Displaced - Book One of the Alternate Reality Series

Chapter 16

Lana opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and watched her apartment shift into focus. She lifted her hands and slowly rubbed her fingers against her palms, knowing this aided acclimation. She smiled. Her adjustment time had decrease even more. But why?

Did her body map stay stored in Eric's brain, existing in dormant neuronal tangles, which quickly glowed to life after reanimation? Perhaps the simulator stored her data, and when more data amassed, running her program grew easier. Whatever the cause, mere seconds passed before she fully emerged, and now that she was, the time had arrived to prepare for tonight's date.

She started for her bedroom, eyes slightly narrowed. Why no apprehension? In a few minutes, she would be dining with Chad's murderous avatar, so she expected some anxiety. For this question, at least, the answer came quickly–her decision to embark on tonight's assignment properly equipped... with a weapon.

Before entering, Lana ordered new clothes and some accessories to match. In terms of attire, she would've preferred something conservative, thereby maintaining anonymity, but then she recalled Victor's fondness for attractive young females. She went with more captivating wears, and now in her bedroom assessing this apparel, she smirked. Anonymity went out the virtual window.

Lana undressed, slipped on a black dress made of achingly thin material, then sat on the bed's edge, and slipped on glossy black sky-high heels. Upon standing, her eyes shot open. How the hell did she get so tall? Eager to check herself out, she took two steps towards her dresser mirror, and her mouth fell open.

"Good God," she huffed, staring at the Goddess in the mirror, her gaping mouth slowly transitioning into a smile.

Two things became obvious. One, any hope for anonymity lay in ashes. Two, she was having way too much fun with this. However, she didn't care about either, as playing dress up was too fantastic.

At her dresser, she applied shadowy makeup that matched her dark clothes and hair. While doing so, her jubilation ebbed.

These efforts at attraction were to capture a male's attention, and not necessarily for her. How unmotivating. But perhaps the male in question had this effect, and things would be different if done for someone she enjoyed and respected. A nice man. Someone who appreciated her form and her mind. Someone who appreciated her in any circumstance, not just when she...

"Focus, Lana," she told her image, reminding herself to concentrate on the mission. Her shadowy lips turned up. "Yeah, about those mission accessories."

She backed away from the mirror, grabbed her purse, and started for the kitchen.

Her eyes narrowed as she walked, her focused shifting towards her hips, at how they swayed exaggeratedly. The strange new sensation intrigued her. It felt alluring, powerful even, like she suddenly obtained an elevated degree of female influence. She smiled. It was a weapon all its own.

Now in the kitchen, her smile turned into a grin. Many a 1950's woman took pride in their set of kitchen knives, and she just joined the club. But knives were necessary for all manner of culinary duties, such as carving pork flesh. That said, having one when meeting Victor Vane was only appropriate. Her grin widened as she opened a kitchen drawer.

"Hm," she murmured, eyeing her new blades as they gleamed. "Not too big, not too small."

She needed something compact enough to fit in her purse, but at the same time, her companion needed some stage presence. She picked up a paring knife and curled her lips. The tool was sufficiently small but lacked fear factor. Then she swapped it for a steak knife and smiled.