Even before she fully regained consciousness, Jesse Faden knew she was in trouble. The same instincts that had led to her the Federal Bureau of Control and to pick up the Service Weapon from next to the corpse of Director Trench screamed a warning as the fog began to lift from her vision, the awful sensation of cotton stuffing firmly lodged into the folds and valleys of her brain refusing to abate. Cold air tickled her bare legs, while there was a strange stiffness in her arms and shoulders, and even as her conscious thoughts refused to come together, instinct once again took over, compelling her to try and rise from the lush carpeting. Yet even in this was she thwarted, her limbs stubbornly refusing to obey, and with a grunt, Jesse came truly awake, the veil over her grey eyes parting to take in the familiar environs of her office.
And the other Jesse Faden, sitting in the Director’s chair like she owned the place and staring down at her as one might something foul soiling the bottom of her shoe. “Good evening, my dear. Did you sleep well?”
“Mmmpgghh?” Jesse murmured in confusion, the sound oddly muffled and accompanied by the creak of canvas and leather. A quick glance downwards was all it took to send her into a state of panic, her naked figure bucking and straining inside the confines of the one-piece straitjacket leotard. Leather cuffs kept her ankles bound, and from each, straps of green leather were fastened and connected to similar points around her waist, keeping her effectively hogtied. More such straps joined the straitjacket in keeping her upper body secured and moulded to her every lithe curve, encircling her waist and beneath the shoulders, while her arms were rendered useless inside the sleeves wrapped tightly beneath her breasts. As a final indignity, even her voice had been denied escape thanks to the firm sponge that served as a gag, several strips of duct tape keeping her lips sealed and her every utterance reduced to helpless, incoherent noise. “Mmmppgggh, mmmpggghhh!” she screamed, fear giving way to anger at the triumphant smirk adorning the face of her double, crimson locks whipping about in her struggles. “MMMMPPGGGHHH!”
“Writhing like a worm. How entirely like you,” sneered the other Jesse, rising from the chair and striding over to her captive. Despite her peril, curiosity demanded that Jesse examine the imposter as she approached, the realization of how perfect a mimicry had taken her prisoner spurring awe and dread in equal measure. It wasn’t just her physical appearance, the way she dressed or even how she identically mimicked her voice. It was in the minute details; the strut of her gait, the way she glanced about the room, the slight downturn of her mouth. It was easy to imagine how the rest of the FBC, for all their experience with paranormal phenomena, could be utterly taken in by this doppelganger, unaware that she’d been replaced, and her fears returned with a vengeance, a low, helpless moan escaping past the gag. “Disgusting,” continued the doppelganger, lips twisted in a snarl of revulsion. “That I should have to assume such a weak, pathetic form is almost beyond endurance.”
“Mmmppgghh!” Impossibly strong hands seized her at the root of her ponytail, and Jesse bit back a cry of pain as her head was forced up so she met the doppelganger’s gaze. “Mmmpgghhh, MMPPGGGHHH!"
“You’re pathetic. A weak, simpering fool who deserves nothing of what she’s been given, so let me make this perfectly clear,” said the doppelganger, all vestiges of pity or compassion sculpted away from her stolen features. “All that is yours is rightfully mine, and mine it will be. Your position as Director. The Service Weapon. Your dear, sweet Dr. Pope…”
Any and all suggestion of holding back died at mention of Emily, and Jesse thrashed and howled like a wild beast in her bondage, the air alive with the creak of straining leather. If Emily, the one person in the FBC she valued and trusted and loved more than any other, fell victim to this… this thing… “MMPPGGHH! MMMMPPGGGHH, MMPGGGHHH!”
The doppelganger’s free hand crashed against her cheek, the sharp, savage pain sending Jesse reeling. “You need to learn your place,” came her oddly guttural snarl, and for a brief moment, the mask of Jesse Faden slipped away, giving the real article a glimpse at the horror that lay beneath, of an eyeless skull covered in chalk-white flesh, of a lipless mouth brimming with razor-sharp fangs and the bifurcated tongue that flitted in and out to taste the air like a serpent. The moment passed, the illusion restored, and the doppelganger relinquished its hold on Jesse’s hair to move back towards the desk, drawing a damp cloth from one of the drawers. “As much as I’d dearly like to kill you, I need samples from a living subject to maintain this form. No, you will remain here as my prize, while I take everything that is owed to me.”
Jesse had but a moment to recognize the sickly-sweet chemical reek impregnating the cloth before it was forced over her nose and mouth, smothering her helpless scream in the process. A leather strap bound over the lower half of her face kept it firmly secured, and within moments, the beautiful redhead felt her vision begin to blur, her struggles weakening. “Mmmpgghh… mmmppggghhh…” she groaned, shaking her head in hopes of dislodging the cloth. A futile gesture, and one that wasted what precious little strength she possessed as exhaustion quickly took hold. “Mmmppgghhh…”
“Yes, that’s it, worm, breathe deep,” said the doppelganger, lips curling up in a cruel smile. “After all, you’ll have the rest of your pathetic existence to get used to it…”