A Syrian in an American town would arouse suspicion from the folk. I focused inside me, tentacles sprouted once again from my skin. They engulfed me tight and not even letting light nor air in. Enzymes flushed inside the cocoon and dissolved my body in the vat of acid. But with destruction, comes creation.
From the archive of DNA, I used an American with malleable characteristics. My head formed first in the biological cast. A round face with mixed features. This head had dark raven hair with complementary dark eyes. Next came my torso then my limbs. This one ain't that muscular but my lean form allowed me to run quick. A useful skill when running away from B.E.G.
A naked boy, a little over 17, but forth from the cast of tentacles. Thin tendrils meshed and formed my clothes, a plain black shirt and loose basketball shorts.
In the kitchen, I saw Phil holding a casserole. He was going to lay down the metalware until he stopped when he saw me. Fear, I know that look. I've seen it and I'm seeing it now.
"Relax. It's me. Riance."
"Oh." He exclaimed. "I thought there's a stranger in my house. Why'd you change your appearance anyway?"
"A Syrian in America attracts suspicion."
"That's true. So who's he?"
"An guy from New York. Tried to swindle me with a shady car insurance. Name's Oliver."
"Well, Oliver. Sit down and dig inside my special casserole."
Suffice to say, his vegetable casserole was palatable. It's a nice change from eating roasted roadkill for the past few months. And also, I could not help but tear up at the cacophony of spices in my mouth.
"What did you put in this? Taste's smokey and minty."
"It's Cardamom. My aunt loves this spice. She practically uses it all the time. Even when she cooks pancakes. I guess inherited her tastes."
Speaking of family, you noticed there's only one set of clothes in the bathroom. One towel and one toothbrush.
"Anyway where's your family? I don't see anyone here."
"My parents. They Umm... Died from drug overdose. Got hooked to crack and never came back."
"So you're an addict too?"
"Fuck no. I know what that shit does to your body."
"So you're parents are gone huh?"
He nodded without hesitation. From his looks alone, I could see that he doesn't have a taint of compassion to his parents. I've seen people like him again and again in my decades of travel. But unlike the others, he did not fall for the same temptation of his parents. A remarkable trait I might add.
"So how do you afford all this?"
"The house?"
"Yes."
"My aunt gives me money and I have a cashier job at a convenience store." Phil squinted his eyes and peered at me. Opposing thoughts seem to swirl inside his mind. He took a second to weigh his choices. And here I am, waiting for his respons . "I think I can trust you enough so I'll fill you in about the other job I applied for."
In the town was a shabby building in which people with nice cars go to. Underneath that building is a large night club of sorts where illegal things go in and never comes out. It was a den where rich folks can do whatever they want. It's basically an open secret in the town.
As for the job, Phil applied as a side dancer. People in the club had weird tastes in appearances. And his wiry frame was a perfect fit in the criteria.
"It's easy money. I just wiggle my belly, rock my hips and boom. One grand straight to my pockets. You join me and we'll get double the rewards. So what do you say?"
You know, a source of money would be nice. Unlike clothes, you can't produce authentic money. They have those flimsy security thingies that you can't quite replicate. And so you chose.