Lilith Langtree’s – Chaos Magic

TG Fiction – Nothing is True and Everything is Permitted

Mirror (Another Abandoned story idea)

Another abandoned story that I wanted to get out of my head. This is just the setup and is ripe for someone to take it if they wanted. I really liked the idea and still do, but I know I will probably never get around to finishing it, because I have 3-4 others that I have been steadily adding on to for the last two months.

The working title was Mirror, hence the quote immediately following this sentence.

This is who I pictured as what he would look like after the operation.


And this is the photo that his partner refers to during her sales pitch.


Man has only one escape from his old self: to see a different self in the mirror of some woman’s eyes.


Seventeen months, three days, fourteen hours.


There was only three days left until mandatory retirement forced me out of the FBI and into a small mountain cabin far away from the city where I’d grown up. Three days until I’d turn in my badge that I’d held for forty-two years. Three days until I’d turn in my final evaluation of my newest partner, my replacement, Rachel Kinjo.

Female, twenty-five years old, of Japanese decent, Okinawan, I think. Five-five, 32-23-34, if I was a decent judge in spatial measurements. Since I’d been doing this kind of thing for most of my life, I think I was. She had long black hair she kept in a ponytail most of the time. In short, if I was forty years younger, I would have been all over her.

Too many things had changed over the years though. Now women thought for themselves and they weren’t afraid to let you know that either. I was old enough to remember when the first female field agent drew her sidearm in the line of duty. There was a time when she would have been happy to have my attention, welcomed it, done pretty much anything I’d want her to, submissive. Now she was on point while we were chasing down my last serial killer. Things had definitely changed.

Arthritis in my knees made me wince with every step. My palm was sweaty as I held the Sig-Sauer 223 loosely in my left hand, hoping that I could end my career with a bang, so to speak. With Kinjo in the lead, odds are that this would be her third takedown in as many months.

We had reached a part of the city that I knew very well. The temptation to rein her enthusiasm in was great, but knowing that she would be on her own in a short time quelled the protest I’d had on my lips.

When we’d approached a blind alley that I had a strong suspicion our suspect would take, I noticed a passing car and the look of shock on the driver’s face as he peered down that very same alley, I knew it was almost too late. The suspect was laying in wait, and Kinjo was half a second away from making the deadliest mistake of her life. Before saying something that would alert the suspect, I reached out with my right hand and grabbed the collar on Kinjo’s jacket, jerking her backward.

Her yelp is what gave us away.

I tossed Kinjo behind me and saw movement out of the corner of my eye. The Sig Sauer raised and as I suspected, our suspect gave himself away, coming out from behind the corner shooting. In the span of a single second, I tracked the trajectory of his movement and saw that Kinjo was his first target.

Jumping in front of her would mean that I would take a bullet, but that she’d be safe. I only prayed that I would live to see the next day and perhaps my vest would take the hit instead of any vital organ.

The first shot from my Sig took him dead center in the chest, the second, the center of his heart.

Kinjo’s hit me in the upper spine.

The after action report detailed it as neither her fault nor mine. Accidents happen and that is why we train the way we do. She thought she was saving me by taking the suspect down and I’d gotten in the way, spoiling her shot. Technically, she should have deferred to me since I was at point at the time, but partners don’t point the finger like that.

Any way you look at the situation, she was never the same afterward. Neither was I.

After seven surgeries, I couldn’t move anything below the neck, and spent the last seventeen months, three days, and fourteen hours in an assisted living home. The room itself was pretty nice, decorated like a mix of my bedroom and living room back home. The rest of my house and belongings were sold off at my request. I’d never use them again.

Instead I spent most days watching television, or even helping out the FBI’s Violent Crimes Task Force with independent reviews of their cases. It kept my mind busy, which was supposed to be an important thing for people that lay in bed all day.

By the time I’d woken up before the second operation, I’d already been officially retired. Helping out the VCTF was the FBI’s way of taking care of their own. It kept money coming in, above and beyond my government pension, in the form of contract work. The medical bills were paid, since I was on the job at the time, and disability insurance took care of the group home I was stuck in. Everything else was me.

In between cases is what dragged me down. I’d fantasized about fishing or hunting big bear, kicking my feet up in front of the fireplace, and sipping at single malt scotch until the end of days. But my biggest fantasy, still, after three years, was nailing Rachel Kinjo.

Just because I couldn’t get it up anymore didn’t mean an old man can’t think about how she would sound on all fours atop the bearskin rug in front of that fireplace while I put it to her from behind. It had been like that from day one. Of course, in my fantasies, I was forty years younger and able to last most of the night.

It may seem weird that I still want to hear her scream my name, after she’d shot me, putting me in the bed I live my life in, but what can I say, I’m a guy. Shoot me… wait, too late.

“Knock Knock.” Speak of the temptress.

I swiveled my head a little to the side and saw Rachel as she smiled at me with the same hurt look in her eyes that had been present every time she visited.

“Rach,” I said with a silly grin. “Don’t you have anything else better to do than to visit me? Go out, get laid, for god sake.”

Every week, three times a week since my arrival, my little angel of mercy visited. After setting her purse down on one of the chairs that I never use, she crossed the floor and looked at me. Her hand came up and smoothed my hair then she kissed my forehead.

“My sex life is none of your business, John.”

I groaned just a little. “Come on, gimmie just a little glimpse. Got yourself a new boyfriend yet?”

She gave me half lidded eyes that are sexy as hell. “Nope.”

I waggled my eyebrows. “Girlfriend?”

Her index finger, with a carefully manicured nail pointed at me. “If you don’t behave then I’ll have to take your present and head on out.”

“Presents? Oh shit, is it my birthday already?”

She turned and made sure the door was secure. “You’re getting funnier every day, John. Keep practicing though.”

From her purse, she’d withdrew a silver flask. My grin got wider. “Aww, you shouldn’t have.”

Pausing, like she was having second thoughts, she displayed her gift. “I really shouldn’t. The nurses don’t like it when you have whiskey breath.”

Fuck the nurses. “Come on, give up the goods lady and I’ll be your slave.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. And let me sniff the contents. Ahhh, mother’s milk. After two sips, I was almost content.

“You’re the best, Rach.”

The flask went into the back pocket of her skin tight jeans. Oh, to be that flask right then, caressing that perfect little derrière.

“You still good on your magazines? Did you want me to bring a book next time I’m in?”

I sighed. “Rachel, you don’t have to keep doing this.”

“Doing what?” she said as she straightened out the bed sheet over my chest.

“Visiting me. You’re young. You should be out having the time of your life, not tittering around here bringing me scotch and wasting your time watching me die.”

She flinched at that. We’d had this argument before. I’d insist that she get on with her life and she’d insist that it was the way she was raised. She felt responsible for me. I understood. I mean she had shot me after all. But there was a point where you slow your visits to once a week, then once every two weeks, making excuses about work or a broken down car, until eventually you stop coming except for birthday’s and Christmas. It was the American way. Old people are like church. You feel obligated to be there, but it doesn’t take much to find a reason not to be.

The thing was, that this time Rachel didn’t argue with me.

“John, do you know what a shame society is?”

I shrugged a little, which is an accomplishment when you can only move your head. “I can take an educated guess.”

She took a hold of my hand. Even though I couldn’t feel anything, it made her a little calmer.

“I’m first generation American-Japanese.”

“I know, you’ve told me this before.”

She ignored my interruption. “My family raised me in the traditions of my culture, and they are very traditional. Where Americans are guilt and punishment based in their beliefs, traditional Japanese are a shame society.”

Sometimes it takes her eons to come to the point. “What are you getting at Rach?”

She pursed her lips briefly before looking down. “When I shot you, I brought shame to myself and to my family.”

I rolled my eyes. “Haven’t we had this conversation before? It was an accident.”

She shook her head. “It was carelessness.”

“Rach, what’s done is done. We can’t turn back time, so the best thing is to let it go and move on. I’m pretty happy helping out the VCTF. I’m still productive. I’m just doing it from bed instead of being out on the street.”

Once I’d came to the end of my little speech she still stood there not looking at me. Oh brother. “Okay fine. What can you do to not be shamed anymore?”

Her eyes flicked up to me. “There’s not much. Seppuku is acceptable, but outdated, or if you are willing restitution in the form of the act itself.”

She lost me there. “What? Like have you shot too and sharing a bed?”

She nodded. “Or restoring your life better than it was before.”

I blinked. “Poof! And then we woke up. If there was a way to fix what was wrong, don’t you think I would have come across it by now?”

With a perfectly straight face, she looked me in the eye again. “I may have a way to give you your freedom again, John. It would be better than before in certain ways, but different, unlike anything that you have experienced before.”

I was totally lost. “Are you talking about another operation? I told you before that I’m done with…”

She shook her head. “No, it has to do with a case I’m working.”

Since the incident that led me to my current situation, Rachel had quit the FBI and taken up private investigating. The work consisted of chasing around cheating spouses, but on occasion she would come across something interesting.

At first I thought she was joking with me, but the look on her face told me she was deadly serious. “What are we talking about here?”

She took a breath and then set my hand back down. “I need you to answer a question for me, first.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“Hypothetically, if you could have forty years of your life back, be young and have your whole life ahead of you, but the one condition would be that you would have to be female, would you want it?”

I started to smile like she was jerking me around, but her face didn’t even twitch. “You’re serious.”

She nodded. “Would you, John? Be a girl, I mean, if it meant that you could start over.”

Wishing that I had some sort of mental telepathy thing going for me, I stared at her. “What exactly is this thing you’re working on?”

She shook her head. “I can’t say, client confidentiality.”

“Oh, bullshit, Rachel. This is me that you’re talking to. Who am I gonna tell, Nurse Ratchet out there?”

Her resolve face settled and I knew that I wouldn’t get another word out of her until I answered. I gave her a look of annoyance, but sussed it out for her after a few questions.

“Young? Not a teenager or anything? I couldn’t deal with puberty again.”

That brought a small grin to her glossed lips. “No, mid-twenties. Perfect health, no issues there.”

I pondered it for a moment. “A chick, huh?” She nodded. Well, like I’d said before, it was a different world than what I grew up with. Women were like men, with boobs nowadays. They pretty much wore the same clothes, worked the same jobs, lived the same way. There were differences to be sure, but I could live with those, hypothetically of course.

“Would I have to date guys?”

She blinked at me and then almost laughed. “Uh, I guess, if you wanted to. That would be up to you.”

“Nah, I’m a ladies man through and through.”

Now she was grinning again. It was the first time I had seen an actual smile on her face in months. “You should smile more often. Your face is too pretty to be frowning all the time.”

Ignoring my compliment, she went back to her purse and retrieved a flash drive. “May I show you something on your computer?”

I looked to the side at my laptop. “Help yourself. Just hit Control Shift F7 to take it off my control.”

She swiveled it around for better access and after inserting the drive in the proper port, started clicking away with her fingernails. How someone could type with nails like that was beyond me. They weren’t dragon-ladies or anything, but they stood out, red and glossy.

When she was done, she turned it back around at me. Schematics were all over the screen. “What’s this?”

She smiled at me. “This is the case I was working on. Industrial espionage. A rival techware company brought me in to retrieve something that had been stolen recently and destroy anything that the competition had been working on.

I blinked at her. “Destroy?”

She nodded. “John, I’ve turned my life upside down trying to come up with a way to help you. I may not have gone about it in a entirely moral way, but I’ve found something. Now, are we going to argue the ethics of it or are we going to have you on your feet by the end of the week?”

If I was hooked up to one of those bleep bleep heart monitor things it would probably be bouncing all over the place. “Are you serious?”


My throat had become severely dry. “Can I have some more hooch?”

After retrieving the flask that was nicely warmed by her left butt cheek I sipped a couple more times and relished the slight burning in my throat as I replayed what she was telling me. “You were serious about the girl thing.”

Rachel nodded and tapped a couple more times at the keyboard. A picture of a woman wearing a white coat, pants and shirt, popped up. It was a crime scene photo, I assumed since she was holding a gun and looked kind of dead. The thing was that the girl was a dead ringer for Rachel. Before I was able to question the resemblance she beat me to the punch.

“A cousin of mine. Third cousin twice removed, I think.”

“Is she…”

“Sort of. The company I’m representing is based in Japan and the rival corporation is here in the city. That’s why they contacted me.”


Rachel glance at the closed door once more. “A branch of my family is Yakuza.”

That got my attention. “What?”

She shrugged.

“How did you that get past the background check?”

FBI history checks are notorious. They research everything and everyone that has anything to do with prospective agents. One just doesn’t waltz into the Hoover Building and get hired on the spot if they are relations to organized crime.

“It was one of the reasons that they wanted me. I spent my first two years out of the academy, undercover in New York bringing down some of the more brutal families that set up shop there.” She waved it off. “That’s beside the point. I was contacted by an uncle that knew I used to be with the Bureau. The family tracked me down and if I was able to secure this information and destroy any copies and work the thieves had, then I could use it. They know about you John. It’s how they knew I would cooperate.” She swallowed. “They know that my family is shamed by my actions that put you here and that I would do almost anything to reclaim my honor.”

I started to reiterate my previous arguments but she cut me off. “John, you are not Japanese. Don’t try to understand what it means to be shamed.”

Resigned to grumbling to myself, I looked back at the picture on the screen. “What’s she got to do with this?”

“Three months ago she was shot with a paralyzing agent that prevented her from even so much as breathing. By the time the yakuza were able to retrieve her body, she lapsed into a coma.”

I shrugged to the screen. “This isn’t a crime scene photo?”

She shook her head. “No. This specific yakuza family is very particular about the way they do things. If one of theirs is killed then they revenge themselves the exact same way, same place, with an equal level member of whoever did the deed. Very eye for an eye type people.”

“So she’s alive but in a coma.”

“Yes. And the most important part, she’s brain dead.”

My eyes darted to hers as I made the connections. “What exactly does the machine that those schematics belong to actually do?”

Rachel clicked a few buttons and another picture came up. I was about to say it was Rachel again, but with foreknowledge I could see slight  differences. “In three days time, this will be your new face.”


The minty taste of the breath freshener, Rachel used on me to disguise the scotch, hadn’t worn off. And I could not stop looking at the girl in the picture displayed on my computer screen. The upturn of her upper lip was different than Rachel’s, though the prominent cheekbones were exactly the same. Perhaps it was a genetic thing in her family. To me, she was gorgeous, but I’d always had a thing for Asian girls. Now there was a distinct possibility that I would be one. It was all a little too science fiction for me. Where I grew up, Heinlein was the end all beat all of the genre. I recalled a book I’d read as a young man, well, the subject of the book, not necessarily the title, where a very rich man had his brain transplanted into a young woman. He then fell in love with his best friend/lawyer and they married.

Now, here I was an old man and someone just told me that I could have my mind transferred into the body of a young woman. While it wouldn’t be my actual brain, I hadn’t dismissed the similarities between the two.

It all became very real to me.

I was amazed at the advances that experimental science had grown. Just a few decades ago this was fiction, now it was reality; a reality that, with each passing minutes, I was becoming increasingly scared of.

I’ve faced hardened criminals, insane murderers, face to face, with little more than frayed nerves, but the thought of losing my masculinity was terrifying to me. In my current physical situation I was next to useless. While I still helped out with the VCTF, I was little more than an armchair quarterback offering advice that there were review panels for in the first place. My thoughts ran to family, friends, old lovers; what would they think of me?

Intellectually, the choice wasn’t even an issue. In my current body, I would never walk, never feel the sunshine on my body, never be able to feel the touch of another woman ever again. It was all a trade, the good with the bad. Emotionally, while it wasn’t the worst thing imaginable, it was pretty darn close. I’d never be strong again, never again be able to put the bad guy down with a single punch.

Oh hell, what would happen to my career? I’d been with the Bureau since I’d graduated college. I didn’t know how to do anything else. With the intake of a cleansing breath I calmed my thoughts and realized that I would be young again. I’d have time to reinvent myself if I wanted. Or I could… damn it all to hell! I’d be related to Rachel! Well there went that sexual fantasy all to hell.

I let loose a small growl, twins and everything too. That would have been hot.

Ending point

I’d planned on having the two work their way back to America while she worked on becoming comfortable with herself, becoming a private investigator as well, and having a mix up with the yakuza somewhere along the line.

Poof. I know I suck.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, June 2nd, 2010 at 19:59 and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.

5 Responses to “Mirror (Another Abandoned story idea)”

  1. Great Sage
    16:08 on June 3rd, 2010

    That would be Awesome- Do It Do it Do it Do It Do It Do it Do it Do it Do It Do it Do it Do It Do It Do it Do it Do it Do It Do it Do it Do It Do It Do it Do it Do it Do It Do it Do it Do It Do It Do it Do it Do it Do It Do it Do it Do It Do It Do it Do it Do it Do It Do it Do it Do It Do It Do it Do it Do it Do It Do it Do it Do It Do It Do it Do it Do it Do It Do it Do it Do It Do It Do it Do it Do it pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?

  2. Christelle
    19:42 on June 7th, 2010

    (Can’t seem to get tglibrary to recognize me)

    That story didn’t connect with me much. Oh well. Can’t all be winners. ~_^

  3. Lilith Langtree
    05:51 on June 8th, 2010

    I’ve noticed that sometimes I have problems logging in here also. So it’s not just you. Also, it looks like I lost a comment on this one, as in it disappeared. I’m really not liking WordPress too much.

    I suspect that where I left the story might have something to do with the lack of enthusiasm. In the past, what happens before the transition isn’t as important as to what happens after. There’s only so many ways a person can freak out, or get sick, or learn to walk in heels, blah blah blah, before it just gets boring. That’s why most of my leads get rapidly transformed or the story starts after an extended period of time.

    I have one that I’m holding back from the “incomplete stories” that begins six weeks after the fact. The girl is already through with her “intro to being a girl” phase and gets to the meat of the matter.

    However, in Mirror, it needed the before scene to support certain plot elements. I’m really not a big fan of the “Flashback” scenes in stories. Flashbacks belong in TV, Film, and Scooby Doo, not in books. So I don’t use that device too often.

    I’ also kind of bored with the Asian theme I had going in my head, and I don’t want to totally get sick of it before finishing Cho-Ri 3. If I’m not sick of it after that then I might continue this, just to see where it goes.

  4. Brian
    20:37 on June 18th, 2010

    I like it. Shame it’s not working for you. But then I like most of the stuff you write.

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