Changing

Beta shuffled downstairs in his slippers and ran right into John, who was being followed by a furry little creature, a Beagle on all fours.

He stopped on the last step. "What's going on?"

John took fresh milk from the refrigerator, poured it into a bowl, and placed it in front of the dog. "Helen's parting gift. Helen said in her recorded video that we should try to love things we've never experienced before."

He scratched the puppy's perked-up ears. "Like having a dog."

The Beagle immediately nuzzled up, its pink tongue lapping at the milk, its short tail wagging like a metronome.

Beta ambled over to the kitchen island. "This little guy has too much energy. If you don't take it out to play every day, you can forget about this house."

John gently rubbed the Beagle's ear roots. "I'll walk it every day. Want to pet it?"

Beta backed away. "No thanks. Dogs' sense of smell is too dangerous; they can remember my scent."

Bacon began to sizzle in the frying pan. Beta flipped it over and asked, "What else did Helen say in her DV?"

"Do you want to watch it yourself?"

"Just tell me," Beta interrupted. "Did she record it day by day? One video per day?"

John stroked the Beagle's back. "It was recorded weekly. One segment per week, 400 segments in total."

His fingers paused. "She said that after watching for 2800 days, we could start a new life."

Beta poured spaghetti into boiling water. "You definitely didn't do as she said and watched all 400 videos in one go, did you? Seven years is enough time for a person to be reborn."

Beta slowly circled the pot with his wooden spoon. "What's the first task Helen arranged for me?"

John held the Beagle up to his chest, the puppy's paws flailing in the air. "To give you a complete vacation, go surfing in Miami, rent a yacht to take girls out to sea, and experience the life of a rich second-generation heir."

Beta turned off the stove with a click, the steam still rising from the pot. "You're making it too ridiculous."

John lifted the Beagle in his arms a bit higher. "The videotapes are upstairs; you can watch them anytime."

"When do I need to listen to others' arrangements?" Beta squeezed a spiral of sauce onto the plate, the bacon grease slowly seeping into the pasta's texture.

He twirled a forkful of noodles, snapping them with a crisp "snap." "Don't wait for me tonight. I'm going to see some old friends and need to transport some things to Paris first."

John cradled the Beagle in his arm and asked, "Need any help?"

Beta's fork hovered in mid-air. "What? Did Helen's videos also teach you how to improve our relationship?"

John said, "It's just the two of us left in this house now."

Beta continued twirling his pasta. "Stay put. A fifty-year-old body, no matter how tough, can't withstand too much. Do you think you're still that guy who could take two bullets, get stitched up, and take down an entire syndicate?"

John sat at the dining table, the Beagle in his arms stretching its neck, curiously sniffing the food on the plate.

Beta quickly finished breakfast and paused as he picked up his car keys and headed for the garage. "Give some of the extra ingredients in the fridge to Leon."

"Okay."

The garage's rolling door slowly lifted, revealing a modified black Ford Mustang parked quietly next to a Cadillac. It was John's old classic, with meticulously tuned rims and suspension; he always loved tinkering with that car.

Beta slid into the Cadillac's driver's seat. The massive vehicle slowly backed out of the garage, its tires crunching on the gravel driveway with a soft rustle. He preferred this kind of car.

The enormous Cadillac pulled away from the quiet villa complex and plunged into the congested city. It navigated the bustling streets, stop-and-go, taking a considerable amount of time to break free from the clamorous urban area and head towards the industrial zone on the outskirts.

Rows of drab, boxy warehouse buildings stood like giant tin cans. Beta had rented one of the inconspicuous small warehouses to store some special items.

The Cadillac drove along the narrow, straight concrete road in the warehouse district. Finally, it stopped steadily in front of a rolling door marked "10." The engine shut off, the last lingering sound of tires on the ground faded, and the surroundings fell into an almost vacuum-like silence.

Beta pushed the door open and stepped out, the dry air hitting him. He walked to the massive rolling door, bent down, grabbed the heavy metal handle, and pulled hard upwards. With a piercing metallic grinding sound, the rolling door slid upwards. Simultaneously, the cold white LED lights on the warehouse ceiling lit up one by one, dispelling the darkness within.

The warehouse was ordinary and unremarkable. The four walls were unadorned, and the air was filled with a faint smell of dust and metal. In the corners, several sorted storage bins were piled up, and along the walls, a set of silver-gray tool cabinets and a few empty metal shelves were arranged. Everything appeared orderly yet spacious.

Beta reached back and pulled the rolling door shut behind him. With a click, it locked, completely blocking out the light from outside. Only the cold ceiling lights illuminated the interior.

He walked directly to a tool cabinet in the innermost corner and pulled open the door.

Embedded on the inside of the cabinet door was a full-length rectangular mirror. The smooth glass reflected his figure. Next to the mirror, plastic storage boxes of various sizes were neatly stacked. Through the semi-transparent lids, the contents could be clearly seen, meticulously sorted and stored: realistic-looking dental retainers, elastic shaping fillers used to subtly alter facial contours by filling the mouth, and delicate sublingual tablets that could change vocalization and tone quality...

Beta dragged over a chair and sat in front of the cabinet. He opened a sealed bucket of mask-making material, put on plastic gloves, took out the semi-solid gel from the bucket, rubbed it repeatedly in his palm, and then slowly spread it into a thin sheet. Next, he took out a facial model from beneath the cabinet. It was a typical middle-aged Mexican male face, with a hooked nose, deep-set eyes, and a well-defined jawline.

He skillfully covered the model's surface piece by piece with the gel sheet, pressing and fitting carefully, ensuring the edges aligned perfectly. The gel gradually solidified in the air, and before long, a complete mask extending from the top of the head to the neck took shape.

Beta removed the newly formed mask from the model. He meticulously applied special adhesive to key areas like the forehead, bridge of the nose, and cheekbones.

First, he applied hairspray to fix his own hair. Then, like putting on a balaclava, he slowly pulled the mask over his head. His fingertips traced the contours of his face, pressing down on any edges that might lift—along the sides of his nose, the hairline, the jawline—ensuring there were no flaws. Finally, he adjusted the fit around his eyes in the mirror to ensure his vision remained natural.

Next came the finishing touches: Beta carefully applied fake eyebrows and a full beard, then used special glue to add a few pimples and minor scars.

When the last strand of fake hair was secured, an unfamiliar face stared back from the mirror—a middle-aged Mexican man with sharp eyes and weathered features. The original Beta had completely disappeared beneath the disguise.