The blonde girl known to Jhanda as Liliana chuckled quietly as she sat on a bed inside a relatively small chamber without windows but with fluorescent sapphire walls and various medical paraphernalia sitting around. This ‘Blue Box’ was not the same laboratory in which Doctor Swanson performed his unethical experimentations. No, this room had been made, at Ms. Deverne’s request, from underneath the hotel grounds, specifically to hide her newest brainchild from the rest of the hotel. Contrary to the lab’s dank environment, the Blue Box had been sterilised to a superfluous extent (with round the clock fumigation from a device Lawson had developed himself) and actually had working air conditioning.
The Doctor momentarily looked up from his note taking. “Bobby, I don’t have time to share campfire stories with you so can you please hurry up and take off the suit.” The Doctor was in no mood to joke. The psychopath inside him may’ve derived sadistic sexual pleasures in exploiting his victim’s biological limits but the doctor on the outside was cold and calculated. Today he was adorned in a bland set of white doctor scrubs and ballet flats, both custom-measured to compliment his curves to perfection. His brown hair was tied into a tidy bun atop his head and a white face mask was placed over his mouth. His manicured fingers fidgeted impatiently, tapping out a nameless rhythm on the edge of the metal gurney.
Bobby sighed as the Doctor slipped a pair of gloves over his slender fingers. What a stiff, Bobby thought as he reached around to the back of his neck. He pawed at the skin for a second before reaching underneath the skin flap and grasping onto a small zipper hidden there. There were a few fumbles but eventually he’d pulled the zip down halfway, allowing him to slowly tear off the ‘Liliana’ face. Soon he’d exposed a reasonably handsome mug with a thick beard, smoldering eyes and a couple small scars littered around. There was a sickening squelch as the pale skin cake away from his skin, leaving some patches red and raw from where the sticky lining inside had pulled the hairs out. Bobby breathed a sigh of relief as he finally slipped off the entirety of the suit—the suit was tight as latex and constricted nearly every part of his body, especially his junk. Bobby stretched his limbs out. In his normal form he was a relatively shrimpy man, standing at an unremarkable five-feet-five inches tall. He still marvelled nonetheless at how it’d been possible for him to shrink down a few steps to five-feet-two in the blonde bodysuit.
Bobby removed the crop top and booty shorts he’d worn whilst adorned in the suit—it’d been humiliating at first for him to cross dress when he’d first started wearing suits for the Doc and Deverne but the pay was handsome and compensated his pride at least a little. He pulled a pack of cigarettes he’d stashed inside ‘Liliana’’s bust and pulled one out, lighting it with an antique golden lighter he’d also been packing. Doctor Swanson looked at him with disgust as he laid the suit on the gurney and inspected it with a torch held inside his mouth. “It’s a disgusting habit, y’know,” Lawson spat though with how scintillating his feminine voice sounded it could have passed off as just a throwaway comment.
“What is?,” Bobby asked. He sucked on the filter of the cigarette deeply, feeling the smoke curl into his mouth and coil down his throat before he expelled in one long gust, puffing out a smoky ring like a wistful dragon.
“Smoking, obviously you brute. Not only does it slowly degrade your lung tissue, brain tissue and generally decimates necessary cell functions, but it’s damaging to the suits. Please tell me you haven’t been smoking whilst in the suit personas.” Bobby averted the Doctor’s piercing gaze, instead taking another hit of the cigarette and puffing it out. The Doctor rolled his eyes incredulously. All his work, all the painstaking effort he’d taken to not only design the suits, but to manufacture them with all the capabilities needed for them to be able to be presented as believable; all of it rested on this chain-smoking lummox. Lawson had protested his selection—still did to that day—but Deverne had her mind made up.
Bobby rolled the cigarette round his mouth as he grinned. “Trust me, where I come from, cigarettes ain’t the things that’ll kill you first.” There was a certain bleak truth about his statement. Bobby—Bobby Mira to his mother and the ironic moniker of ‘Big Bob‘ to his associates—had grown up in a rough neighbourhood in the South, Stateside. Faced by the threat posed by his hometown Mob, he decided if he couldn’t beat ‘em he’d join ‘em. Soon he’d made quite the name for himself handling the more...well, cruder parts of the ‘waste disposal’ business. He’d had it all: sex, money, drugs, you name it and he could have it in an instant. However, everything changed when a routine deal had gone bad. Fortunately he’d made it away with most of the crew, leaving one poor shmuck behind to take the fall. But soon his criminal enterprises had come back to hurt him and it wasn’t long until the Feds started breathing down his neck looking for information. Rather than face them, he fled to London and sought refuge in the most unlikeliest of places. Luckily for him, Deverne’s Hotel wasn’t your average refuge and Ms Deverne had big plans in store for him.
That’s how he’d come to reside here in the Hotel. Sure, the lustre of being in a hotel all the time had waned a bit since Bobby’d first game, but Deverne made sure all his expenses were paid; room service, cable, accommodation. All under the table due to the sensitive nature of the project, mind you. All he had to do in return was run some tests with the Doc every so often and help Deverne with the occasional extortion scheme every once in a while. Currently he had a dozen or so more men (with a couple women) on the line, mostly in his Liliana persona but with a few others in various suits Swanson had loaned him. He’d felt uncomfortable with the notion of trying to seduce people in his feminine forms but over the months he’d gotten more accustomed with the mannerisms and personalities that came with each identity. It also helped that most of those being conned were absolute blue-ballers, people who felt trapped in their marriages and for the most part suppressed their dormant carnal natures.
Bobby grew bored of the cigarette and crushed the butt of it on his chest, the ash wilting sadly towards the ground. He’d long since lost both the sensation of pain and the will to care if he harmed himself. He was feeling slightly curious and said, “Hey Doc’, I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while but... I dunno, always seemed inappropriate to mention before, I guess. How’d you get the... y’know... The sensations in the thingumajig...”
Swanson smiled. “You mean how do you feel everything from the suit’s vagina?”
“...Erm, yeah? I mean, no homo, I ain’t gay, but how do you make it so...realistic?”
“It’s realistic because it’s real.” Bobby stared at the Doctor inquisitively. “Everything, down to the hair, the eyes, the birthmarks on her lower back, everything is all natural. These bodies, these ’skins’ as you call them, they’ve all been repurposed from people from the hotel that I found fascinating. Nothing in them is synthetic excluding the microscopic nanofibres I’ve sewn underneath the epidermal layer in order to keep everything intact and from naturally decomposing. You are, in essence, covering yourself in each and every one of these girls.”
Bobby shivered. He’d been wary of the idea of suits but to think he’d actually worn someone else’s flesh on top of his own? He nearly heaved thinking about it. “H-how do you just take these girls without anyone knowing?”
“That’s the beauty of it.” There was now an unsettling gleam in the Doctor’s eyes, one that made Bobby’s skin crawl in fear. “With my MRC’s, or Mind Regulator Chips, I can implant new realities into the heads of all those that step through those front doors. With a push of a button I can make a mother forget she had a daughter—all the memories of time spent together, gone; every milestone in life, erased; every hope, every dream, each and every hidden desire laid bare to be moulded by my whim!” Lawson smacked the gurney with both hands to emphasise his point, causing Bobby to jump backwards in shock. The bun atop his head had become dislodged and now cascaded down his face like a madwoman. The Doctor composed himself, straightening his hair and coughing self-consciously. “All for the purpose of the project though. There’s a lower probability of being compromised if they don’t exist anymore.”
Swanson sprayed the suit with a glittering blue liquid and watched as the suit inflated itself, it’s skin looking fresh and moisturised. “One spritz and the suit’s good as new. Two and the suit comes back to life.”
“What happens after three times?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t tried. Theoretically the wearer could get trapped in the suit or even be absorbed into the consciousness of the host itself but for all practical reasons don’t rule anything out. This is a new territory for me and I’m still not sure what the full capabilities are.” Something seemed to occur to Swanson and he moved to a rack perched to the side of the room. Instead of clothes on the hangers there were more suits, slack-jawed and ready to be filled. He rifled through and pulled out a new suit and passed it onto Bobby. “New suit for you to test.”
“What’s this for?”
“Not sure yet. Ms Deverne asked me to reserve a new one for you. Says she needs to meet you tomorrow for breakfast. In the meantime you can try it, see how it fits.” Bobby tossed the skin in his hands, a devious smile spread across his lips.
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