You awaken to the insistent throb of a headache, a dull echo in the silence. The memory of Susan is a fleeting, unsettling whisper, a phantom touch in the back of your mind. Disoriented, you find yourself sprawled on cracked asphalt, alone in an empty parking lot, a perky blue VW Rabbit the only witness to your bewilderment. A car door lays on the ground, probably yours.

As you struggle to stand, a peculiar sensation of absence tugs at you, an indefinable hollowness that sets your teeth on edge. Your legs tremble beneath you as you cling to the car for support, and a growing tightness in your trousers begins to register. You glance downwards, your blood running cold as you realize the worn denim is splitting, the seams straining against newly-swollen thighs. A glimpse of lace, impossibly delicate, shimmers through the frayed fabric.

A wave of disbelief washes over you. Shakily, you reach for the waistband, intending to tear the offending garment away, but your fingers encounter the smooth swell of a woman's hips, the unfamiliar flatness between your legs a chilling void against your palm. Where that used to be you feel a mound cupped by your new underwear. Your head starts to swim. And then, you become aware of a subtle pressure against your chest, a weight where none should be. Strands of hair, far too long, brush against your cheeks, obscuring your vision.

A desperate, primal scream rips from your throat, a sound filled with terror and utter bewilderment. The air itself seems to vibrate with your uncomprehending horror.