Francine, 30 year old foot model.

After cases of rogue and sentient body parts became widespread over the town of Maddington, law enforcement officials had set in place a lockdown preventing people from both entering and leaving the town. This meant a fall in tourism revenue for the town, where many hotels saw barely any business.

Of course, fewer customers means less business, less business means less profit, and less profit means retrenchment.

Francine knew she was going to be given the short end of the stick. Having worked the same dead-end job at a hotel close to her place for 12 years to get enough money to go to college, having lost her job meant a big blow to her income.

Francine walked through the doors of the hotel one last time to retrieve her belongings from the staff lockers, she couldn't help but feel a sense of sentiment from the soft hallway music and the grey felt carpet beneath her shoes. Francine reached the doorway of the staff locker room and was greeted by many warm hugs and goodbye gifts from her fellow coworkers.

As Francine was leaving the room, Jennifer, one of her colleagues gestured for her to come over. "Hey, if you're still tight on cash, I know a guy who might be able to hit you up. He's looking for girls to do some kind of modelling project and I think you'd make a great fit!" She handed her a name card and left. "Adam, Feetfair Modelling co." Francine said to herself. Anything was better than nothing at this point, so she decided to call up the number and book a session with him.

Adam was a fine gentleman, polite and cheeky, he always had an eye for photography, and strived to use his skills to their full potential. He knew that making a living off photography would be difficult, so he took to the medium of fetish photography as a result. His studio looked like an ordinary photography studio, only that it had more backgrounds and sofas than a typical IKEA. Upon entering, she noticed that a corner looked out of the ordinary, like it was a part of a functioning nail salon, given the shelves upon shelves of nail polish and foot care supplies. Adam merely posited that it was for models to change nail colours and take care of their feet between long shoots. With the simple walkthrough of his studio complete, he asked Francine to go freshen herself up and get ready for the shoot. Between her bold floral mosaic wedges and her matching floral dress, her feet seemed to steal the show with every shot. Even in her closed-toe wedges, Adam still managed to find an angle which made them shine.

Francine found Adam's passion for photography and his similar love for women's feet endearing and playfully modelled for his camera lens. Altogether, her shoot with him lasted less than 2 hours, and she went home happy with an additional $200 in her wallet. She was told that the photos would be uploaded that same day and delighted in seeing how her photos turned out.

Fast-forward to 2 days later, when Francine woke up to a buzz from her phone across the room. She sat upright, rubbing her eyes as she pulled her bedsheet covers off. It was a message from Adam, who replied with a kissing-face emoji. Francine sat down on her bed, realising that she had unknowingly, agreed to another photoshoot with Adam later that day. "Eh, he won't mind if I call him to cancel..."

Suddenly, Francine's Feet slammed into the legs of the table next to her. Francine shrieked and immediately doubled over from the pain flaring from her ankle. Her whole body was then shoved forward, causing her to roll onto her side. Francine looked up in a state of panic, wondering who or what pushed her. "You better not cancel on Adam." A stern voice echoed from behind her.

"Who's there? Show yourself!" Francine jumped, looking around for the source of the voice. Her gaze was met with nothing but wooden floor and sunlight. She failed to catch her toes wiggling ever on their own, as she went to the bathroom to get dressed. Even if she didn't want to model, she could really use the money. As she looked at her wardrobe, something in her head **** her gaze towards a pair of silver, open-toe heels studded with metal spikes. As Francine set her heels down, she felt her feet leap into them. She paid no attention to the soft laughter in the room, thinking it came from the apartment down the corridor