Angels sang when he saw it.

Jude flicked his wrists to fold the fiddly thin newspaper in half and squinted to look for loopholes or other such nonsense.

Seeking body morph for
stunt work/body double.
Call or email Madeline.

TV? Was that for TV? Or Movies? Stunt people did movies. He was made for TV. Plus, if he was reading that right, he could shed this chitin without having to go back to the Mansion if there were face changers around. So even if he didn’t get the job, he could get his face.

This newspaper was worth every penny.

He had every intention of supporting himself from now on. So he called.

And polished his carapace.

And created a resume with more years of experience on it than he was old.

Ms. Madeline Brass glanced between a tablet and a room full of hopefuls. One in particular stood out from the rest. He was playing with a phone and radiating… smugness. Not fear. Not trepidation. Not even nerves. The monster practically oozed smug assurance that bordered on happiness. She had to double check that her boss had not somehow been transformed into a rainbow lobster monster on accident.

“If you are able to transform yourself into an exact duplicate of another person --face, stature, mass, voice, and affectation-- please stand.” Her introduction had been sparse and the white tiger shifter moved quickly into calling out instructions. Not everyone stood, but it was a majority.

“If you have some martial training, self defense, weapons, or martial arts, please remain standing. All others sit.”

Some? She didn’t specify how much, so Jude continued standing along with an ever dwindling number. He flicked one of his three digits across the screen and waited for the most opportune moment to tap. Take that bad pigs.

“If you speak English as well as at least one non-English language remain standing. All others sit.”

Psh. Easy. Next?
“If you can shift into non-humanoids and/or have any additional powers beyond facial shifting, please remain standing. All others sit.”

Your power is my power. So long as someone else was standing, Jude would too. He tapped the screen again, but this time too late. Ah. Damn.

“You three, with me. All others, you are dismissed.”

Hm? Three? Jude pocketed the phone and glanced at his competition. He’d expected this to take longer, actually. There were perhaps 20 people left behind them murmuring.

In the new room Ms. Brass indicated a table at which the three shifters should sit.

The chair looked awfully small to Jude so despite the first two shifters taking a seat as instructed, Jude leaned against the table. That earned him a furred raised eyebrow, but he was unapologetic. That chair was not going to hold him.

They each turned in their resumes and Madeline left them on their own presumably while they read through their experience or called sources or something.

Mental time traveler? Speech therapy graduate? Assistant fortune teller? Finished middle school by the age of 12? Completed court mandated community service? Trained by The illustrious Mr. Wong in KungFu Dancefighting!? What was this GARBAGE?

That was it. She was ejecting the lobster. The tigerwoman flicked Jude’s resume into the rubbish and went back to evaluating the other two. They were as expected: college graduates with hobbies and applicable skills. And… and they were entirely obsequious and boring. Could that type of person ever hope to pretend to be Ambrose Jaager? The fact that the lobster had already annoyed her this much made Madeline fish the pages of his resume out again.

Jude Coilin Csendes. She read it again from the top.

A quick interview where Jude learned this was a potentially long-term gig, a consolation high five to another candidate, and four NDAs later, Jude had the job. Madeline sequestered him in a room alone and handed him a packet of material which he opened eagerly.

“Your clothing and meals will be provided. We’ll start you off small, but you’ll be expected to make some public speeches here and there, attend board meetings, the occasional glad-handling event. Body guards will be provided when necessary.”

Wait. What? Jude pulled a dossier and some photos out of the envelope.

“You’ll be expected to go through rigorous physical and mental training. We’ll teach you the accent, the limp, all the angles, and everything you need to say.”

“This is Ambrose Jaager, right?” The Mansion kids had swooned and swooned and swooned when he did his AMA, otherwise Jude wouldn’t have known his face at all.

“No.” Madeline corrected him. “From now until we tell you otherwise, you are Ambrose Jaager.”

“Weekends?”

“You’ll have to clear it with scheduling. And with me.”

“No, I mean, I can wear my face? When it’s not ‘go time’ or whatever?”

Something in the way he’d said that tipped the tiger off. “Oh. That’s not your face?”

“I wanted to show how well I could do non-human.” That was a good excuse off the cuff. He’d cheated somewhat in shifting his mouthparts over to something more normal in order to speak and be understood. All things considered, Jude doubted he was creative enough to think up someone as awesome as Jack.

“Show me.” And after a brief moment of puzzlement she clarified. “Show me who you are normally, Jude.”

That… turned out to be a trickier question than he’d anticipated. He’d listed his age at 27, not knowing that happened to be the same age as Jaager. In this timeline, he should have been 17 going on 18. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to be that Jude anymore. Plus, technically, he hadn’t really triggered the full use of this power. What if it didn’t work as he expected?

The tigershifter’s expression softened. She didn’t normally do any hand holding, but she could feel that he was… lost. “You do remember who you are, right?”

He could be Jude and eat out of dumpsters from his moral highground. Or he could be Ambrose who made nearly the entire population swoon while wearing suits and bossing an entire company around.

It took him a moment to collect his thoughts and only a little longer to collect his new face.

Did he remember who he was?

"Ambrose Jaager.” He smirked. “Though I suppose you knew that already."

The similarities were staggering.

“No. The pain was in his knee. You have to limp from the knee.”

"Was, Ms. Brass? Did you kill him?”

She kicked him in the kneecap for smiling and Jude looked deliciously affronted before he straightened and walked across the room again. This time he moved with a more realistic limp.

The truth was, they hadn’t panicked when Ambrose took off one day —That had become rather normal if he wanted to sulk— but now that it had been almost a year? The mutant had yet to come back and as a result they were scrambling. She was hoping the real Ambrose would come back, but even if he wouldn’t Madeline would be sure to make the wheels of Jaager Worldwide keep turning.

“Better.” Was the best compliment he had earned thus far. The secretary did notice the suit moved well. That was straight out of Ambrose’s backup wardrobe so Jude had built his body to satisfactory specifications.

And yet… It was like Ambrose’s little brother rather than Ambrose himself. Something was still off.

“You need to be more… confident. More… Ah!” The secretary snapped a fur muffled snap as it occurred to her. “More predatory.”