Richard Hastings stands terrified in his elegant dining room, staring at one of his worst fears.

His nineteen-year-old daughter Annabelle is tied to one of the table’s sturdy wooden chairs, and a man wearing a ski mask was standing next to her, holding a gun in his hand. Dark streaks run down her cheeks as she stares up at him, panicked and helpless. The men must have dragged her from her room right before he’d gotten home.

Another intruder stands menacingly to Richard’s left, holding a weapon pointed at his chest. A third man sits across from his captive daughter, with an open laptop in front of him.

“Please, daddy” his daughter moans with a shaky voice. “Just give them what they want!”

“Yeah, ‘daddy’” one of the intruders snarls. “Give us what we want and you and your little girl will be just fine.”

Richard feels his heart hammering in his chest. Twenty million dollars, he thinks. These people are insane.

He glares at the man standing next to his daughter. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with” he growls.

The man just rolls his eyes. “We know exactly who you are. Your company makes billions every year poisoning the environment. What we’re asking for is a pittance, and you know it. Give us your banking codes now, before I remind you how high the stakes are…”

He reaches out and places a hand on top of his Annabelle’s head, gently tussling her blonde hair. She shudders and lets out a frightened wail, struggling in her bonds to get away.

“Don’t you touch her!” Richard rages, taking a step toward the table. He hears the man next to him cock his pistol, which stops him in his tracks.

“I’m going to count to ten”, the man next to his daughter states. He lifts his gloved hand and strokes Annabelle’s cheek, causing her to lean her head away. “Ten…nine…eight…seven…”

His daughter hangs her head and begins to sob.

“Alright, STOP!” Richard yells.

The masked man sitting in front of the laptop turns to him. “Well?” He smirks, fingers on the keyboard.

With an enraged expression on his face, Richard relents and his shoulders sag. “The account number is four-one-six-two-zero-zero-zero-nine-eight. The key code is…” he reads off a long string of numbers and letters. “There should be twenty-six million in that account.”

The man next to his daughter smiles. “Perfect. We’ll take it all.”

Richard just glares back at him.

The man at the laptop hits the enter key and looks up at his partner. “It checks out. I just transferred the money.”

“Excellent” the man says. “Let’s get ready to move.”

Richard watches as the man across from Annabelle closes the laptop and begins disconnecting its peripherals.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” The hostage taker taunts. He places his hand back on top of his daughter’s head, smoothing out her hair.

“Don’t you touch her! You got what you wanted!”

The man just smirks. “Yes, we did” he snickers. “What are you going to do with your share, sweetheart?”

“What the fuck are you…” Richard begins. He stops when he sees that his daughter has lifted her head, and is looking at him with a confident, devious smirk.

“Oh, I’m gonna buy one of those big yachts” Annabelle replies with a grin. “You know, like the one this moron has” She sneers, looking up at the man with the gun.

Richard stands riveted in shock. What the hell? My little girl was in on it this whole time? Why?

“W…what…sweetheart…why?” He stammers.

This just causes Annabelle and her “captor” to laugh out loud. The man flips open a small pocket knife and reaches down, cutting the piece of plastic securing her to the chair.

Now free, she stands and brushes a messy strand of hair out of her face before crossing her arms. She pouts her lips and says in a sarcastic, taunting tone “Aw, were you afraid for your little girl, daddy?”

Richard is too stunned to come up with a reply.

The man next to his daughter holsters his gun. “He sure was!” he ridicules. “You sure convinced him to cooperate.”

His daughter rolls her eyes. “Uh, obviously. It was too easy. Ugh, this chick’s hair is so annoying” she says, batting away another curl that had fallen across her eye.

What the fuck is she talking about? Richard wonders desperately.

“You can take it off now” the man says. “Just turn around so he doesn’t see your face. There’s another ski mask in the bag over there.”

“Finally” his daughter chirps. He watches her walk over to the end of the table, turning her back to him.

Confused, he watches her lift her fingers up to her neck, fumbling around awkwardly. Then, her hands appear to lift higher and higher, as if she’s running them up along her face. He hears a squelching, rubbery noise and the truth finally dawns on him.

“No…that’s…impossible…” he groans.

He watches, terrified, as his daughters chin and lips scrunch upwards, now visible over the top of her head. Her nose and eyes snap away with a loud sucking sound, and her entire face collapses in on itself.

“That’s…a…m…mask….?” Richard stammers.

“That took you a while!” The man says with a laugh.

Sure enough, the person posing as his daughter holds the empty mask out to their side. Richard can see the back of the imposter’s head, which is covered in a black nylon cap. Without turning around, the person tosses the mask onto the table. It lands with a hollow flop, and his daughters crumpled, deflated face gazes at him through a mop of light blonde hair. Her lifeless lips are puckered grotesquely and some of the hair has slipped into the mask’s eye sockets.

Richard’s mouth has fallen open, and he can do nothing but watch the imposter grab a ski mask out of the bag and pull it down over their head. They turn around, still wearing a perfect replica of Annabelle’s young, lithe body. They pick up the mask and walk over to the middle of the table, closer to Richard.

“Pretty good, huh, ‘daddy’? Should I be grounded?” The imposter taunts with a laugh, holding up the perfect replica of his daughter’s face, waving it back and forth.

Richard feels a jolt through his heart. The voice is undeniably masculine. Some pervert was wearing his daughter like a costume.

“You sick son of a bitch” He growls. The three intruders all laugh simultaneously.

“Don’t be like that” the man posing as his daughter snickers. “Your daughter really is a pretty little thing” he adds, squeezing his swollen prosthetic chest in his hands.

Richard makes a move towards the man, but he feels a sharp jab in his right arm. He looks down to find that the man holding him at gunpoint is slipping a syringe back into its plastic cover.

“What the…” he begins to ask, but he suddenly feels dizzy.

“Time for a nap, old man” the man next to his “daughter” says. “Don’t worry, the real Annabelle is up in her room. We gave her a sedative hours ago. She’ll be perfectly fine. And she won’t have any traumatic memories from this whole ordeal” he states with a smirk.

“I’ll…get you for this…” Richard mumbles, as he slides backwards against the counter onto the floor. The last thing he sees before losing consciousness is his daughter’s empty face flopping around in front of him.

The man that had been standing behind Richard holsters his gun, and leans down to check on him. “He’s out. It should last a few hours.”

“Excellent” the other man replies, clearly their leader. “Craig, how are you doing?”

The man who had worked the laptop snaps a plastic case closed. “Good to go” he replies with a nod.

“This went perfectly” the man wearing the Annabelle suit claims, dropping the mask into one of their bags with a soft thump.

“It sure did, Marcus” the leader replies. “We’re out of here in thirty minutes tops. Suit up.” He orders with a wink.

“Pshh” Marcus snickers. “I’m already most of the way there!”

The group laughs, as they each open up their own duffel bag. Artificial, skin-coloured bundles flop onto the table and countertops. Hollow limbs flail about as the intruders prepare their foolproof escape plan.

Ten minutes later, the men are finishing their elaborate disguises.

Pete, the leader, pats his larger prosthetic belly before pulling on a mask of a slightly overweight, middle-aged man with a receding hairline. The stout features warp and stretch as they settle onto his face.

Craig, now wearing the body of a similarly hefty but clearly shapely woman, secures the clasp on a simple cotton bra and snuggles it in place over a pair of large, voluptuous breasts. He retrieves his own mask from the table, brushing the medium-length curly black hair aside before ducking his head into the open neck.

Hank, the man who’d subdued Richard, is faster than his associates. He’s already wearing the body of a young woman who looks to be in her early twenties. Her hips are wider in comparison to Annabelle, and like the others, she is carrying a little extra cushion in her thighs and around her waist. Looking into a small handheld mirror, Hank tugs at his new face, stretching the material away from his cheeks in a series of subtle adjustments. “Testing…testing…” he says, trying out his new softer, modulated voice.

Marcus, as he remarked, had the easiest job. All he had to do was pull on a new mask, this one of a dark-haired girl with freckles scattered across her face. After concealing the seam, he is once again fully encased.

The group spends the next few minutes checking their disguises. Seams are concealed. Cheeks, noses and lips are pulled and stretched into position. Hair is brushed out (with the exception of Pete). Then, they each get dressed. Marcus replaces “Annabelle’s” leggings and tank top with a pair of skinny jeans and a hoodie. Hank pulls on a pair of grey tights and a skirt that falls to the middle of his thicker thighs. Craig pulls on a pair of faded jeans and a low-cut maroon sweater. Pete dons a loose-fitting pair of pants and a polo shirt.

Finally, their transformations are complete and they pack their remaining equipment and belongings away. Looking around at his team, Pete can’t help but chuckle. Nobody could ever tell that the nondescript “family” of four was a group of thieves in disguise.

Hank notices him laughing and giggles in his girlish voice. “What’s wrong, dad?” He asks in his altered, feminine voice.

“Nothing, Ellie” the fake father replies. “Help your mother with her bag and we’ll be on our way.”

Ellie nods obediently and walks over to the disguised Craig, who is also laughing. “Thank you, sweetheart. William, are you going to get the van?” “she” asks in a warm soprano.

The disguised Pete replies “Yes, honey. I’ll be back in five minutes. Just make sure you and the girls find your purses.”

The fake woman nods, curly hair bouncing around her round face. She retrieves a few purses from the duffel bag containing items such as fake driver’s licenses and school IDs, and hands them out.

“Oooh, dad, can we get ice cream on the way home?” Marcus asks in an immature, high-pitched squeal.

“If you are all ready to go when I get back, I’ll consider it” William replies sternly on his way out of the room.

When he’s gone, Marcus says “Do you really think we’re going to get ice cream? That sounds pretty fucking good right now.”

The mother’s head snaps around. “Aubrey! Language!” She scolds.

Remembering Pete’s rule about remaining in character at all times, Aubrey looks away bashfully. “Sorry, mom” she mumbles.

Her “big sister” Ellie snickers, and Aubrey shoots her a dirty look.

Ten minutes later, the Miller family is driving down a busy road in their minivan. Ellie has pulled her hair back into a ponytail and is listening to music. Aubrey is scrolling on her phone, and their parents are both discussing a possible home renovation.

William sees a bright neon sign coming up and turns on his blinker. Aubrey looks up and sees her favourite ice cream spot. “Yes! Thanks, dad!” She exclaims excitedly, while Ellie just rolls her eyes.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart” he replies with a knowing look. “I think we can afford a little treat.”