Meet the boss in the wrong part of town

The address given is just about the worst part of town. You know it by reputation rather than having been there. A few of the more boisterous jocks in your class have boasted having gone down there to 'become a man'. None of them have.

It's the town's red light district. A seedy row of houses with boarded up windows, a mess of dirty alleys behind them.

You pull up in one of the alleyways and climb out of the car, walking gracefully in a dress of midnight blue. You're now fully in the Elena suit, having pulled over somewhere a little more secluded earlier. To your horror, when you'd examined Elena the the stranger's skin was also inside her, a thin layer hidden under the Elena flesh. It's now stuffed in the bag, beneath a bundle of flesh that, restored, would create Lucy Binder. The impostor was a man - more than that, you can't say. He was nondescript, just average in every way. A forgettable face commuting unforgettable horror, impersonating Jimmy, Jessica and who knows who else. Whoever he is, or was, there's a poetic justice to his fate.

You grab the bags from the boot, figuring it's best to bring them with you, and look around.

Down the alley one of the town's prostitutes is plying her trade. Her face is beautiful in a seductive kind of way, a fierce dyed-red snap of hair cut into a tight bob that accentuates her dark eyes and wicked smile. She's deathly pale, almost powder white, with a lean, undernourished body caught in a tight, revealing dress. As she asks if her client if they want a 'party', you could almost imagine her as a vampire, leading her victim away to be sucked dry. Given the way she's talking, comments about rubber and restraints, you suspect her client would enjoy that.

You shake your head, focus, and enter the dimly lit hall leading to your rendezvous.

You don't see the figure watching you intently from a truck parked nearby. Nor the strange electronic scanner held in his hand, the image of a body inset with another on its screen.

"Some dusky hot stuff coming your way," he reports, speaking cool and quiet into his cell. "Hot on the outside at least, as a C-set skin. Looks like someone's wearing her."

"That's Ryan. Called me earlier, told me he'd be coming like that. He's used this face before, likes to borrow it when in town. Keep sharp; last thing we want us Anderson having tailed our recruiter."

The line clicks dead. The man in the truck sighs, and returns to his vigil.

*****

“I can see why you're so attached to her. What did you say her name was? Elena?” The speaker is as blank and unassuming as the agent you're pretending to be. He's perhaps in his mid-30s, with a face that doesn't look out of place in this run-down area of town. You smile, and pose as you saw the agent do earlier, twirling your hands in an exotic pose as you shake your stolen body.

“You would like your fortune read, yes?” You say, playing heavy on Elena's accent. Your new compatriot laughs and takes the bags from you, setting them down on a soiled, busted mattress slumped in the corner of the room.

“So, who do we have in here?” He's strictly business.

You turn your back to him, closing the door behind you. This impersonation isn't going to hold too long, you realize. The best you can do is answer as close to the truth as possible, get your answers, and get out.

“The red's got a couple of skins I'm borrowing for later. Told you, I'm going to talk to Anderson at midnight.” This is the best you can come up with; you don't know the details of their plans other than what you've heard. You can only guess as to their intent.

“Right,” your 'boss' says, unzipping the blue bag. “And these?”

“His girlfriend, Jessica. Her mom, Denise Hunt.” Elena's Eastern European accent chips away at the names, distorting them with elegant pronunciation.

The man pulls up the blonde locks of Jessica, tugging her head out of the bag and letting it hang grotesquely. “So this is sweet Jessica Hunt, huh? Might be an idea to put a new recruit inside her, just in case something goes wrong. Got one downstairs, keeping an eye on the street.”

“Absolutely,” you agree, even if you are inwardly repelled by the suggestion he just made: that someone should be walking around as Jessica. You're still not even sure what kind of operation he's running here. You know it's not connected to your 'recruitment'; he invited the impostor to come and check out whatever he was up to. At least now you know there are two of them: this asshole, and his friend in the street. You wonder if that was the prostitute you saw, and her face was just another elaborate disguise.

You open your mouth to speak and get some answers when he begins talking to you again.

“So, what's the verdict? What Type?” The man is still focused on Jessica's head, her beautiful features like a melted candle in his hands.

“Sorry?” You bid for time, pretending you didn't hear. Your hand slides toward the pens stored out of sight. The pens you stole earlier. You'll shoot if you have to.

“I said 'what Type'? For Anderson?” The man turns, looking at you intently, his body suddenly coiled, as if ready to strike. Something about your manner seems to have set him on edge. You search for a clue as to what answer he wants.

The man's lips curl into a snarl. “If you're really Ryan, you know exactly what I mean. And I'm going to need an answer. Or I'll fire.”

"Let's see who you really are!"

(Author: Collider)