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Rated: XGC · Interactive · Adult · #2097091
After witnessing a crime you are placed in a new program to escape death!
This choice: You're rushed from the lab, and integrated into your new life.  •  Go Back...
Chapter #5

You're rushed from the lab, and integrated ...

    by: Mr. George Author IconMail Icon
"Don't forget, Candy, that you still have a deal you have to live up to." Agent Jones said.

"Dont' call me Candy." you warn him shrugging his hand from your shoulder.

"Yeah." Agent Smith said, "Fail to testify, and you'll be kicked out the program."

You shrug, feigning indifference.

"In that body..." Jones said, with a leering smile, and a lewd chuckle.

"Imagine being friendless, alone and abandoned... Without anyone in the whole world..."

You shudder knowing the path that many have taken. Suddenly seeing it as one option now open to you. Now a potential. An icy chill of karma biting you on the ass.

Knowing if your former boss could see you now, he'd be laughing himself sick before sending you to work in a brothel.

"M.. my name's not Candy." you repeat almost keeping the stutter from your voice.

Agent Smith just taps your new ID folder. The range of new items to establish who you are making the folder bulge awkwardly. Without opening it, you know your new name.

Picking your driving licence out, you confirm it. Irene Candice Sweetings. You're literally I. Candy now, hoping for some mercy, you take out the rest of the ID, and the summary of your background. With a stripper name, surely you're humiliated enough.

To actually have you as a stripper, is too near the criminal. The image of you stripping intrudes, and you find yourself nodding along.

"Yaa Yeah... I'll testify." you confirm.

"Don't lie on the stand either." Agent Smith warns. "If you do, you'll go to prison... women's prison, and I don't see you being the butch one..."

His hands reaching to cradle an imaginary bust. As you wish your own was imaginary. The weight pulling relentlessly at your shoulder, the throbbing ache in your spine destroying any hope of it being illusory.

With the warnings and threats of dire consequences out of the way. You're hustled into the back of a car. The tinted windows hiding the look of sick dread on your face.
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