Levi led me to my room. We remained silent during the walk, the thick tension between us clouding each other's thoughts.

My gaze drifted towards his fair white skin, his messy brown mane stating a bed hair impression. Peering closer towards the scar across his left brow, he turned and I averted my eyes, cowering like my hand was caught in the cookie jar. Reaching a long underground corridor, he opened a door that had a porthole window through the front.

"Welcome to the luxury life," he spoke, crossing first.

Following after, I suppressed the urge to widen my eyes. The pigment of black engulfed the furniture, the head of a bear hanging above the ink coloured bed, the sheets matching the furry carpet. Only a shadowy dresser and framed mirror occupied the room, most of the area filled with empty space. A gloomy love seat sat lonely by a stoned fireplace. The wood and charcoal were untouched.

"It's not much, but you don't need anything. You'll only use this room for sleep"-his honey eyes flickered a hint of mischievous-"Unless you have other plans."

I snorted and discovered the bathroom, admiring the comfy small space. The interior walls were patterned by midnight marble tiles and what occupied the counter was a toothbrush, toothpaste and a mahogany handled brush. "It's nice." An unusual tingle crept up my shoulders. This was an extreme difference from my entire white decor room back home.

"You ever thought about brightening this place?" I turned, and noted him staring.

"No. Not really," he answered simply.

I decided to cut right to the chase. Drawing myself closer, I asked in a calm tone, "I want more information on the drug that's in my system. Tell me how my dad is a part of all"-I waved my hands-"this. And why I belong to both you and Romane." Filtering the desperation, I clung onto a solemn face.

Pearly white teeth flashed with enjoyment. "Your questions will be answered tomorrow. During the games." Games?

Turning from his intimidating gaze, I glanced up and snagged a glimpse of his dark figure exit the place. Entering the hallway, I saw him already at the end of the corridor and called, "You could have least said goodnight!"

Not stopping, he remained on his determined strides and slithered with a crispy voice, "Goodnight, darling."

Then the hallway lights went out.

Eerie vibes crinkling down my bones, I quickly closed the door and cranked the light controlling knob. Even the bulbs were quite dim. I took a deep breath. I buried the mountain of emotions deep within my chest, and had a hot shower, refusing the mocking mirrors. A single glance at my face would result to the massive breakdown I feared.

Wearing a black robe, I checked the closet and evidently found it drowning in dark garments. I threw on a silky pyjama set and nuzzled under the sheets, tucking myself until decent warmth surrounded my body.

Exhausted, my mind dragged on the confusion that began to multiply since I arrived. This drug inside of me. It was invading my body. It was affecting the way I spoke, my thoughts, my instincts, my reflexes. My ability of being human. Gone was the timid, quiet spoken Jessie who ran dry of emotion and feelings. This was my alter ego finally surfacing. My dark side I had so easily jarred under my skin.

My mind ached from the questions that led to this frightening detection and I shut down my mind, hopefully wishing I could fall asleep. I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.

A sudden crinkle attacked my chest. My bottom lip quivered. A whimper escaped. A tear. The bundled emotions released themselves and the sobs collapsed into a lake of grief. There was too much to feel. Too much bottled up.

I clutched the icy sheets, tightening it around my shaking fists. Ironic how less than two days ago, before I was drugged for over twenty four hours while heading for Asia, I had felt nothing.

And now I was feeling everything.

I sobbed, pleading for my loving family, my caring friends, my normal tedious life back. The salt rolling off my cheeks reached my mouth, soaking the duffel pillow. But deep down, under the layers of bitter confusion, despair, resentment, I knew the simple fact:

There was no going back to my old life.

‡‡‡

I retraced a memory. It had a radiance of joy and happiness. It was a re-cap of what happened the night of the kidnap. Before I entered that stupid port-a-potty.

"What's the worst thing that ever happened to you?" I nudged my best friend, Isaac Newton, and purposefully knocked over his black Ray Bands.

(Yes. That was his real name. His parents thought it would be funny to name their son, who was allergic to apples, Isaac Newton).

He snapped out of his daze. "The worst thing?" His thin lips dipped into a frown and he picked up his glasses. It was quite at the park, everyone eating dinner with their families. "Let me see..." he said.

Rubbing the lenses on his polo, I couldn't help but grin. "I saw what you did there; very punny," I said.

Wrinkling his freckled nose, he placed them back on and frowned again. "What do you mean?"

I drew a long sigh and wondered how I remained to be friends with my oblivious neighbour. "Never mind, let's just continue with the game. Worse thing that ever happened, go!"

His face brightened. "Oh! I know! Yesterday, my little brother punched me in the stomach. When I didn't flinch and he asked me why, I decided to be funny and tell him I was Iron Man and nothing could hurt me. Two seconds later, he took a step back and kicked me in the nuts as hard as he could."

I burst into laughter. "Did I ever tell you how much I love your brother?", jealousy weaved through my tone. My smile remained as the sad reminder of being an only child jarred into mind.

"Every day," he answered, lying beside me. He gave a playful shove to say it was alright.

Stargazing in Central Park had become a Sunday tradition ever since we met ten years ago. Isaac always thought it was exciting, but it was beginning to feel like a snore. Not that I'd have the guts to tell him that.

"So what about you, Jessie girl? Your turn."

I squinted, racking my brain for a memory. "Um..."

"Isn't it two of my favourite people in the world?" my mom said. She approached us wearing her full cop uniform. Black hair swept to the side, my dad wasn't far behind as he wrapped his arm around her narrow waist.

The country's best cops, Rivyn and Brian Daniels, or in my opinion, the country's most conflicting couple, were my parents. And they were boring as dust bunnies. Oh yeah, dropping me off at school on the way to work to seeing me at dinner around ten at night.

Boring, and strict about my location was their description. Whenever my mom attempted to have fun, my dad had to make sure it was harmless before joining in. They were more uptight than a prostitute's skinny jeans.

"What are you two doing?" asked my dad, blowing away his mop of blond hair.

"Nothing," I said.

"We're playing a game," Isaac explained.

My dad brightening at the word, immediately sat down beside us. "A game? I'm good at games, what kind?"

"But you know I'm better, Brian," my mom chuckled, popping herself a seat as well. What was this? A family picnic now? Taking off her cop hat, I noticed her grocery bag. I mentally shook my brain for planting such a ridiculous idea.

People said I looked more like my mom, but clearly her sex bomb appearance never rubbed on whenever I was in the mirror.

How was it that my two parents were extremely attractive, but I ended up looking like the ugly duckling? Dull brown eyes, dry firty blonde hair, tanned skin and an inch below the average height.

But attractiveness was the least of my worries. It was the daily routine that drove me insane. Everyday was the same. Wake up, survive school, travel home, eat, and then sleep. The only thrilling experience was when I read stories, online, on paper-any kind that sucked my mind to a different world.

Isaac never hesitant when it came to my mom, gladly answered, "We're trying to see who experienced the worst moment ever. I told her about my brother kicking me in the nuts when I said I was Iron Man."

My dad rubbed his hands together, the old memory clock spinning. "I got a better one." With one arm slung on my mom, he casually remarked, "I remember when I went to meet Rivyn's parents for the first time after my friend's bachelor party.  I had my sleeping bag with me and when I introduced myself, the bag vibrated.  I was going to prove to them it was just my back massager but then her dad shoved his hand in and pulled out a dildo.  He never thinks I'm straight to this day."

A wince escaped Isaac's mouth and I rolled my eyes. My mom shook her head, biting back a grin. "Good times when you were a complete asshole," she told her husband.

"Yeah, ever since we got married you're just the other half," he bantered. Isaac and I exchanged knowing looks, familiar to my parent's humorous banter.

My mom punched him in the arm and said, "For your info, I have a better worst moment."

She turned towards us. "A few years ago, my friend, Klaire, had to take my hamster that had a tumour to be put down when I wasn't home since I couldn't bear to take him myself. I had two hamsters. She took the wrong one."

"Ouch, poor hamster," Isaac said. Knowing that story like the back of my hand, I wondered what my worst moment was. "How about you, Jessie?" my friend asked.

What was it with everyone reading my mind today?

I thought long and hard, but nothing emerged. The single thing that kept popping up was my conscious chanting, "Everyday is the same boring thing. Everyday is the same boring thing."

Sadness came in like a tide, sweeping away the excitement and leaving the depressing answer. "I don't have one," I blurted.

"Sure you had a worst moment!" my mom shot, waving a casual hand. "I remember when I took you to the playground for the first time. While in line for the slide, I looked down to find you, my three year old daughter, chewing on a used band-aid."

Laughter exploded from Isaac, and I quietly grumbled, "That's just disgusting."

My dad gave me a pity pat on the shoulder. "Don't be so down, Jessie. You should be glad you don't have a stupid moment in your life. They're painful and terribly-"

"Hilarious!" Isaac burst out, stilling howling about the chewed band-aid. Shoving him back onto the grass, he continued to bathe in his mirth and I rolled my eyes (for what-the third time now?).

"But those stupid moments always become great stories," I told them. "I don't even have a funny story to tell people! And everyone I know does! My life is that boring!"

"Oh, sweetie," my dad cooed. "Your life isn't boring. We just don't want you to take the wrong path and do things you're not supposed to do. We care and-"

"Why can't I be stupid, careless, and absolutely daring for once in my life?" I admitted, throwing my arms up. "Why can't something completely unforgettable, hilarious and memorable happen to me?!"

My mom jumped to her feet. "You want to do something stupid, careless, pointless, and absolutely daring then?" she asked, snatching the grocery bag.

"Rivyn," my dad warned.

She ushered us to follow her to the picnic table. "Isaac, Jessie, here is a game I like to call the Coke Challenge."

Taking out stacks of Coke cans, she explained, "Here's how you play. The person who can chug down the most cans of Coke wins. Now, there are sixty one cans here. The key is that you both start at the same time so someone is bound to drink at least one more. Whoever can finish the most cans by the time they run out, is the winner."

"Sounds simple," Isaac shrugged.

"Sounds harmless, but all right," I said.

My mom grinned, and motioned her husband to the car. "Now when we honk the horn, you two start." I heard their faint conversation as they made their way.

"Rivyn! Why are we leaving them past dark in Central Park?! Let alone letting them take all the sodas that we specifically bought for the work party?"

"Relax, they're just having fun. Shits and giggles, you know? This game is stupid, pointless and harmless; a win-win situation for both you and your daughter."

"I want you kids home right when this game ends!" my dad shouted at us, and then remarking something to his outgoing wife.

Isaac and I however, were too concentrated on the cans, strategies mending in our heads. When playing games, competition was kicked into overdrive. "Three!" my mom called.

The two passenger doors slammed. "Two!" The tires spun. "One!"

Hoonnk! "GO!"

Now this was where the stupidity of the game took place. Isaac and I chugged, and chugged, and well-chugged. I think you have a good idea where that left off to:

"I just wanted to take a shit!"

That was ten ten minutes after the Coke Challenge started. Ten minutes after I realized it was really a stupid, pointless, careless, and absolutely daring game. Ten minutes after I wished I didn't ask for something completely unforgettable, hilarious and memorable to happen to me.

Ten minutes after I noted that this was harmful since, you know, I was locked in a fucking port-a-potty!

And now I was here. In the depths of bloody hell.

‡‡‡

Why would they not have a clock in this room? The hours of crying had drained all my energy, and eventually I fell asleep. Waking up to silence, the reality came crashing down of where I was. I remained in my bed.

I thought about rising and perhaps facing my tragic appearance. Rolling on my side, I found the nightstand holding a platter of food. A burnt toast and what I thought was orange juice rested on the tray. Hunger now burning what felt like to be a hole in my stomach, I gobbled everything, letting the crumbs fall on the sheets.

About to rise, my door opened and in came a tall, dark skinned woman with a radiant smile that nearly brightened my morning. Nearly. Her appearance was familiar and I realized she was the one driving the car on the first night, when Cray and I dodged Romane. Her coarse hair straightened, she wore a lacy black romper and a fish netted sweater overtop, matching her stockings. Pulling off such a seductive outfit without looking sleazy was beyond me, but I kept my mouth shut.

"Great! You're up!" she sang, approaching closer.

Surprised by such a friendly voice, I sat up and attempted a weak smile. She put her soft hand to my forehead and then my neck, before her smile widened. "Healthy. He's gonna be happy."

I pushed her hand away. "Who?"

"You've been sleeping for eighteen hours," she said, ignoring my question. "It's nearly time."

"Time for what?"

Failing to respond, she clapped her hands. In rolled a steel closet being pulled by a group of men and woman. A silver tub followed after. I acknowledged the black clothing trend and was curious about the short highlighted hair the diverse skinned workers had.

"We're just going to need you to stand," she requested.

I frowned, and obeyed, the lines in my forehead thickening. Just as my little feet landed on the cold furry carpet, the vibrant lady yanked my hand towards the centre of the room where the steel closet was placed. "Spread your arms out, honey. Don't move," she instructed sweetly.

Obeying, the people attacked my body, unbuttoning my clothing. I yelped, and was about to swat them before the lady told me to shush. "We're not here to cause harm. Let us do our job," she said.

A wave of uncomforting shivers rushed up my back, and I shut my eyes as they began to undress me. Holy shit. The breeze cooled my stark body, my eyes squeezing harder.

"Open your eyes, hun."

Slowly creaking one eyelid, and then another, I noted the group was nonchalant. Most were stroking their face, eyes raking my vulnerable exposure. Relief washed over as no hints of lust appeared, but only hard looks.

The head lady was tapping her long nails across her chin, studying my small curves and angles. Embarrassed, I distinguished the fact these people in the room were perfectly structured, and I felt like hiding under my bed. Now I regret not shaving anywhere.

"Tell him this will take longer than I thought," she told one of the workers. The blonde pixie haired woman scurried away, shutting the door behind her. She snapped her long fingers. "Let's give her the full treatment."

Like the minions of Despicable Me, the workers flocked towards the steel closet and opened it with mumbles in foreign languages. What sprung from the doors were racks of clothing, oddly shaped gadgets, razor-sharp blades, and funny looking devices.

A feeling of intense horror alarmed my senses and I hugged my bare waist. My voice shook. "W-what are you gonna do?"

"Orders, sweetie," the lady said, flipping her dark hair. She ushered me to enter the silver tub. I did while dropping my self-conscious arms down.

"Who are you?" I asked. The sound of latex gloves snapped on their hands, and I shuddered.

The lady grinned, her teeth glowing with such happiness; it amazed me how she could belong in such a callous facility. "My name's Snapback. I'm the Sniper's artist. The graphic designer, stylist, and most importantly, leader of the Sniper's publicity."

"Oh." One of the men tied my hair into a bun. Closing my eyes to relax, freezing water jetted onto my skin and I yelped. They hosed me down, and afterwards lathered a sticky, blue gel over enough places to say I felt violated. Once rinsing, I heard Snapback do a low, 'tsk, tsk' and 'that won't do it'. So they repeated it. Hose. Lather. Rinse. Hose. Lather. Rinse.

Until the fourth time, she finally gave a, 'that's enough', and I viewed a tanned hairless body. It was mine. My heart skipped a beat and I touched my hair. My eyebrows. Still there. Thank god.

A brunette woman grabbed my hand and ushered my body on a small platform. Starting to get used to the naked feeling, a cool cream was rubbed onto my skin. Snapback watched the entire procedure, her occasional, 'No, no,' 'Yes, yes!' or 'Do you want a Lego up your ass?! Try again!' was quite entertaining.

Then a Filipino lady attacked me with tweezers. It was a painful process, from my eyebrows to little ankle hairs, her mumbles of, "Sobrang mabuhok naman itong babaeng ito," were repeatedly used.

I think she gave up on the first brow from the amount of squirming I was doing, and handed the tweezers to a Malay woman with bangs. Her sharp nails kept poking my skin, and I hissed a pain as she plucked even more viscous than the other chic. Her mumbles were even louder, mostly consisting of, "Ia seperti seorang lelaki yang tak pernah bercukur."

I had no idea what they meant, but I hoped it was something nice. Another round of hose, lather, rinse, and it was like kindgerdaren when my mom would fix my school outfits. Applying my makeup which I wasn't allowed to witness, and squeezing my body into garments, Snapback did a dramatic hand sweep under her brow, singing, "Finalement."

My guess was that meant finally. Man. Times I wish I had fucking Google Translator.

The Filipno and brunette chic unfolded a mirror from the closet. Okay. As a teenager who read hundreds of books that consisted the hero or heroine getting a total makeover, and how much the author expressed the extreme difference of her one self before and after, I was greedily expecting there would be a drastic change.

There wasn't much.

Maybe you'd notice it if you looked really hard.

Like Levi's dick. Thank god I've never seen it. I would have to ask him if he needed some tweezers to put his thing away. Yes, I was trashtalking Asia's most dangerous man-in my head. Unless he could read minds, I was A O.K.

My dirty blonde hair was simply swept into a ponytail. My high cheekbones were slightly more visible with the makeup. It consisted of the usual mascara, thick eyeliner, and dark rose lipstick. A tight corset hugged my waist, my breasts miracously appearing larger. Raven leather shorts were over my fishnet stockings, and the coal coloured ankle boots did some height damage, servicing a couple of inches.

"Snapback!"

The blonde chic who was sent earlier, swung open the door, her face tomato red. Her words came out in pants. "H...He...w-wants....her...this...i-instant..."

"Exellent! Perfect timing!" She clapped her hands and instantly, the workers cleaned the mess, packing everything back into the steel closet. And I thought a girl catching her parents doing the deed would be faster. "Let's go, hun." I quickly trailed behind Snapback's six inch' stilettos, keeping my eyes forward before I fell on my face.

There stood Cray in the main foyer, shadowy t-shirt and jeans giving off a casual, mysterious look. Tapping his foot, a cool calmness brushed over his face as we drew near. "He's gonna kill you for making her late," Cray snarled, fast-walking along Snapback.

She boasted her chin, not that her height was already towering Cray. "He's gonna have to kill you first for pulling that trick in the car."

"And I was supposed to just let the bullet sit there?!"

"Yep."

I cleared my throat, and the two turned, lowering their voices at the sight of my existence. I could still hear them. "How did she handle the treatment?" he whispered.

"Better than most. You should have heard the girls mumbling how hairy she was. It was hilarious."

"Your face is hilarious."

"Do you want to die?"

Their amusing bicker continued as we travelled through sharp corners, and stairs. It was an underground labriyth here, thousands of doors appearing around each ben. Taking an elevator, I noticed there were no buttons.

One way up.

A battle of anxious and nervous jitters rumbled in my queasy stomach. What if I didn't meet Levi's expectations? What if I couldn't do what these Snipers did?

The doors sliding open, I shoved my doubts to the back of my head and entered the floor.

†††††††

Tell me if the translations were off! I was relying on Google Translator to be honest..

Expect quick updates!

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