A dark caption.

She pulled up to the sidewalk, realizing she wouldn't have a closer place to park, and got out of her car. She looked around to be sure no one would be an issue and then she opened up her trunk and got out the duffle bag and briefcase. Neither felt very heavy, so she guessed whatever was in each was eighter light or there wasn't very much of it.

She looked up, glad the rain had stopped for now. It would soon start up again, she knew, and she moved quickly. As she walked across the one street, she was glad she had opted for her normal sneakers rather than her rainboots, though she was now realizing that maybe a skirt and pantyhose wasn't the best choice. Oh well, she thought, she got tired of the plain jeans or slacks she normally wore. Might as well have some spice in her wardrobe, even if it was just a little.

She walked to the office building, an eight story affair that looked like it had been there for nearly a century. She always did love those old buildings. A pity she wouldn't get to see more of it than the lobby.

She walked in, seeing an art deco lobby with a long reception desk. A pretty woman her age asked if she needed something and she mentioned about the delivery for Mr. Acosta. At first the woman seemed a bit surprised, but once she called up, presumedly to his office, she told the woman to go and take the elevator to the sixth floor.

She smiled and thanked her, then rolled her eyes when she turned around. She wasn't annoyed at the receptionist at all, but why did this guy need it hand delivered? Plus, if he did, why not meet her down here?

She got in the elevator and took it to the sixth floor. She found the directory on the floor and went straight to where it said Mr. Acosta would be. She knocked on the door and a middle-aged male voice told her to come in. As she did, the door closed behind her automatically. A single scream was heard, and then silence.

Later in the day, right after the rain had let up again, a figure dressed exactly like her walked over to her car, foot sure as feminine feet avoided the worst of the puddles on the sidewalk and street. He took out her key fob and opened her car and sat down, then was soon had driven and parked her car in the underground lot under his building.

He then got out, closing the door and feeling at his neck, a soft finger against a couple of the staples before self-control took over. He then looked down, sticking a foot out, looking at her sneaker and her nylon-covered leg, leaning down slightly to put a hand on her knee. He gave it a quick feel and smiled.

The briefcase and duffle bag had literally nothing of use. They needed a subject, someone they could easily lure in and then dispose the evidence of and she happened to fit the bill. It was never personal, it was never about her. It was always about whether the head transplant surgery worked, even if just for one head and the answer they found was yes, it did work. That, he knew as he headed back up to his "office" was all that mattered for now.