Biff led us through a labyrinthine maze of furniture and set pieces. The place felt more like a cavernous wholesale warehouse than any studio I had ever encountered. The sheer scale of the space was overwhelming, and I couldn't help but wonder what kind of operation was being run here. 

 

As we finally approached the imposing desk at the center of this strange space, the figure behind it was anything but ordinary. He loomed like a giant, his massive frame eclipsing any notion of him being a mere man. What struck me more was the five-inch-long sub sandwich he was devouring; it was a meal fit for a giant. This man dwarfed even Mister Strickland in size, and the term 'amateur' seemed laughable in comparison. 

 

With short, wavy blonde hair, his most striking features were his eyes, an otherworldly shade of yellow or gold that almost glowed. His skin was sunburnt and ruddy, and his face was round and clunky, with stubby eyebrows, plucky lips, a frog-like nose, angled eyebrows, and square cheekbones. His cheap gray business suit was adorned with wrinkles and creases, and it seemed like a mismatch for his oversized frame.

 

"This is Mister Sloan," Biff introduced him.

 

"Mister Bo Baxter Sloan to you two," Mister Sloan barked, his words almost punctuated with bits of food that threatened to land on us.

 

He scrutinized us as if we were livestock at an auction, his gaze lingering on me for an uncomfortably long moment. Biff, on the other hand, wore that sly smile of his as he observed the peculiar spectacle.

 

"Okay, okay, okay! Let's get to work!" Mister Sloan snapped, his voice eerily reminiscent of a disgruntled pig. "Move all this furniture to storage down in the basement. Do it quickly and efficiently. Then, report back to Biff, and he'll assign you the next task!"

 

Biff chimed in with his characteristic chuckle, "Well, get to it."

 

As Mister Sloan rose from his seat, the ground beneath us seemed to tremble with each of his heavy footsteps. It was as if he defied the laws of gravity, and the weight of his presence hung heavy in the air. The bizarre experience left me with an unsettling sense of foreboding as we embarked on our first task in this surreal studio.

 

_____

Hours of grueling work had passed, and we had managed to clear all the furniture from the vast expanse of the studio. Biff was conspicuously absent, but neither Ryoko nor I felt compelled to go searching for him. A well-deserved break was in order.

 

Taking out my lunch from my backpack, Ryoko did the same. The silence hung between us as we ate, both lost in our thoughts. The favor Mister Strickland was returning had an unmistakable air of secrecy, and it made us both uneasy.

 

"Remember what Felicity said," Ryoko finally broke the silence. "If things start getting awkward or dangerous, we run."

 

His words resonated with me, and I nodded in agreement. But before I could respond further, my personal phone began to ring. I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease; the last time I checked, my phone had no signal.

 

I fished out my phone and saw the caller ID – it was Mister Strickland. Swallowing my discomfort, I answered the call. "Yes, this is Jane Sutton," I replied.

 

"Jane, I'm just checking in to ensure that you're handling that favor of mine. It's crucial that you do a good job," Mister Strickland said sternly. "Follow Bo Baxter's instructions without question."

 

The gravity in his tone intensified. "This isn't just about your well-being; it's about your boyfriend's job too. If you fail to deliver, both of you will find it impossible to secure work on this island again," Mister Strickland threatened. "I hope you understand the stakes, little lady. Now, all I want to hear from you is, 'Yes, Mister Strickland,’ and nothing else."

 

There was nothing left to say. If I refused, both Ryoko and I would be out of a job. Despite the animosity that often simmered between us, I couldn't bring myself to jeopardize the rest of his life over a matter concerning me. I had only one choice to make. "Yes, Mister Strickland," I mumbled.

 

"That's a girl, plain Jane," Mister Strickland chuckled over the line.

 

The call ended, leaving me with a heavy sense of dread and the weight of the impending task.

 

Ryoko, ever the inquisitive one, couldn't help himself. "What did that jerk want?" he asked.

 

"For us to get back to work," I mumbled, trying to hide the unease that lingered in my voice.

 

Ryoko raised an eyebrow, and for a brief moment, I couldn't tell if he sensed I was lying or if he had heard the call. All I wanted was to get through this ordeal as swiftly as possible. But just then, like clockwork, Biff reappeared. He wore that sly grin of his like he owned the world and handed each of us a bag.

 

"It's time for a photo op. Put on the clothes in those bags and report to Larry down the hall. This part shouldn't take too long. After you're done, come find me," Biff ordered.

 

Ryoko wasn't having any of it. "We're not doing any photo ops, Biff!" he snapped.

 

"Calm down, boss. It's just the usual gigs you've done before," Biff reassured him.

 

I peeked inside the bag and found three outfits that were quite different from our typical Ceal Corporation attire. But then, I remembered what Mister Strickland had emphasized.

 

"Let's just get this over with," I sighed, standing up and gathering my belongings.

 

Biff's smile was accompanied by a sly wink that sent a shiver down my spine. Even with those black sunglasses hiding his eyes, there was something inherently unsettling about him. I made my way towards the hallway where Biff had directed us, and Ryoko followed closely behind. Once we were out of Biff's line of sight, Ryoko grabbed my arm.

 

"What the hell! We don't have to participate in any photo ops or promote these shady individuals!" Ryoko whispered, his frustration palpable.

 

"Look," I replied firmly, snatching my arm back. "We can handle this, okay? You and I both know we're not pushovers. We've got security experience."

 

"I'm just saying, Jane, we need to be cautious," Ryoko warned.

 

"I understand, but if we want to do something about Mister Strickland..." I began, but Ryoko cut me off.

 

"Alright, but if things escalate or we get separated, you get the hell out of here and head straight to the local police," Ryoko insisted.

 

"I've got my phone set to constant call," I revealed.

 

"Me too," he said.

 

With our plan solidified, we nodded in agreement. If anyone could navigate this bizarre and unsettling situation, it was Ryoko and me.

 

_____

We found ourselves in another studio, searching for this mysterious Larry person. Larry was an imposing figure, towering over us just like Mister Sloan, but with a completely different physique. He had a lanky frame that made him look almost skeletal. Larry's hair was thinning, a shade of brunette, and his eyes had an eerie blend of yellow and red. His face was unnaturally oblong, devoid of eyebrows, with sagging cheekbones, a bent pointy nose, and a pair of super thin lips. He appeared almost inhumanly gaunt, with his loose-fitting black jogging tracksuit adorned with a white stripe down the sides.

 

"Put on the first outfit," Larry's voice rumbled, sending shivers down our spines. "The changing room is over there."

 

He pointed toward a row of bathrooms, and Ryoko and I exchanged uneasy glances before heading inside one of them. The row of bathrooms, clinical and impersonal, seemed to echo our uneasiness. With a deep breath, I locked the door and turned to face the task at hand. I pulled out the three outfits we had been given, each one a stark contrast to the other, laid out before me like a bizarre set of choices in a game show I never wanted to participate in. The first was a revealing black leotard cosplay outfit, the second a traditional maid uniform, and the last, a sky blue one-piece swimsuit that looked more suited for athletic competition.

Before choosing the first outfit, I decided to try on each one to ensure what they provided would actually fit my figure.

 

I decided to start with the bunny outfit, the first outfit. A revealing black leotard cosplay felt foreign in my hands. The fabric, smooth and sleek, shimmered under the bathroom's fluorescent lights. I hesitated for a moment, scanning the room for any hidden cameras, the paranoia gnawing at me. Satisfied with the privacy, I began to dress, each movement deliberate. Slipping into the sheer black pantyhose was a familiar sensation. Yet, the snugness of the leotard felt unusually constrictive, almost as if it was a costume meant for someone else. The absurdity of the bunny ears and the white elbow-length gloves didn't escape me, and I felt a sense of ridiculousness wash over me. This wasn't me; this was a character, a facade.

 

Next came the traditional maid uniform. The fabric was softer and more familiar, yet it carried a weight of stereotypical expectations. The uniform, with its frills and apron, was a stark departure from my usual attire. As I buttoned it up, I couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment. This was a role, a part to play, and I found myself slipping into it with a strange sense of resignation. The outfit was a symbol, one that spoke of service and submission, and I found myself rebelling against it internally.

 

The last outfit, a sky-blue one-piece swimsuit, was more in my comfort zone. It was athletic and functional, and it spoke to a part of me that craved simplicity and efficiency. The swimsuit clung to my body, highlighting my athletic build, a reminder of the strength and agility that I often took for granted. It was a garment that spoke of competition, of discipline, and in a strange way, it felt empowering. I was no stranger to physical challenges, and this outfit resonated with that part of my identity.

 

Finally, I completed the look with classic black closed-toe heels, footwear I was no stranger to. Dressed in the bunny outfit, I took a long look at myself in the full-sized mirror. The reflection staring back at me was both familiar and alien. I had to admit, I looked amazing. The outfit, though ridiculous, accentuated my curves and highlighted my features in an undeniably attractive way. But beneath the surface, I felt a discomfort, a dissonance between the person in the mirror and the person I knew myself to be. 

 

Glancing at the full-sized mirror, I had to admit that I looked amazing. The thought of Ryoko seeing me in this getup filled me with a sense of dread. It wasn't just the embarrassment; it was the vulnerability of being seen in a light so different from my own perception. I wondered, fleetingly, if this was how I wanted to be seen, not just by Ryoko but by anyone. There was a subtle hint of my orientation in that thought, a preference that leaned more towards genuine connections rather than superficial appearances. It was bound to be an awkward situation, but if he fell for it, I could always turn the tables on him later.

 

"This is ridiculous," I muttered to myself. "Let's just get this over with."

 

As I stepped out of the dressing room, the sight that greeted me momentarily halted my stride. There stood Ryoko, appearing as though he had walked straight out of a different era. His attire was impeccably formal: a suit that seemed tailored to perfection, accentuating his frame with a precision that spoke of high craftsmanship. The long coat he wore draped elegantly over his shoulders, its fabric catching the light in a way that highlighted its quality. Atop his head sat a top hat, adding an air of old-world charm to his ensemble. In his hand, he held a silver-headed cane, an accessory that seemed more a statement of style than necessity.

 

For a fleeting second, my heart did an unfamiliar dance in my chest, skipping a beat in a way that I had only experienced once before – when I harbored a crush on a particularly attractive girl. It was a reaction that both surprised and confused me, stirring feelings I hadn't fully explored. I quickly averted my gaze, turning my attention to the floor, the walls, anywhere but at Ryoko. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, a blush spreading across my face, a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside.

 

I hoped my sudden change in focus would conceal my embarrassment, but I couldn't help stealing another glance at Ryoko. There was something about his appearance that was captivating. He exuded a confidence and elegance that was both intimidating and alluring. It was as if he belonged to a different world, one filled with sophistication and grace, a stark contrast to the mundane reality of our daily lives.

 

Standing just outside the makeshift dressing rooms, the space was starkly utilitarian, a far cry from the glamour one might associate with a photo op. Here, in this unadorned corridor, Ryoko and I stood side by side, still feeling the remnants of the transformation we had undergone for the camera. The change in Ryoko was particularly striking. His attire appeared as though he had walked straight out of a different era. His attire was impeccably formal: a suit that seemed tailored to perfection, accentuating his frame with a precision that spoke of high craftsmanship. The long coat he wore draped elegantly over his shoulders, its fabric catching the light in a way that highlighted its quality. Atop his head sat a top hat, adding an air of old-world charm to his ensemble. In his hand, he held a silver-headed cane, an accessory that seemed more a statement of style than necessity.

 

For a fleeting second, my heart did an unfamiliar dance in my chest, skipping a beat in a way that I had only experienced once before – when I harbored a crush on a particularly attractive girl. It was a reaction that both surprised and confused me, stirring feelings I hadn't fully explored. I quickly averted my gaze, turning my attention to the floor, the walls, anywhere but at Ryoko. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, a blush spreading across my face, a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside.

 

I found myself acutely aware of his proximity, a sensation that was both unfamiliar and slightly disconcerting. I hoped my sudden change in focus would conceal my embarrassment, but I couldn't help stealing another glance at Ryoko. There was something about his appearance that was captivating. It was not just his appearance that caught my attention; it was the subtle energy he exuded, a kind of quiet charisma that I found myself inexplicably drawn to. This attraction, or whatever it was, felt like uncharted territory, a path I had never ventured down, but one that beckoned with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.

 

As colleagues walked past, immersed in their own routines and oblivious to my internal turmoil, I felt a strange sense of disconnection. Here I was, amidst the hustle of our daily work life, grappling with feelings that seemed to have no place in these sterile hallways. Ryoko's presence, so vibrant and unapologetic, stood in stark contrast to the persona I had carefully curated over the years – 'Jane,'' the reliable, the unflappable, the professional.

 

Despite my efforts to hide it, I was aware that my reaction to Ryoko might reveal more about my inner self than I was ready to confront. The subtle hint of my orientation, something I had kept closely guarded, seemed to surface unbidden in his presence. It was a realization that I wasn't quite prepared to delve into. Yet, it lingered at the back of my mind, an unspoken truth waiting to be acknowledged.

 

It wasn't just about Ryoko's striking sense of style or the ease with which he seemed to inhabit his skin. It was more about what his presence triggered in me – an acknowledgment of an aspect of my identity that I had long sidestepped. The subtle hints of my orientation, always lurking in the shadows of my consciousness, now seemed to push against the boundaries I had set for myself.

 

Standing there, caught in the internal conflict between my feelings and the persona I presented to the world, I realized that this moment was more than just an encounter with a strikingly dressed colleague. It was a mirror reflecting a part of myself that I had yet to fully understand and accept. With each passing second, the urge to explore these feelings grew stronger, yet the fear of what they might mean held me back, leaving me in a state of introspection and quiet revelation.

 

"You're ready!" Larry's voice suddenly cut through my reverie, a reminder of the world I was tethered to. 

 

It was a call back to reality, pulling me away from the introspective edge I was teetering on. Ryoko and I were no longer just colleagues preparing for a mundane task; we were two individuals, each navigating our own complex journeys of self-discovery and acceptance. As Larry urged us to hurry, I took a deep breath, stepping forward not just toward the task at hand but also toward a deeper understanding of myself.

 

As Ryoko and I made our way toward the stage for the photo op, the familiar mix of anticipation and routine settled over me. Ryoko, ever the professional despite his playful demeanor, led the way. His presence, always a comfort in these settings, was a reminder of the countless gigs we'd done together. Today's shoot, under the watchful eye of Larry, was no different in its structure but felt slightly less daunting than those with Biff and Mister Sloan. I noticed, not without a hint of surprise, that Larry's gaze, though intense, lacked the usual unsettling quality I had grown accustomed to in this line of work.

 

The first outfit of the day was the bunny outfit. In the costume, I felt the familiar tug of fabric against my skin, as it felt like a second skin. The outfit was designed to be alluring, no doubt, with its snug fit and playful accessories. As I posed, I could feel Larry's eyes on me, assessing, calculating. His gaze, slightly bloodshot but seemingly more normal than I'd expected, followed my every move. I found myself strangely aware of his presence, a feeling that was both unnerving and oddly reassuring. I couldn't help but feel the weight of the gazes upon us, the camera capturing not just our images but the subtle interplay of our dynamics. The photoshoot with the bunny outfit stretched on for over an hour; each poses a repetition of allure and poise, a dance of light and shadow under the bright studio lights. 

 

Transitioning to the maid outfit brought a change in atmosphere. The long black dress, reaching down to my ankles, offered a more modest coverage compared to the bunny outfit. It hugged my figure just right, snug but not restrictive, allowing me a greater range of movement. The white apron, tied neatly around my waist, effectively concealed my ample bust, a contrast to the revealing nature of the previous outfit. As I stepped into the white pantyhose and slipped on the black Mary Jane heels, I felt a transformation. The outfit wasn't just a costume; it was a portrayal of a character, one that carried a hint of elegance and servitude. Larry, noticing the change, started calling me "Mary Jane," a nickname that I supposed was fitting for the persona I had adopted. The second segment of the shoot, like the first, spanned over an hour, with each click of the camera capturing a different facet of the character I portrayed.

 

The final outfit of the day was a stark contrast to the first two. A one-piece swimsuit paired with tan-colored pantyhose, it was clearly meant to emulate a Race Queen outfit. The swimsuit, snug against my body, outlined my figure in a way that was both bold and assertive. The tan pantyhose clinging to my legs complemented the outfit, adding a sheen of professionalism. Completing the look with classic white closed-toe heels, I stepped onto the set, feeling the part of a Race Queen, poised and ready for the track. Ryoko, in his matching racing jumpsuit and black boots, looked every bit the part of a professional racer. His white protective helmet, placed casually under his arm, added to the authenticity of the scene. We posed together, each click of the camera capturing the dynamic between us – a blend of professionalism and playful rivalry. As with the previous outfits, this shoot, too, lasted an agonizing hour. By the end, relief washed over me, not just for the conclusion of the long day but for the seamless execution of each segment, a testament to our professionalism and Larry's surprisingly tolerable demeanor.

 

Throughout the shoot, I found myself subtly aware of my own feelings, a faint acknowledgment of my orientation that lingered at the back of my mind. It was a part of me that I rarely allowed to surface in my professional life, yet in moments like these, under the bright lights and the gaze of the camera, it became a silent observer, a part of my identity that watched and waited. But just as I was about to head for the dressing room to change back into my regular clothes, I heard Mister Sloan's voice.

 

"Take more pictures of the bunny suit and race suit. Biff, tell the other one to clean up the studio while the shooting is going on."

 

None of us had heard Mister Sloan or Biff enter the studio, and the hulking man turned to Larry, his intimidating presence making the lanky man nervous.

 

"Do it right this time, Larry Boy," Baxter ordered in no uncertain terms.