Change disguises

"OK," you reply with a smile. "I'll be along in a moment."

It's a lie: you've no intention of going anywhere. O'Rouke nods though, and leaves. Instead you take out the pen. The sound of a hair dryer starts up, and you notice the other technician has towelled off and is preparing to get dressed. That should make your job easier, if this pen works anything like you think it will. You wait a moment, turning it over in your hands, wondering just what this corporation, and the military, has been up to.

The job was a farce - you can see that now. But this pen is something else; something incredible. It seems to transform people at a molecular level, and it's technology that should never fall into the wrong hands (such as your own). One thing's for certain: if you decide to run with the pen, you can't go home to your wife. They know too much about you. Borrowing people's lives like this has always been fine on an ethical level, but actually...wearing them? It's a hideous thought, like some kind of sci-fi project gone wrong. And yet, if you don't, you wonder just what this sinister civilian-military project would do. This is too much power for any one to have. But another device like this? Mass produced? It would change the world. They could replace anyone, do anything.

You can't let that happen. You make your mind up. And, as Anna, you stand up and head back into the lab.

"Hey, ain't you forgetting something?" The woman asks, turning off her dryer, speaking with a thick Southern US accent.

"Oh, yeah," you respond, smiling. She means the static overalls. You don't. You point the pen and fire.

Michelle Jackson... who does that bitch think she is? I ain't ever even seen her before... man, I'll be glad to end the day...

The woman's thoughts, name, very being fill your mind, taking you aback even as she collapses into an empty shell opposite. Holy shit. Guidance was the right word after all: guidance on how to be someone. With the knowledge you have, you could impersonate Michelle Jackson perfectly. Mannerisms, account details, relationship with her husband... it's all there. So that's what the chip is! And that's why what you're about to do is so important...

You step into the lab, now free from interruption. The camera pan only gives you a few seconds, but you're sure it's not being monitored automatically, and by the time they realize what's happened, you're going to be long-gone. You walk in to the lab, flipping out the controlled gas tubes and flooding the room. Then, taking out the magazine from Anna's gun, you clip some bullets onto a hot plate and turn it on. In about three minutes the primer will ignite. You turn and hurry out the room.

Three minutes later, the room explodes with a fury. Smoke, flash fires and sprinklers going off, klaxons blaring with a repetitive whine. Chaos erupts in the complex, everyone wondering what the hell is happening. You follow the crowd, a scared, panicked look on your face as you evacuate the building, a precious cargo in hand.

"Make way! Got a casualty here!" You get through immediately, everyone giving you space and help as you carry out the slumped, **** body of Anna Lowry, fully restored from her ordeal. Michelle Jackson, married laboratory technician, is being a hero - saving a work colleague from certain ****. As you set the slumped body you carry down at the rally point, a crowd gathers. Anna is regaining consciousness, but seems confused. You smile a very un-Michelle smile as you turn your attention to your handiwork.

The whole building is in flames. The laboratory must have had more stuff involved, though you hope that everything to do with the pen has been destroyed. That means your prototype - and chip - are the only ones in the world. Away, on the other side of the complex, you can see Veronica Bell berate and point at a large, well-built man in military fatigues, with pepper-grey hair and a stern expression. Michelle's mind tells you that's Brenner. As she begins to piece together what happened, Bell turns and begins to scan the scene. She's looking for someone out of place. She's looking for you.

Michelle's recently-damped hair is indistinguishable from the other soaked members of the laboratory staff, but you've got charcoal smears on your lab clothes. It's only a matter of time before someone tells Ms Bell about how Michelle Jackson pulled Anna Lowry from the building. It's time to get a new disguise. As chaos continues to erupt from the building, you slip away, across the street, and into a nearby burger joint. Nobody seems to notice outside, although a few patrons and staff look up at the soot-stained woman who enters. You feign shock, walking loosely with Michelle's body as if you're in a daze, and stumble in to the bathroom. With any luck they'll decide you're just stunned by what's happened.

You look at your current face in a mirror. Michelle is a mess; her hair is wild and the expression you've plastered on her face is one of scared confusion. Still, you're pro enough to sense you're not alone in the bathroom. There's a flush, and a woman in a yellow sun dress exits a cubicle. She's got quite a large figure, definitely overweight, with wavy, parted blonde hair and a fresh face with large cheeks. She's in her late 20s you would guess. She's also perfect. Without a moment's thought you turn and fire.

"Sorry, hun," you say with your thick accent. "But I need to be you for a little while."

A minute later, you're adjusting your new, large breasts into your bra, and fitting your new, larger face over your own, contorting its muscles and flicking your hair back. Your name is Melinda Curtis, and you're in town shopping for the day. Your car is parked a little down the street. You're conscious of your weight, but you intend to slim down before your holiday. And... oh. You'd better put your dress back on, hadn't you? You grab the fabric and pull it over your head, stretching the light yellow fabric out over your curves, before bending down to pick up your clutch, and slipping the pen inside.

"Hi," you say in Melinda's perfect voice as you straighten your flabby jawline in the mirror. "My name's Mel. Yeah, I heard all about that fire... I was on the street opposite. What happened? A woman was found **** in the restaurant opposite? How did that happen?"

You turn, and point the pen at Michelle, returning her to normal as you walk out of the door. "Oh, right," you think. "That's how it happened." You unlock the bathroom door and step out of the restaurant, out into the street, where your (now blue) eyes are just another set staring across at the flames and smoke opposite. It's with a satisfied smile that you turn, and saunter away in the flats you wear in your new, plus-size form.

You need to get away from here and decide what to do. With Melinda's phone you could probably call up your handler and get a new contract, but this mission will go down as a failure and you could be drawing unwanted attention to your whereabouts. Alternatively, Mel's knowledge tells you she's got a nice rented apartment where you're unlikely to be disturbed. You could always lie low as her for a while - or find a better life to borrow while you work out what to do with this incredible invention.

Chameleon is no more. Now you can't just look like anyone you want.