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Chapter 2

"Your hair isn’t yours! You tricked me! You’re bald right now. How can you act like you don’t understand?"

"You’re right. The dark brown hair you saw isn’t mine," I say calmly and then lift the nylon cap on my head, revealing the messy blonde wig I managed to cram underneath. "I’m blonde, but I really wanted to please you since your profile said you preferred brunettes."

"You were just wearing a cap, then? You’re not bald?" He furrows his brow and leans closer to the screen to get a better look.

Is he really falling for this?!

Holy crap, I think I’m lucky today, which is rare!

I think I’m one of the unluckiest people I’ve ever met.

"Yes, I’m sorry, Master Edward, it’s just that I… like you so much."

After years of working with this, I’ve learned many tricks. It’s not my favorite activity—my favorite activity is spending money—but sometimes it’s kind of fun, especially when the client is attractive. The only problem is that everything is virtual, and it always gets awkward at some point.

"If that’s the case, it’s fine by me," he says, and I suppress a sigh of relief. "You could’ve told me; I actually like blondes..." He shrugs, and then the video chat room we’re using makes a beeping sound, which means he only has one more minute with me. Thank God! "Can you dye your hair brown for me? Give me your address, and I’ll find a good salon that knows how to handle human hair."

Of course this guy wants me to dye my hair...

The last time a guy got so focused on my appearance, I found out the makeup and hairstyle he wanted me to do were to make me look like his 15-year-old daughter.

That made me so nauseous I blocked him immediately.

"You know things can’t be done like that…" I murmur, sounding hoarse but firm.

None of these men know my address. On my profile, I list the items I want, and clients can buy them for me, but without ever knowing the exact location of the ship.

"I’ll send you the brons so you can go to the salon, then," he says, sounding calmer, and out of the corner of my eye, I see there are only 30 seconds left before this ends, and then I can finally have dinner.

I could even accept the money and pretend I dyed it, but I’m in too much pain right now. The ringing in my ears has passed, but the nausea hasn’t, and I’m not sure I can hide those brons from my boss.

"I have a very sensitive scalp. If I dye my hair, I’ll actually go bald," I say, letting out a forced laugh as tears threaten to flood my eyes.

Damn it, Melissa! Don’t cry, for God’s sake!

I never thought I’d go bald. It happened overnight, and the worst part is that there’s no way back. It still hurts, with wounds that flare up from time to time.

Space is a very dangerous place for humans because nothing here is made for our kind. In my case, it was an accident with a strange liquid that leaked from a pipe that burst due to a problem on this old ship. I managed to protect my eyes with a blanket at the time, but my hair started falling out in large chunks, and I never found a way to get it back.

It’s been two years now.

"Just wear the wig again next time and…" he starts to say, but in the middle of his sentence, his thirty minutes are up. Edward’s image disappears from the screen, and I can finally breathe again and head off to dinner.


POV Melissa

"I eat instant noodles straight from the cup they come in, sitting cross-legged on my bed, and then take my vitamins with a glass of orange soda. It’s a terrible meal, but I’m feeling terrible too, so it’s fine, and at least I’m taking my vitamins.

Since I was little, I’ve learned never to forget them, and it’s helped me a lot not to get sick because, outside of Earth, the human body dies very quickly if not well cared for.

But after half an hour of watching a rerun of Sherlock and daydreaming about what it would be like to have an apartment all to myself, of course, my boss shows up to figure out why I haven’t gone back to work.

'Everything okay, Kitty?' Unob asks as he suddenly walks in, and I quickly straighten up on the bed.

Breathe, Mel. Let the air in and out slowly, and don’t say anything about what happened with Edward.

'Everything’s fine here,' I reply, looking at the figure that’s about 6’2”, who knows very well that I hate it when he barges in.

Unob loves to play human. Right now, he’s adopted the appearance of a skinny Black man in his early twenties with brown eyes. In reality, though, he looks more like a giant cockroach with a disgusting mouth full of rotten teeth.

But since he has money, the bastard buys new skin every year. It’s not real skin, but he wears it as if it were, and somehow, he manages to look like any guy from Earth.

Actually, it’s not “somehow.” It’s pure, genuine technology, insanely expensive and paid for with the money this filthy pimp squeezes out of various women, including me.

'What do you want, Unob?' I ask as he sits at the foot of my bed uninvited.

My room currently looks a lot like what a human’s would look like on Earth. I asked for a single bed and a wardrobe I saw on Earth’s internet, and Edward got me an identical one. I put up blue and pink wallpaper on the walls, have a retractable pole dance bar I can lower with a button, and use a lavender diffuser. The only difference is that if you pull back my cream-colored curtains, instead of seeing a street or park, you’re greeted by an endless dark space—that’s where I was born.

And, just like me, there are secretly many humans living in space, consuming everything happening on Earth, watching its shows, following its calendar, and trying to get its food.

'I have great news for you!' my boss exclaims, and I try not to breathe too deeply, or I’ll catch a whiff of the half-rotten smell that still comes off him.

'What’s the problem this time?' I narrow my eyes as Unob looks around my room.

Every little thing here I earned through my work. The fluffy rug, my desk lamp, my desk—it’s all a treasure to me. I collect what I can from Earth.

'Problem? No! I have two great pieces of news,' he says enthusiastically, his odd mannerisms something any human would find strange.

Our species isn’t the kind to move this much or to have our noses literally spin on our faces when we forget to add fresh pink liquid to our eyes. This tech-skin he wears has many protocols to follow, or it deteriorates quickly. It’s almost like armor, with hidden buttons and everything.

'Cool,' I grumble, and he waits for me to ask what the news is, but I’m in too bad a mood right now.

I hate anyone seeing me without a wig, especially since I spent so much money on them. Every day, I try to ignore the accident and swallow the fear of losing all my income just because bald human men, for the most part, can’t know that I ended up bald too. It’s so damn unfair.

'The first piece of good news is that I found a new girl. She’s going to take your place, and her name’s Elsa,' the alien reveals, and I almost choke on my saliva.

'You’re putting someone in my place?!' I practically scream, incredulous, as I sit up straight in my bed, pulling away from him.

In the shows I’ve watched that are produced on Earth, humans often assume aliens are highly evolved in both technology and ethics. And technically, they are highly advanced in technology, but beyond that, they’re no better than humans. Everything here runs on money, which they call “brons,” and their desires.

Most of them are nothing but degenerate lunatics with strange customs who see all humans as weak clowns. It’s hard to find an alien species that’s “nice,” especially those off their planets, traveling through space."

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