Murinova. An insignificant little road stop located in the middle of nowhere, with a population barely over 3,000. It was a place devoid of any remarkable history, background, or any traits of note. A mere footnote even within its own region, occupied by people who made their livings in more populated and better towns a couple miles away. The only things keeping anyone here were a sense of obligation, a lack of financial means, or a preference towards a quiet, drab, uneventful existence.

Away from the cluster of society that made up the heart of this town, a lone building stood hidden within the deep forestry that ran throughout this town’s borders. Those who traversed the tire-trodden dirt road to this home found something considerably more impressive than the mass-produced dwellings that it neighbored. It is within this home that this tale of depravity, debauchery, deviancy, and destruction begins. And it is a tale that begins with none other than the individual standing in the middle of this home’s den.

A black woman by the name of Jessie Shines, age 22, was in the midst of performing an aerobic exercise routine. An act that, combined with the sweltering heat of the mid-August weather, had left her panting in exhaustion and her body damp with sweat that soaked her light tank top and shorts. Having done enough to hone her limber yet muscular physique for the day, she shut off the small portable radio that regaled her with some entertainment as she commenced her health-related chore. 

With silence reestablished, she made her way to the kitchen, where she dampened a towel with the coldest water the faucet could produce. She used this towel to relieve her of the sweat caked onto her person, rubbing it across her face, chest, and armpits. She let out a soft sigh after doing so, turned off the water, and took a moment to let the cool tap water sink into her deep brown skin.

After releasing her coiled shoulder-length hair from the hair tie restraining it, Jessie’s attention drifted to the electronic clock on the kitchen oven, which read 4:56 PM. She sighed once more as she saw the time and left the kitchen to make her way up to the second floor. An empty floor with a single hallway of barren walls and zero homely furnishings. She walked past a collection of sealed rooms whose door knobs were coated in a visible layer of dust and made her way to the end of this hallway. To a metal door sealed by a pair of locks, adorned with a plate labeled ‘Patient.’ 

Upon pulling out a key from her shorts and taking care of the combination padlock, Jessie opened this door to reveal a person sitting in the center of a padded white room. As the door opened, she was also greeted with a crisp breeze provided by a separate cooling appliance. While this gust of cold air would normally be appreciated, it was laced with a pungent odor that caused her face to twist into a scowl as it invaded her nostrils. 

After taking a single sniff, Jessie identified this smell and bent down to reach a small box placed outside the door, from which she plucked an adult diaper and pair of latex gloves. Entering the room proper, Jessie glared at its occupant. A tall yet rotund man with arms restrained in a straight jacket and a face obscured by a piece of dense headgear. He greeted Jessie with an unintelligible moan, the only sound to ever escape his toothless and tongueless mouth. 

Wearing a blank expression, Jessie pushed this individual to the floor and yanked off his loose trousers to reveal a soiled diaper that she quickly began to replace. It was a routine procedure for her, yet the act of handling an adult man’s feces still filled her with a palpable twinge of disgust. Though, she knew this situation could be far worse. At least the patient knew well enough not to try kicking her in the face.

Upon disposing of the unpleasantries in a nearby waste bin forever tainted with the distinct aroma of shit, Jessie silently locked the metal door and returned downstairs to the kitchen. There, she engaged in her next daily task: preparing a meal for her ‘patient.’ Which she did by plugging in a small blender and gathering things from the fridge and cabinets, all while talking to herself.

“I can’t believe I’ve wasted my entire summer on this shit. Three full months of wake up, make breakfast, work out, read, try going out in this unbearable heat, make lunch, read some more, work out again— because the fuck else is there to do— make dinner, read… again, and go to sleep. ‘Oh, but Jessie, this will be a good way to make some money! This will be a great experience! You’ll be able to write a paper about this!’ I was promised a disabled sociopath, but what you motherfuckers really meant was a fat retard who can’t even speak or do anything more sophisticated than shitting his diaper. Yeah, that’s really a job for a psychology major and not some desperate nanny. And all for what? 35 bucks a day? Yeah, sure, you let me stay here, but fuck off with that modern day slave condition bullshit.”

It was a rant that Jessie had gone on many times these past few weeks. One against the person who got her in this mess. The recruiter at her college who offered her this job, overstated the requirements, and understated the compensation. It originally seemed like a dream come true. An opportunity to practice the skills she learned over the past few years in a practical real-life situation, and from a place only an hour or so away from her family’s home. But that dream died within the first few days of her new job. She had considered quitting and simply walking away, but contractual obligations are a bitch sometimes, and this was one such instance. 

As the blender roared and a concoction was liquified, Jessie looked off to the refrigerator, her eyes focusing on the cheap calendar she put on it, staring at today’s date of August 16th, 1985. She was nearing her final week in this job. While this was cause for some celebration, it made the tedium feel all the more arduous to Jessie. For she was powerless to do anything other than perpetuate this dull process for another 8 times before she would finally be set free and given the opportunity to take the next bold step in her life. 

While Jessie wallowed in such melancholic thoughts for the umpteenth time, the one she was responsible for looking after, the oh-so-affectionately dubbed “retard,” was stirring within the confines of his room. With no stimulation to speak of, he passed the time by clumsily tackling the door between his padded white prison and the rest of the world. It was as formulaic a procedure for him as changing diapers was for Jessie. An act that the patient would repeat whenever they had the energy able to, before resuming a lethargic state as time passed. It was a futile endeavor, but the desire for freedom is a primal one, and for as clouded and constrained as his brain was, the patient understood that this door would lead him to freedom if he could get it open. 

Upon bashing his headgear against the padded side of the metal door for the thirty-seventh consecutive time, he fell to his ass, and looked forward with disdain. Exasperated by this constant frustration, he channeled his energy in a roar that would have spread throughout the house if not for the whirling blender downstairs. 

The patient leaned forward afterward, panting while keeping his eyes on the door. He desired nothing more than to see the elusive hallway he hadn’t had the opportunity to walk across since his imprisonment began. It was then that, somehow, the dual locks of the door came undone. With the locks opened, the door followed suit, revealing a glimpse of something aside from this white monotony, and with no sign of a caregiver. This sight inspired the patient to rise from the floor, and begin bashing the door once more, only to have it slam against a perpendicular wall, causing a loud thud to echo all the way to the kitchen, where it was defeated by the sound of the blender.

The patient breathed heavily as he took in this sight, and set about putting his feet, one after another, against the lukewarm hardwood floor. Using the wall to support himself, he steadily made his way through the hallway before reaching a staircase, where he looked down to see the only other person they had encountered in months, Jessie Shines.

Jessie, having just finished blending a brown nutritious slurry, walked up the stairs absentmindedly, reaching the second step before realizing that the patient was looming over her. Questions about how he escaped soon entered Jessie’s mind as she began to worry about the repercussions she would face if he fell and hurt himself. This worry inspired Jessie to shoot up the stairs in an effort to grab and drag the patient back to his room. While the patient’s desire for freedom drove him to leap from on top of the stairs, hoping that they could somehow avoid or overpower their caretaker by embarking on a leap of faith. 

The two collided into each other, bashing heads upon impact. Jessie’s body flung back, where the back of her head bounced against the wooden floor, while the patient’s forehead collided with a stair. Their bodies did not move after impact and instead lingered there until 5:30 PM, when Jessie began emitting clear signs of life.

As her eyes fluttered open, she began to mutter to herself before sending a hand to investigate the throbbing sensation that permeated throughout the back of her skull. While this action appeared natural at first, Jessie suddenly paused as she felt the back of her hand rub against her head and through her long, thick, coiled hair. 

“What?” She uttered absentmindedly, only for her eyes to shoot open after the words left her mouth.

Following that utterance, her movements became frantic. Her head darted around, taking in her surroundings, while her arms flailed about the air, before coming closer to her body. She began to rub herself vigorously, heavily patting it as if to verify its reality, and paying particular attention to her flat crotch and larger-than-average breasts. As she examined these things, she began to adopt an uncanny grin that was soon accompanied by a string of laughter. Laughter that started innocent and chipper enough, before devolving into something guttural and hoarse, and then mutating into a hysterical howl. This laughing fit persisted across 20 seconds before it abruptly stopped as Jessie shot up from the ground and focused her attention on the patient’s unmoving body. 

“It happened. I’ve escaped. After all this time… I’m free. I’m finally fucking free!” Jessie roared with an exasperated raspiness that echoed throughout the empty home.

After getting such an extreme reaction out of their system, the hysterical ‘black woman’ proceeded to bend down towards the patient, inspecting them in more detail before letting out a reserved chuckle.

“I can barely even believe that used to be my body. But I guess the caretaker’s now the patient. Though I doubt that will last very long. I mean, sure, it’s hard to communicate without a tongue, but after getting into the mess that turned me from what I used to be into… that, I’m not one for taking chances,” Jessie, or rather the patient, remarked as they examined their former body from various angles.

Fueled by a desire to escape from their confinement, the patient transferred their consciousness from their original body into Jessie’s, presumably transferring Jessie’s consciousness into the patient’s in the process. Without the excessive brain damage of their former body, the patient was quickly able to regain their ability to think clearly, speak coherently, and to coordinate themself properly. Abilities that the patient began to flaunt as they proceeded to wander throughout the house, monologuing to themself and pondering just what they were going to do next.

“But before I do anything rash, like slice your throat open, I should think about what I’m doing. Because it’s been such a long time since I’ve had the privilege. Now, I think the first thing on my itinerary— after ending you, that is— should be getting acquainted with my new body. You might’ve not had the prettiest face around ‘Jessie,’ but you’ve taken damn good care of yourself. Sure, being a woman is like being a second-class citizen, and being a black woman is like being a third-class citizen, but it’s better than being a white man who can’t even string together a sentence in his head. So, sorry, my retarded chum, but I’m going to be keeping this body, if ya don’t mind.”

“Hm, but if I’m going to take your body, then I’m going to need to take your life. Well, not need, but doing so would make things far easier, at least for a time. I’ve got a couple hundred dollars after my last paycheck, but with student loans and the car payment, money is pretty tight. While I can stay with my parents— What in the fuck am I talking about!? I… hold on, those aren’t my… Oh, this is just superb! Not only did I snag your body, little Miss Shines, but I’ve got your memories to boot. Ha! This’ll almost be too easy.”

“But yes… yes. Even with these memories, I can’t say that I’m very eager to begin living my life as a struggling psychologist, nor do I really care for your name. I mean, Jessie Shines? It’s cute, but it’s just not my style. I could fall back on my prior name, but I was never exceedingly fond of what my parents branded my identity as. And what better time than now to reinvent my identity? However, there is no need to force a name upon myself for the time being, and I truly should take care of the unpleasantness before it dares to wake up. It’s a lot heavier than 15 pound free weights, but I’m sure I can at least drag it around without straining anything.”

“Oh, but what specifically shall I do with you, mon chère? I could try to reliable old burying, as it is hard to find a dead body 6 feet under in the woods, but then I would need to lug your lumbering ass all the way there. Hm… the more I stare at you, the less I see a human, and the more I see a hog. A creature whose only value comes from the meat on their bones, and deserves to eat nothing but garbage. Which is an accurate descriptor of the repulsive dreck I have been fed for the past 5 fuckin’ years. As such, I think it is appropriate that I kill you like a hog. Well, maybe not quite like that— I want this to be fast, after all. But I’ve already imagined you roasting in the oven, and I simply must make that a reality.”

From there, the patient finished their absentminded exploration of the ground floor and returned to the stairs, where they grabbed their former body and began dragging it along the floor, accessing Jessie’s memories to direct themself to a bathroom. Once there, they momentarily left to retrieve a set of barely used kitchen knives, allowing them to tear through the protective clothing and accessories adorning the obese body. The straight jacket, the pants, the diaper, the headgear. All of which went to expose the patient’s former body in its unpleasant glory, depicting a hairy and oily figure with pale skin and a misshapen head. The patient grimaced upon seeing this body in great detail, before rolling it into the bathtub.

Once in the right position, the patient adopted an eager grin as they began caressing the neck of the body, before slicing it from artery to artery in an attempt to drain the blood and whatever life remained within it. Once the blood was reduced to a drip, the patient dragged the corpse out of the tub and into the kitchen, where they shoved this obese mound of flesh into the oven, narrowly managing to close the door. The patient was fully aware of the stupidity of their actions, yet they were unphased by the possible repercussions of burning a grown man in an oven. At least in comparison to the pleasure, they would derive from closing a foul chapter of their existence in such a fiery and hyperbolic manner. 

The patient let out a subdued chuckle as they set the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit, guaranteeing that the corpse before them would be reduced to little more than a massive mound of cooked meat within a few hours. They stared through the opaque oven window as the heat began to assault their former body when something suddenly clicked in the recesses of their mind. A single word that came to the forefront of their consciousness and caused their subdued chuckle to erupt into full-blown laughter.

“Vice,” they uttered in a sultry coo, “my name shall be Vice.”

Vice. A word meaning wicked actions, succession, and in some antiquated forms, change. As a moniker, the patient found it to resonate with their personality and predicament in a poetic manner. While it may be an unconventional name, such worries did not phase Vice as their eyes shifted from their former body to their current body. Their old body was roasting before them and they had been reborn anew. The wretched vessel was in the past, but this… this was the present and the future. In order to better appreciate this undeserved gift, Vice sauntered towards the ground floor bathroom, slamming the door shut in order to begin their much anticipated… exploration.