All According to Plan - Episode 2 - Preview (Patreon)

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Results of polls:

Mark wakes up alone, without Cassie, in the United States and discovers that he now has the body of a Latina bombshell with a big butt and large breasts. Thanks to an adaptation program, his language skills now match his new status—that of a Latin American immigrant living in the U.S. on a work-based green card and working as a receptionist at a spa.

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Episode 2

The neon light above flickered indifferently, filling the room with a cold, dim glow. Nearby, medical machines hummed quietly, blinking with multicolored indicators. A lab technician, barely stifling a yawn, snapped his fingers to the rhythm of the music streaming through his headphones, lazily keeping an eye on the equipment. Beside him stood his partner, curiously watching the figures as they updated on the screen.

— "Checkpoint," — muttered the first tech, removing an earbud and yawning as he glanced over at his partner, whose eyes suddenly widened, fixed on the patient’s face—or as they liked to call them, "client." Before he knew it, he got a smack on the back of his head, spinning around to see his partner laughing, watching him with amused eyes as he rubbed the spot where he'd been playfully flicked.

— "Ha! You should've seen your face! You like what you see, huh?" — laughed the senior tech, his voice echoing off the walls.

— "What... no... isn't that... a man?" — he stammered, looking away, embarrassed.

— "A man? Pff," — the senior tech scoffed, eyeing the patient again. — "Well, maybe once... but now, take a look—absolute bombshell! Just check out those curves!" He nodded toward her full hips and prominent chest with a smirk. — "Wait till we finish the last phase, adapting the head's genotype—her hair will start coming in full and lush , and her whole ‘knowledge base’ will update! Now she's Carla Mendoza, off to San Antonio or somewhere... Not that it matters... wherever she ends up, people are gonna be thrilled."

The junior tech, still not used to seeing a masculine face almost entirely transformed by the procedures, cleared his throat nervously and glanced back at the monitors. Data confirming the adaptation of her new body and identity slowly but surely began filling the screen. He shifted his gaze to the document clipped to the bed.

— "Carla Mendoza, twenty-six, San Antonio, Texas," — he mumbled aloud, still feeling uneasy. — "Receptionist... Funny, given she... he used to do something completely different."

The senior waved a dismissive hand, chuckling.

— "Listen, you haven't been here long, so remember this," — the senior lowered his voice. — "You're not here to ask questions. Just watch the metrics and take notes. The whole process is finely tuned. We've done procedures like this before, and the results are flawless every time. Head transplant, body adaptation, and bam!—new person."

The junior threw a final glance at the document, then back at the patient—or rather, the new "Carla Mendoza," still in a deep sleep, awaiting the moment she would wake. A notification flashed on the monitor, indicating stable neural activity. The senior tech leaned in closer to the screen, lips curling into a sly grin.

— "Integration is on schedule," — he murmured. — "We've got ourselves a real Latina beauty here. And hey, even the accent will come naturally. Clients pay big bucks for this."

— "Wait, really?" — the junior tech, still absorbing it all, glanced at the monitor where "Carla Mendoza" was listed as an employee of some local spa in San Antonio. — "So... what about her old memories? Does she... remember who she was?"

The senior tech looked at him like he was a naive rookie.

— "Memories? That’s the client's personal business—can’t just erase them," — he replied as if it were obvious, eyeing the report like an expert. — "But this Carla's going to have to forget who she used to be and learn to be someone else: an ordinary girl, greeting clients, serving coffee, sitting at the reception desk in some back-alley salon. Not luxury, but better than being dead."

He smirked, but the junior tech continued to stare tensely at "Carla," still deep in her coma, waiting to wake up. Her face had already darkened, her skin taking on a warm brown tone, her hair starting to show a slight wave, like so many Latinas.

— "It just feels wrong," — he mumbled. — "I think it’s going to be a shock for her when she wakes up."

The senior nodded, shrugging.

— "They go through with it themselves," — he replied. — "They live like this for years. If you don’t want Interpol or worse coming for you and you’ve got the cash, you change, and don’t ask questions. Though it’s pretty rare to see a guy’s head on a body like this," — he muttered, eyeing "Carla’s" curves on the monitor. — "Sometimes I don’t get what the ‘higher-ups’ are thinking."

He patted the junior tech on the shoulder, as if to remind him they had other work to do.

— "Alright, don’t dwell on it. You’ll see plenty more ‘Carlas’ like this; eventually, you’ll get tired of it," — he advised, heading toward the door and glancing back. — "Come on, you’ll get your fill. She’ll be here for a few more weeks until the scar on her neck heals. And don’t worry about that—scar’s nothing," — he smirked, raising his tablet and making a note. — "That’s the genius of ‘Alternative’: everything’s perfected down to the smallest detail. While they’re in stasis, the body adapts, tiny flaws are fixed—new clients come out of it with zero doubts, and they just forget their old life."

— "Hold on," — he paused, looking back at the records, — "but what if she had some military training, for example? Or, say, what if this ‘Carla’ used to... torture people?"

— "Will you cut it out?" — the senior tech brushed him off with a smirk, pushing the tablet closer to him and pointing at the final status marked "full adaptation." — "After the procedure, all that’s left of those ‘skills’ is a faint shadow," — he added.

The junior nodded, staring tensely at the data on the tablet. The records confirmed it: now "Carla Mendoza," 26, a Mexican national working in the U.S. on a green card, residing in San Antonio, Texas, and employed as a receptionist at a local spa called "Estilo Bello." Her biography was meticulously documented across several pages.

— "Alright, let’s go, no point wasting time," — the senior clapped him on the shoulder, nudging him toward the exit, and proudly added, — "We work for ‘Alternative’! This is serious business."