My fingers tapped on the marble edge of the bathroom counter as I leaned over the sink, my gaze drifting now and then to the syringe resting beside my left hand. My name is Ethan Rogers, and I’ve been using the contents of that syringe for the last five years as a way to radically alter my life. And no, it’s not drugs - though, I’ll admit, there’s a thrill every time I inject it. There’s a rush in becoming someone else, entirely and completely, even if just for a weekend.
In that syringe is The Switch, a cocktail of nanites my friend Jordan whipped up after hours in his lab. It’s illegal as hell, banned by every major government and regulatory board, and it even cost him his job. But in our circles, it’s gold. You take a dose, set your specifications, and bam - within minutes, you’re someone else. I mean a complete, head-to-toe transformation, a full reboot. For the next 48 hours, I’ll be Erin Mitchell, a young woman with a face and body that opens doors, gets free drinks, and, with a little charm, inspires generosity in my preferred crowd: rich, older men.
But there are rules. You can’t use The Switch too often, and you definitely shouldn’t stay in one form for too long. Jordan figured that out the hard way. Too much time as a single persona messes with your head - a glitch in the programming that lets pieces of the new you bleed into the old one. I think back to the Animorphs books I read as a kid, where they’d say you couldn’t stay in animal form for more than two hours or you’d be stuck that way forever. It’s kind of like that. Spend too much time as someone else, and you start losing sight of who you are.
Of course, none of this would work if we couldn’t build entire identities around these new faces. That’s where Margo comes in. She’s the forger, the architect of fake names, backgrounds, even bank accounts. If you need a new driver’s license, social security number, or a full history of tax returns, Margo’s got it covered. She used to work for the Department of Homeland Security, handling cyber intelligence before she got disillusioned and decided to apply her skills elsewhere. Now, she can produce authentic-looking documents that pass for the real thing because, in a way, they are. Connections in dark networks and a few rogue data sources give her everything she needs to fabricate a flawless identity. For us, that means every new persona is backed by a life on paper, a web of existence we can slip into just as smoothly as a new dress.
I took a deep breath and reached for my burner phone. The photo I pulled up was… telling, to say the least. It was taken on a beach on a warm tropical afternoon, and there in the center stood Dana, radiant in her white wedding dress, one hand resting protectively on her pregnant belly. She had that serene, blissful look of someone completely at peace. Beside her was Matthew, looking proud as he held her close. Her husband. Her new life.
Dana had been David once. He had a family, kids. But his wife walked out, took their children, and cut all contact once he started becoming Dana full-time. And here she was, standing on a beach with Matthew Sterling, a hedge fund exec worth more than the five of us combined. Dana had left her past completely behind - along with the people who’d meant the most to her - for this new life.
Around Dana were the rest of us, four women in bridesmaid dresses that cost more than I’d make in a month at my regular job. We looked like any other wedding party: bright smiles, laughing eyes, the men beside us sharp in their tuxes. It was perfect. And the kicker? I was the maid of honor. Me, Ethan Rogers, in heels and a dress, faking it better than most of the women there.
The whole scene was real. David had vanished, replaced by Dana, and Dana was here to stay. Matthew had no idea who his wife used to be, and I doubted he’d believe it even if she told him. That’s the magic of The Switch - and Margo’s expertise. When done right, the con becomes reality. Seeing her like this, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of awe and envy. She’d embraced this new life so fully, let herself become Dana entirely.
That’s what The Switch does, I thought, absently tracing my thumb over Dana’s face on the screen. You take enough doses, wear that skin long enough, and the world doesn’t just accept the illusion - it reshapes around you. And sometimes, it reshapes you, too.
I chuckled, scrolling past the photo and tapping open a few other apps that, in their own ways, held the same allure of my alternate life. This phone, which I only ever used as Erin, was practically a second existence. It held all the essentials for my other persona: social media apps, a few gig economy platforms I used under Erin’s name, and, of course, a cycle tracker. Ridiculous as it sounded, I needed it. Being Erin sometimes meant dodging certain… complications. The tracker made sure I could avoid “inconveniences” from being in character a bit too long.
Relieved to see I was clear for the weekend, I scrolled through the app. Nothing like being on a date and getting an unwanted reminder that you’re “someone else” from the inside out. I’d grown almost clinical about it, calculating the windows when I could dodge those nuisances. Just another odd thing about living as Erin Mitchell.
With a sigh, I glanced at the screen one last time before setting the phone aside. Dana had warned me more times than I could count about letting this con seep into my life. “Ethan, it’s a slippery slope,” she’d told me, more than once. “If you stay too long, it stops being a role. You’ll start wondering if you’re really the one acting.” She’d laughed when she said it, but the truth behind her words was written plainly in her eyes.
I stepped out of the bathroom, pausing as my gaze settled on the dress hanging from the closet door. Against the plain walls and modest furnishings of my apartment, it looked like a diamond in a pawnshop - a piece of elegance that didn’t belong. The room was dim with the fading evening light filtering through the blinds, which only made the dress glow more.
It was a blush-pink gown, like something slipped out of a fairytale - a dream crafted for the glamorous and the powerful. The bodice was fitted and adorned with hand-sewn crystals and pearls, catching each flicker of light, turning it into something almost celestial. Layers of delicate tulle cascaded from the waist, each fold and ripple giving the skirt an ethereal quality, like a soft cloud frozen in motion. The color was subtle, a whisper of pink that would look stunning under the lights of the Met Gala, soft enough to feel timeless but bold enough to command attention.
This wasn’t just any dress; it was a Zac Posen original, one of those rare masterpieces that took hundreds of hours to create - and came with a price tag to match. Six thousand dollars, easy. I’d convinced myself it was an investment, a necessary expense for the image I was about to embody. The cost didn’t matter. The allure of becoming someone else, slipping into a life of elegance and excess, was worth every cent.
I moved closer, fingers itching to feel the fabric, to let the soft tulle slip between them. The gown seemed alive, as if it were made to move with grace, to flow with each step. I could already picture it: the weight of the dress shifting against my body, the rustle of layers as I walked, the way every glimmer of light would dance across the crystals. More than a dress, it was a transformation. It would turn me from Ethan Rogers into Erin Mitchell, a woman poised enough to hold her own among the elite, alluring enough to make men forget themselves, and polished enough to slip seamlessly into their world.
Tonight wasn’t about me - about Ethan. Tonight was for Erin, a woman who could make a man believe any fantasy she chose to weave. This dress would be her armor, her allure.
I stepped back, eyes tracing the lines of the gown one last time, letting every detail sink in. Strange, really, the lengths I’d gone to play this part, to slip into a life so far removed from who I was. But that was the thrill, wasn’t it? To step into another world, another skin, so convincingly that the lie itself became reality.
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