving for cover, and even 3 moments of a panic driven all out sprint, you find that not only do your feet not hurt from running in massively high heels, but you find you aren't even slightly winded. What ever she did to you has definitely improved your stamina. With just over a block to go, the light of the morning begins to dispel the shadows, and you know very soon the streets will fill with people. Throwing caution to the wind you say, “Fuck it.” And take off at a full blown sprint. Skidding in a bit of loose gravel as you round the corner your heart sinks as you see the spot where you parked your little sports car is currently occupied with an ugly brown beater of a car. “Fuck!” You yell at the sky, yet you do have to admit you are crazy fast. “Fast isn't going to get me 35 miles to the center of the city.” Quickly you look closely at each and every car till you find a little green electric car with the passenger window open just enough for you to pull the door open. Once you are inside the knowledge of how to get the car running seems to spring into your mind, and within only a few seconds you are racing away.

Ten miles later your heart finally stops racing, and for the first time you can't help but think that everything might just work out. Zipping down the road, you call up the map in your head, and have it lead you to the drop off point. As you pull up to the huge public gym in the nice area of downtown, it is well past 9 am and there are far more people around than you would like. Searching around in the car, you notice the back seat folds down giving access to the trunk. Pulling it down you spot something that makes you smile at least a tiny bit. There is a smallish nylon bag, and inside of it you find a far too large black t-shirt, as well as a couple of other articles of clothing that are worthless, but pulling on the overly large shirt, taking off the now crusty stockings, and shoes, from a distance you figure you won't really look all that out of place at a gym. Plopping out of the car on your cute little bare feet, with your sexy bright pink toenails, you can’t help but laugh as you see two young men in polo shirts and kaki shorts check you out. It only takes a few moments to find the outside locker and you key in the code you somehow know and put the device inside. You see your money as well as another job is inside as you expected. Grabbing the package, you wait till you are comfortably within your car once again to count the $100,000 and slot the chip.

The file wants Lynx to go to a club called "The Pit." The center of which is an **** fighting arena surrounded by an area full of street vendors, performers, and all sorts of freaks and thugs deep in the combat zone and talk to the man in charge named The Wizard of Odds. It seems he is looking for someone to find and apprehend a thief alive and will pay $100,000 for a specialist.

Pulling down the rear view mirror you look into your new face, the perfect twin of the hooker Amber, and know there is no way, with everyone by now knowing full well Lynx got his head chopped off, that you could possibly convince anyone that you are anyone but Amber. “Fuck me, what do I do now?”