Chapter Five

Warren Skinner savored the tranquility of the late-morning light filtering through the safehouse’s half-drawn blinds, digging his fork into some prepared scrambled eggs and bacon as he enjoyed the peaceful morning silence. He lounged at the dining table, his navy silk pajama shirt unbuttoned lazily to reveal his broad, hairy chest. He wore matching pajama pants and slippers as he prepared to enjoy a slow Sunday morning.

Warren grinned and thought back to Beth leaving the night before with the new mixtape in hand, and wondered how she would have reacted after awakening to discover her latest change. He had taken it slowly for too long, and he was just about done with her obnoxious attitude. She was definitely her father’s daughter, he thought.

He took a long sip of his black coffee before digging back into his breakfast, savoring the pleasant taste. The LVPD was footing the bill, so why not take advantage of it whenever he could? His moment of tranquility was abruptly halted when a single banging knock sounded on the other side of his front door, before the door slammed open in a fit of rage, jolting Warren upright.

Beth stormed into the house, her heavily made-up face a contortion of fury. In her haste, she threw on the first thing she could find in her closet and stood before her handler wearing a white, sheer, skin-hugging sleeveless top, showing off her slim figure and bare midriff, her breasts kept concealed by the half-cup lacy black bra showing beneath the top. She adorned a pair of black spandex knee-length jogging bottoms that reinforced the wedgie her black g-string gave her with every step she made. A pair of 3” black ankle wedge heels completed the ensemble.

Beth’s fists clenched in fury the moment she saw her handler’s smug face staring back at her, the cop’s long, glossy red fingernails digging into her palms. She wanted to smack that grin right off the asshole’s face, but she knew she was in no position to attack the man physically. Her blue eyes blazed, framed by long lashes that gave her a seductive quality even when she was mad.

“Like, oh my gosh, what did you, like, totally do to me, you creepy jerk?!” The cop’s own words incensed her even more. Warren’s reaction was quite different. For a moment, he allowed himself to uncharacteristically keel over in hysterical laughter.

He had wondered how effective the latest tape would be, creating a ‘translation’ compulsion in her mind. Beth was able to think completely normally, but anything she intended to say would be translated into a stereotypical valley-girl dialect. It didn’t matter how slow or thoughtful her words were; they would always be translated. He had created a backdoor trigger, ‘Bambi is a smart bimbo,’ that would disable the translator whenever needed, but the moment he uttered the phrase ‘Bambi is a dumb bimbo,’ the compulsion would resume. For now, though, he wanted to have a little fun with her.

“What are you talking about, Bambi?” He asked, acting oblivious to her obviously altered dialect. The man sat back down and began digging back into his breakfast.

Beth’s glossy lips parted in a furious scowl, and her lashes fluttered as she stomped closer. “Like, don’t play dumb with me, you total loser!” Her new dialect twisted her anger into a breathy whine, and the effect of the other tapes ensured she walked with a distinct allure. “I’m, like, super serious! Like, I don’t know how you’re messing with my head, but I want it totally stopped right now!”

Her voice was music to Warren’s ears. He had accidentally ordered the brunette to forget about the mixtapes a few days ago, and that effect appeared to linger as she made no reference to the headphones. It was fascinating, he thought. “Play dumb?” He questioned. “Haven’t you always spoken like a dumb little slut?” He teased the woman before wiping his lips with a napkin.

“Like, stop it, you old, gross creep!” Each word felt like long fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. Beth was beginning to hate the sound of her own voice, although deep down, she knew it wasn’t her words. “I’m not, like, some ditsy bimbo, and you know it! I know you totally had something to do with it; now fix it.”

Warren set his fork down, swallowing the last of his breakfast, and wiped his face with the napkin one last time. He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, enjoying the moment. If only John could see his daughter now, he thought amusedly. “Okay, Bambi, you win.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I did it, but don’t ask me how, it’s way too complicated for your little brain to understand.”

His words infuriated Beth further, and she took another step forward, but Warren halted her. “Wait. It’s only temporary, okay?” He tried to reassure her. “I’ve added a little backdoor so you can talk normal when I decide it’s time.” He paused, his grin sharpening. “But that attitude of yours? It’s not helping your case, sweetheart, so the trigger’s staying off for now.”

“You’re, like, totally sick, you know that?!” Beth spat back as furiously as she could. Her words made her sound like a petulant child rather than an ambitious undercover cop. “I’m, like, not your little doll to play with!”

Warren rose from the dining table, picked up his plate, and headed towards the sink in the open-plan kitchen. After dropping his crockery into the sink, he returned to the brunette cop, his grin replaced with a stern intensity that made Beth’s stomach twist. “We’re done playing nice, Bambi,” he said, continuing to use her stripper name rather than her real name, or even her regular undercover name, Bella. “We’ve played it your way, but you’re getting nowhere with the Toymaker, and we need to force his hand. We need a plan that will draw him out before he strikes again, and that voice of yours is just the start.

Beth’s eyes narrowed. “Like, what are you even talking about, you jerk?” Her insults didn’t quite land as powerfully as she intended when they sounded like sixth-grade playground taunts.

Warren stepped closer and cupped Beth’s chin, causing her to scowl and step back, separating the two. The older man chuckled. “We’ve discussed this. The Toymaker has a type. Young, busty, fake blondes who sound like they’ve got nothing going on between their ears,” he continued. “You’ve got the latter part down, but you’re nowhere near where we need you to be.” Beth took another step back; she didn’t like where this was headed.

Warren smiled at the woman’s apprehension. “If you’re really going to draw him out, you’re going to have to make some minor adjustments to your appearance, all temporary, of course.” He spoke so matter-of-factly that it took the brunette by surprise.

The undercover cop recoiled, her sheer sleeveless top stretching as she crossed her arms. “No way! Like, that’s totally going too far!” Her squeal pitched higher.

Warren shook his head and leaned forward with no sign of amusement on his face. “How far are you willing to go to save these women and catch that psychopath. This isn’t about me or you; it’s about catching a killer before he takes anoth—”

“I’m not, like, debasing myself like that!” Beth cut her handler off. “I’ll totally find another way. If you’re, like, not going to help me, I’ll do this myself!” She squealed, turning on her heels and heading back to the front door.

Beth glanced back at the older man. “You can totally go to hell!” She snapped before trotting back outside, leaving the front door open.

Warren watched her go and sank back into his dining chair, the sly grin once again curling on his lips. He wondered how she would navigate the streets with her new compulsion. She’ll be back, he thought to himself, before finishing off his morning coffee.

❖

Twelve hours later, Beth strutted down the unmaintained sidewalk near the international airport towards the usual street corner she called home most evenings. She wore a red PVC minidress that clung to her lithe frame like a second skin, an outfit she wouldn’t have been seen dead wearing just a month ago.

The dress’s plunging neckline teased the swell of the undercover cop’s modest breasts while its hem barely grazed her upper thigh. A small sliver of bare skin separated the dress from the red fishnet stockings that hugged her toned legs. Her 5-inch red-soled black stiletto heels clicked seductively with each step, her conditioning ensuring she walked with a sensual sway of her hips.

Beth’s dark hair cascaded in loose waves, framing her heavily made-up face, where glossy red lips and dark-winged eyeliner made it crystal clear why she was prowling the streets. Peach perfume emanated from her body, making anyone who strolled past her stop and do a double-take.

Lola leaned against a dodgy streetlamp, her voluptuous curves wrapped in a white sequined halter dress, its low neckline showing off her impressive assets. The hem of the dress had a tartan finish that displayed a mock schoolgirl appearance. Her 4” Mary Jane heels and knee-length white socks added to the effect. The hooker’s fiery red hair was tied up in juvenile pigtails, along with a tartan headband holding her bangs in place. The redhead noticed Beth strutting towards her and waved.

“Hey, Bambi,” Lola said as the undercover cop stood beside her. “You’re looking hot tonight. You’re killing it in that dress!” She whistled as she admired the brunette’s style.

Beth flashed a smile. Initially, she had planned to speak as minimally as possible, but she knew that refusing to talk would raise more eyebrows than her current dilemma. “Like, thanks, sweetie!” She said with a sugary tone. “I’m totally loving your getup. Slutty schoolgirl, but, like, classy and stuff.” She cringed at her valley-girl assessment of the outfit.

Lola’s smile remained but turned flat when she heard Beth’s new dialect. She narrowed her eyes as if she was suspicious of something. “Thanks, babe, but what’s with that voice?” Her tone softened, laced with concern, as she stepped closer. “I’m not so sure the ditsy act suits you, babe.”

Beth forced another giggle. She didn’t have a new plan on how she was going to ensnare the Toymaker yet, but she needed to keep up the act until she did. “Ohh, like, it’s totally no biggie, babe!” She tossed her dark waves with a playful wink. “I’m, like, just tryin’ something new for my Daddy, ya know? Hopin’ it’ll, like, bring in more money and stuff.” The word ‘Daddy’ slithered off her tongue like poison; the thought of Warren’s smug grin if he heard her say it made her skin crawl.

Lola’s brow furrowed deeper, and she replied with genuine concern. “You sure, Bambi? That voice is… a lot, especially right now with everything going on.” She rested a hand on Beth’s PVC-clad shoulder. “If your Daddy’s pushing you into this, I can get you in touch with a new manager.”

Beth waved a hand dismissively, her glossy red nails flashing under the street lamp beneath which they were speaking. “Like, I’m totally fine, sweetie, honest!” Her valley-girl dialect pitched higher, completely hiding the frustration inside her mind, having every single word translated by her new compulsion.

The redhead’s eyes lingered, her concern evident, but she sighed and stepped back, dropping the subject. “Alright, Bambi, if you’re sure,” she said. “If you ever need to talk, we can go for a coffee sometime.”

Beth smiled; Lola appeared to be one of those genuinely caring women in the midst of backstabbing whores competing for clients each night. The undercover cop watched Lola totter down the street, her pigtails bouncing with each step. She paused and examined the scene before someone caught her eye on the other side of the street.

The cop’s gaze locked onto Sweetlips, standing on the opposite sidewalk. The blonde stood under a flickering sign of a tatty dive bar, the light bathing her skin in a neon glow. The prostitute’s trashy pink crop top strained against her newly enhanced fake tits, pushed up to an almost comical degree, the fabric barely covering her taut nipples. A matching pink micro skirt fell against her hips, riding up to reveal a sliver of her thong, and incredible 6-inch pink platform heels kept her perched in an alluring posture. The blonde had gone all out tonight. Beth wondered if the woman had run into money problems, or if her pimp was simply pushing her too hard. ‘I know how that feels,’ the cop thought to herself.

Beth continued watching Sweetlips when a sleek red Porsche purred to a stop beside the blonde. The whore adjusted her tight top, pushing her fake tits even higher, and sauntered to the car with a tense, practiced sway. After a brief exchange with the unknown driver, Sweetlips slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut, and the sports car sped off with a roaring engine.

Lola noticed Beth’s interest and stepped closer, offering some insight. “Sweetlips has been picking up a ton of new clients since she adopted that new look,” the redhead said. “Not many girls are brave or stupid enough to walk around like that anymore since, you know, recent events. I guess she needs the money or something.”

Beth nodded absently, but a voice interrupted her thoughts before she could process everything Lola had said. “Hey, you!” She was brought back to reality by a man in an old, rickety Ford at the side of the road. “You for sale?”

The undercover cop shuddered. She hated how dirty she felt every time someone asked that question, but the woman knew she couldn’t go back to her old life before the serial killer was caught. She sauntered over to the car, her hips swaying with conditioned allure. “Like, hey, handsome,” she purred and bent at the hips, leaning into the man’s vehicle. “A standard BJ is, like, thirty bucks,” she told him. Another disgusted shudder ran down her spine. “But if you want, like, anything extra, we can totally negotiate and stuff, ya know?”

The potential client’s lips curled into a sleazy grin, his eyes shimmering with delight when he heard her speak. “Get in, doll; you sound like my kinda lady,” he said as he opened the passenger door. “I love the dumb types.”

Beth cringed as she slid into the car, her PVC minidress riding up her thighs as the door clicked shut. She continued to smile, brought on by a mixture of survival training and Warren’s mixtapes. The car pulled away and took her to a secluded spot as she started her night’s work.

❖

The next morning, Beth stirred on the lumpy motel bed with a throbbing headache. Her body was sore all over, and she felt exhausted after the four clients from last night. Worst than the sessions themselves was the fact that they returned zero worthwhile information about the Toymaker, and so her antics were all for nothing, except for the 180 bucks sitting on her nightstand. She groaned; what the hell was she doing?

The brunette glanced around and noticed the white bra and matching g-string she had changed into before she went to sleep, her PVC minidress strewn messily on the floor, along with a pile of dirty clothes in the corner destined for the washing machine.

A silent buzz vibrated from Beth’s phone on the bedside table, prompting the undercover cop to sit upright. Beth stretched out lazily as she reached for the device; her flawless red nails looked far more perfect than the rest of her body.

The screen glowed with a message from Warren, and she rolled her eyes. “Like, ugh, not that perv again,” she gritted her teeth as she was forced to speak like a valley girl, even in the privacy of her own room. She had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with that asshole right now, at least, not until he apologized.

Beth tapped the phone screen as Warren’s message glowed before her eyes: “Get to my place ASAP. Don’t dawdle. It’s urgent!” The brunette’s stomach twisted as she read the message two more times. “Like, what’s your deal now, creep?” Her bimbo tone dripped with irritation. She had told him to go to hell yesterday, and the last thing she wanted was another round of his smug taunts or humiliating ideas. No, she wasn’t going to entertain the idea. He could kiss her ass for all she cared.

The woman leaned back against the headboard and caressed her sore breasts. One client had been particularly handsy; now, they were left sensitive and tender. The message crossed her mind again. Warren didn’t usually text her; he had never messaged her with such an urgent tone. Perhaps he had a new plan? Maybe he was prepared to apologize and turn her speech patterns back to normal. The more she willed herself to ignore the words written across the screen, the more her eyes were drawn to them.

Eventually, curiosity won the day, and Beth sighed, getting out of bed. “Like, fine!” she groaned to herself. If he had a lead that would get her out of this nightmare early, and Beth didn’t take it, she would never be able to forgive herself. She tiptoed to the bathroom, kicking her dress to the pile of dirty laundry in the process, and turned her shower on. She smelled of sex, and she didn’t want to give her disgusting handler any more opportunities to gloat. She undressed and stepped under the warm water. This had better not be some dumb trick, she thought to herself.

❖

Beth knocked sharply on the door of Warren’s safe house. After storming out yesterday morning, she never thought she would be back in this place so soon. As Warren opened the door, the sight of her Dad’s former partner made her skin crawl. He had made this mission as difficult as he could every step of the way. Strangely, he didn’t have the same shit-eating grin he usually displayed when he saw her. She didn’t wait for his welcome and immediately brushed past the older man.

The undercover cop’s purple bustier wrapped tightly around her lithe frame, with its black hem pushing up against her small breasts. Her black Lycra shorts similarly encased her hips, giving her a big wedgie from behind and a smaller one from the front. Her 4-inch wedge sandals clacked with purpose as she made her way into his dining room, and her smoky eyeshadow and purple lipstick were way too bold for any normal woman at 11 a.m.

Beth stopped at the dining table, her wedge heels clacking sharply as she turned to face her handler, who closed the door behind her. At least his chest wasn’t on display this time. He wore a black Iron Maiden t-shirt and blue denim jeans held up by a black belt with a fiery skull buckle. This was dressed up for Warren’s standard, which piqued the cop’s interest even more.

Beth opened her purple-colored lips to speak, but one of her compulsions suddenly kicked in before she had the opportunity. She rummaged into her cleavage deep beneath the cups of her bustier and pulled out various dollar bills. Reluctantly, she handed the $180 she earned last night to her fake pimp. She groaned in frustration as she parted with the money.

Despite his serious demeanor, Warren couldn’t help but smile subtly as he took the money from the scantily dressed woman. He counted each bill methodically before slipping the money into his front pocket. “Good work, Bambi. You must’ve been busy last night,” he teased.

Beth rolled her eyes. “Like, let’s get this over with. Why did you, like, wanna see me so urgently?” She purred in her new bimbo tone. Warren tried his best to keep a solemn expression on his face.

As his somber expression returned, Warren’s gray eyes darkened, stepping towards the dining table. “The Toymaker struck again last night,” he said with a low and grave voice. He slid a brown LVPD file across the stretched surface, flipping it open to reveal stark photos of a new victim, with big tousled hair, wide vacant eyes, and a vapid smile lying in a tall doll box. Beth gasped as she studied the trashy pink crop top and micro skirt the victim wore. She recognized that outfit, and she recognized that face. It was Sweetlips.

Beth’s heart plummeted, guilt crashing over her like a tidal wave. She had seen this woman barely 12 hours ago. How was this possible? “This is Mandy Rose Walker,” Warren said matter-of-factly. “Although most knew her on the Vegas streets as Sweetlips.”

The shocked cop covered her mouth in horror, her eyes staring at the images in disbelief. “Oh my gawd, like, I totally knew her,” she managed to say. “Like, I saw her last night.”

Warren’s eyes sharpened as he took in what his partner had said. “Wait, what?” he asked, his solemn tone giving way to more urgency. “When? Where did you see her?” He bombarded the undercover cop with questions.

Beth’s glossy lips trembled as she folded her arms, recalling the previous evening. “Like, it was, umm, around ten last night, at Hookers corner by the airport,” she said, trying to relay as much information as she could remember. “She, like, got into this red car, and they totally drove off towards the Strip. That’s, like, the last I saw her.”

“A red car?” Warren questioned, taking a step forward. “What type of car was it?”

“Umm,” Beth said, trying to think. “It was a sports car, I think. Like a Porsche, maybe.”

The older man sighed. “There are hundreds of sports cars on the Vegas strip every night. I need more than that,” he urged the woman. “What about the driver. What did he look like?”

Beth shook her head, her high ponytail swaying as her glossy purple lips parted in a grimace. “Like, I totally didn’t see him, okay?” She gritted her teeth in frustration. Why couldn’t he just let her talk normally when they were speaking about such a serious topic? “The windows were, like, super tinted and stuff.”

Warren’s rubbed his jaw. “Okay, you must have got the license plate at least? This could be our best lead.” He stared into the brunette’s eyes.

Beth’s fingers tightened around her arm, her nails digging into her skin as she tried to think back to last night. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to the car? “Like, no, I didn’t get the plate,” she admitted.

Warren groaned. “What State was it from? You must have caught that at least?” His words were sharper and more exasperated.

“I, like, wasn’t paying attention to that,” the undercover cop mumbled in shame. She stared at Sweetlips’ frozen doll face. “Like, I’m sorry, okay?”

Warren threw up his hands, pacing across the hardwood floor. “What kind of useless cop are you, Bambi?” he shouted. “I’m working with fucking amateurs.” He raked a hand through his graying hair. “We need to act now and get ahead of this thing, or we may as well pack in this whole damn case!”

Beth’s eyes almost welled with tears. Her hated handler spoke harshly, but he wasn’t wrong. Sweetlips was dead, and Beth had an opportunity to pick up some crucial intel, but she wasted the chance. The brunette lowered her head; she had to do something. “Like, okay,” she said with resignation. “I’ll, like, do the modifications.” As she spoke, Warren raised an eyebrow. “But they can’t be, like, too extreme, and they gotta be, like, totally reversible, and I have to agree to, like, every single change before they make it, got it?” If she was going to push herself further for this mission, it had to be on her terms.

Warren halted his pacing, his gray eyes narrowing as he turned to face the brunette woman before him. He paused for a moment before a calculated smile spread across his lips. “Well done, Bambi,” Beth's handler said condescendingly. “It’s great you’re finally seeing sense, doll,” he said warmly as he stepped up to the woman and brushed a hand along her cheek.

“However,” Warren said with a sudden, colder tone. “Yesterday’s offer has expired already.” As the brunette parted her purple lips to question the man, she felt a thin needle suddenly penetrate her neck. “We’re going to need more extreme measures now if we’re ever going to catch the killer. Your permission is no longer required.” He plunged the solution into her bloodstream before she could react properly and stepped back to allow the sedative to work its magic.

Beth gasped and shuddered. Had he drugged her? The cop’s hand instinctively moved to the puncture site where the syringe used to reside. “Like, what the hell?” She squealed out. “You total bastard!” The brunette managed to shout before her legs gave way, and she collapsed into the former detective’s arms.

Warren eased the woman to the floor. “Shhh,” he said patronizingly, brushing a finger along her lips. “We’re gonna catch that bastard, mark my words.” He said reassuringly as Beth’s world faded to black.

❖

Beth stirred sluggishly, her mind swimming in a fog of disorientation as she awoke. Her eyelashes felt heavier than usual as she batted her eyes open to find herself in a small, white-walled, sterile room. Was she in some kind of hospital? She thought.

Confusion gripped her. Where was she? She noticed that she was wearing a pair of pink headphones, although no sound emanated from the speakers. The cop lifted the accessory from her head and found it attached to an old cassette player labeled ‘Session 4’. What the hell did that mean?

Beth picked up the cassette and placed both items on the nearby bedside table, her arm brushing against her chest in a way that sent a jolt of unfamiliar sensitivity through her. Glancing down, she froze in horror, her breath catching her as she saw two enormous mounds jutting from her body. She was completely naked, and she had been transformed.

The panicked cop’s eyes darted upward, her heart pounding as she noticed the ceiling. Where one would expect clean white tiles, the entire ceiling had been replaced with a full mirror, reflecting everything below it. What Beth saw above her was a stranger’s body.

Gravity-defying E-cup breasts dominated her upper body, sitting unnaturally high on her chest. Taut, erect nipples protruded from the massive mounds in a slight upturn, giving them a cartoonish appearance. Her enlarged chest contrasted against the slim waist on her frame, curving into an exaggeratedly enlarged ass. Despicably, there was a tattoo stenciled into the woman’s flesh just above her pussy, labeling the woman a ‘Barbie Cumdump’.

Her eyes darted up to the alien face. The woman had dark, permanently long, curling eyelashes that gave her a slutty look even without makeup. She had extremely pouty lips, currently contorted into a horrified O shape, a softer chin, and then there was the hair. Beth’s dark locks had been replaced by long, straight platinum blonde hair that spilled over the bed. The new blonde screamed in despair.

The door swung open, with Beth expecting to find a nurse or doctor she could complain to. Her despair deepened when Warren Skinner strode in casually, his wide smile contrasting her horrified expression. “Well, Bambi, welcome back,” he said as he folded his arms, his eyes studying the woman’s new, enhanced body. “You’ve been recovering under anesthesia for over a month now, and I think it’s time to say hello to the new you.”

Beth sat up, and extraordinarily, her breasts barely bounced at all. Instead, they stayed perfectly positioned, jutting outward on her chest. “Like, what the fuck did you do to me?” Her bimbo dialect was meant to prevent the woman from cussing, but her overwhelming emotions partially cut through the conditioning. “I’m, like, gonna tell….uhh….” Her voice faltered; something was wrong. “I’m totally gonna report you to… umm….” Whenever she tried to pronounce Captain Wesley Vance’s name, her mind went blank, and the name escaped her.

Warren’s smile widened as he noticed Beth’s blank, bemused expression. “Having some trouble there, Bambi?” he taunted, his eyes mysteriously darting to the ‘Session 4’ mixtape on the bedside table. “Tell me your name, doll.”

Beth’s heart raced a million miles an hour. What was going on? Her name was Bethany Shaw. She thought it loud and clear in her mind. “Like, my name is Bella,” she blurted out in her sweet valley girl tone before she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Like, what have you done to me? Why can’t I say my name is Bella?” She groaned. “No, like, my name is Bella!” She cried out in frustration.

Warren stepped closer with a predatory slowness, his eyes not leaving the busty cop’s new body. “Tell me you’re a cop, Bambi,” he said cryptically.

The former brunette knew her perverted handler was leading her into a trap. Still, curiosity got the better of her, and she tried to repeat his suggestion. “I’m, like, a… umm,” she tried and tried. “Y’know, I’m, like, a…” However, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t reveal her real job, her mind blanking as if the truth had been erased.

Warren straightened his black blazer over the top of his gray t-shirt and folded his arms. “What do you do for work, babe?” he pressed, his tone dripping with expectation.

Beth’s mouth opened before she could even register the question. “Like, I can be whatever Daddy wants me to be,” she said in a flirtatious lilt before her eyes widened in shock, and she clasped her hand over her plump mouth. What had this monster done to her mind and body?

He chuckled before sitting possessively on the edge of Beth’s recovery room bed. “I won’t bore you with the details, but that new compulsion of yours will help keep you in character,” he said smugly. “You’re Bella Horton now, Bambi to your clients, and it’s time to get back to work.”

Beth’s dismay surged as her eyes flicked towards the ceiling mirror, the stranger’s body staring back at her with its platinum hair and cartoonish proportions. Except it wasn’t a stranger; that reflection was her. “You’re a total monster!” She exclaimed.

Warren ignored her comment and reached into his inside pocket, pulling out a new LVPD file and dropping it against Beth’s naked skin. “A new victim was found this morning,” the former detective said. “That’s why I had them pull you from the anesthetic. You need to get back to work immediately.”

Beth was at a loss for words as the man stood up. Warren picked up a box from the end of Beth’s bed and tossed it beside her. “The sooner we catch this bastard, the sooner the women of this city will feel safe again.” He softly bit his lower lip as he looked the blonde up and down, “and the sooner you can go back to your drab body.”

Warren turned his back and headed to the recovery room door. “Your outfit is in that box. Get dressed,” he placed his hand on the door handle. “We got a killer to catch.” The older man stepped out of the room, leaving Beth alone to gather her thoughts. She had been violated, both in physical and mental transformations, and the killer had claimed another woman. It was too much for her brain to register, but Beth knew she needed to act; more than just her reputation was now on the line.

End of Chapter Five