From the outside, the abandoned office building of Togel Traveling Agency appeared lifeless, a forgotten relic of the past with dust-covered windows and a fading sign barely clinging to the façade. Even kids avoided it, their imaginations running wild with the idea that the building was haunted.
But inside, hidden away from prying eyes, Jacques had transformed the space into his secret shelter. The silence of the empty halls was broken only by the soft hum of machinery and the faint scratch of his meticulous work. He had managed to restore power using a broken generator he found and repaired, bringing life back to some deepest part of the abandoned space.
Alone and undisturbed, he sat at a makeshift workstation, crafting a flawless fake ID. Using the tools he had purchased, Jacques meticulously forged an identification card, embedding an official ID chip to ensure it passed basic security scans. He carefully replicated an existing ID, printing it with precision until it was indistinguishable from the real official ID card.
Every detail had to be perfect—the color, the fonts, the precise alignment of each word. His trained eyes scanned the original, comparing every element with an almost obsessive precision. The photograph, the holographic seals, even the barely visible microtext—nothing could be out of place.
He chose "Marie Baxter" as his new name, marking his gender as female and adding a matching feminine photo to the ID card. With steady hands, he pressed the final layer into place, the glossy surface reflecting the dim light above him. To any scanner, to any guard, it would appear as real as any official document.
What puzzled him most was how naturally this skill came to him. The precision, the speed—his hands worked with an effortless mastery, as if he had been doing this his entire life. Yet, he had no memory of ever learning it.
Now that the ID card was complete, it was time to put it to the test.
Jacques—now Jared—knew he couldn't rely on his usual appearance. With a bounty of 100,000 credits on his head, the city was flooded with possible reconstructions of his face. Authorities and bounty hunters had predicted every disguise he might use—hats, sunglasses, beards, even subtle changes to his jawline. Any masculine look would be a risk.
That's why he took a different approach. Sitting in front of a cracked mirror, he applied makeup with practiced precision, softening his features and reshaping his face into something unrecognizable. Contours and highlights masked his sharp angles, turning rugged masculinity into delicate femininity. He wrapped a corset around his torso, pinches his pecs until they passed for breasts, then slipped into a sleek dress that hugged his frame in all the right places. A long, flowing wig completed the transformation.
Stepping back, he examined himself in the mirror. A smirk curled at the corner of his lips. None of the wanted posters, none of the AI-generated predictions scattered across the city, had accounted for this. The man they were hunting had vanished. In his place stood a woman—confident, poised, and completely unrecognizable.
Getting out of the abandoned building was going to be tricky. After all, it would look suspicious if a modest yet stylishly beautiful woman was caught on CCTV casually walking out of a decrepit, supposedly empty structure. But that was exactly why he had chosen this location—it sat right behind a mall, providing the perfect escape route.
Slipping out through the back door, he moved swiftly toward a hidden entrance that led directly into the mall's loading dock. From there, he blended into the flow of workers and shoppers, adjusting his posture to appear natural.
Despite his broad shoulders subtly hinting at his true identity, some men still mistook him for a real woman. A few even started following him, their eyes filled with misplaced admiration.
Jacques kept walking around, testing his ID card. In the mall, it was perfect—the ID card passed the test. Jacques left the mall and headed to the train station, and it worked just fine. No one could tell the difference, not even the senior guard.
He was able to ride the train to the neighboring city and back without any issues. The only problem was the men following him—one even had the audacity to sit beside Jacques on the train! Jacques thought to himself that next time, he shouldn't dress so stylishly; these men seemed to think he was some kind of prostitute. Even entering the public restroom didn't help—one of the stalkers that still remain, still waited for him outside.
Frustrated, Jacques confronted the man. "Can I help you, sir?"
Upon hearing his deep, masculine voice, the stalker froze, his eyes widening in shock. "Oh, umm… you're so beautiful."
"Thank you, brother. Is that why you keep following me?" Jacques grinned.
The man stuttered, dumbfounded, still in denial that the "woman" he had been following had such a brash, manly voice. "Are you a man or a woman?"
"Transgender," Jacques answered casually, relieved that the stalker would finally leave him alone.
"Oh, I like women," the stalker added, his expression making it obvious he was still struggling to accept the truth.
"That's good."
"Are you gay?" The stalker continued scanning Jacques with cautious eyes, still trying to resist the unwanted reality.
"Yes, I am gay. Do you want to date me?" Jacques smirked.
The stalker took a step back, finally accepting that the woman he had been following never existed, and walked away.
Jacques shook his head and chuckled, knowing that his plan and disguise had worked perfectly. He took several detours before returning to his shelter, just to make sure he had lost any potential followers. Next time, he would have to wear something less eye-catching.
Now that both his disguise and fake ID had proven effective, Jacques packed up his important belongings, leaving behind anything he didn't need in preparation for his departure. Alayan was no longer safe—the government had escalated the search across the entire planet. He had to get as far away as possible. His thoughts turned to Earth, a planet far, far away. But with this fake ID, traveling would now be much easier. Alayan's ID card was accepted on most habitable planets.
It would be nice if he had a camper pod, allowing him to travel wherever he wanted, but that was far too expensive for him right now. Instead, he had to travel by space shuttle, moving from station to station in women's clothing and makeup. It was incredibly uncomfortable.
Not only did the clothing force him to move carefully—unlike when he wore men's clothing, which allowed him to move freely—but now, in a dress, he couldn't even perform parkour tricks. Traveling had become far less efficient, and every route took much longer than it normally would.
"Wow," he thought, "being a woman is so not free. And this is just dress-up—I can't imagine if it were biological."
As he traveled, he couldn't stop pondering. What if he had been born female? Would he still have the guts to run away like this? Would he be in even more trouble, considering how stalkers kept following him around? Jacques swore these creeps wouldn't leave him alone unless he revealed his voice. He wondered how transgender people and women managed to maintain this appearance for a lifetime. He had only been doing it for a few hours and was already exhausted from all the unwanted attention and the restrictions in movement.
Jacques knew for sure—he had to find another way to disguise himself. Dressing as a woman wasn't sustainable.
But as he entered the space station, he realized that he had no choice. His face appeared on a massive billboard. A year had passed since the manhunt for him began, yet he still hadn't been caught. Apparently, because of this, the bounty on his head had increased to 150,000 credits.
Jacques had no option but to endure the discomfort of his female disguise a little longer.
Long story short, he finally bought himself a ticket out of Alayan. He needed to reach Earth as soon as possible—so he could finally be free from these restricting clothes!
Buying the ticket wasn't a problem at all. However, as he waited for his space shuttle to arrive, he noticed a few creeps eyeing him from afar, pretending to be on their communicators but subtly following his movements. When he boarded the shuttle, they followed him inside. Even in the shuttle, they worked together to corner Jacques in the back of the room.
This reminded him of a certain genre of adult movie—where women were ganged up on in public transportation.
At first, Jacques thought that kind of thing only happened in fiction, but now that he was experiencing it firsthand, he would never again doubt women who asked for protection from stalkers or harassment in public spaces. He didn't necessarily feel intimidated, but he was resisting the urge to beat these people to a pulp. His stress level shot up when he felt an unwelcome hand poking and groping his ass.
Jacques exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay calm. Normally, he would've already flipped out and smashed the creep's face in, but that would attract security. If that happened, they'd check his ID more carefully, and everything would go to hell.
It was better to endure—
"I love your tiny ass—" the creep whispered in his ear.
Jacques fought the overwhelming urge to turn around and break this guy's skull. Instead, he kept repeating to himself, Just be patient. We'll arrive soon.
The space shuttle suddenly swerved to avoid a rogue asteroid, causing passengers to stumble as they lost their balance. Jacques took advantage of the moment. In one swift motion, he snatched the creep's finger and snapped it backward—breaking it.
A loud scream of pain filled the shuttle.
"She broke my finger! Evil woman!" the creep howled, pointing at Jacques.
Jacques widened his eyes, feigning innocence. He looked around at the other passengers and, in his most delicate, feminine voice, shrugged and said, "Sir, I'm just a weak woman with a tiny ass. How could I possibly break your finger?"
Several passengers stood up, assuring the man that he must have hurt himself due to the shuttle's sudden movement. But the creep wasn't letting it go.
"You lying b*tch! Don't think you can get away with this!" he growled, stepping forward to strike Jacques.
Jacques was fully prepared to dodge in the nick of time, but before he had to, someone grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it, stopping the attack mid-air.
"Real men don't hit women," a familiar voice said.
Jacques turned his head sharply and froze.
No. No way.
Standing between him and the creep was a lean, 173cm-tall twink with blonde hair.
No more mistakes—it's Charles!