Me: Hey, Tdiandrockmusic here with my first multi-chapter story, which takes some elements from Dollhouse, but not quite enough to place it as a crossover. This is gonna be GREAT!

Heather: Yeah, right.

Me: Oh, Heather, it's great that your here. You actually are pretty much the main character.l

Heather: I can live with that.

Me: Also, since your here, can you handle the disclaimer?:

Heather: Sure. HEY TELETOON PEOPLE AND POSSIBLY FOX PEOPLE! WHAT DO EXPECT THIS GUY TO OWN?!

Me: Thanks

----

Heather turned on the treadmill and pushed a few buttons; she had to keep herself busy. Laziness led to boredom, boredom led to thinking, thinking led to melancholy, looking back at what she had done. She got herself going to eight miles an hour, and then played "Everlong" by the Foo Fighters through her Zune. She liked this song, it distracted her more with questions like, What was the meaning of the song? What were the words being whispered in the middle? After about ten minutes, somebody rang her doorbell.

"If you're selling something, go hawk it to someone else!" she shouted, no one dared interrupt her evening.

She did however see a mail truck pull away from the curb. She stopped the treadmill, paused her Zune, and opened her door. A recycled-paper envelope lay on her doorstep, the kind report cards come in. She gingerly picked it up, and stepped back inside. She broke the seal and pulled out a letter and a plane ticket, apparently belonging to Delta Airlines. She started to read the letter

Dear Heather Reid,

You have been reassigned from your current position in corporate espionage to a new one in New York. The details will be discussed on your arrival in New York City. Enclosed is a non-stop ticket. You have US citizenship, so you do not need a visa of any kind. The passport is also enclosed.

Heather looked up from the note, and reached back into the envelope. Sure enough, a navy blue passport with an eagle on it came out in her hands. She returned to reading the letter.

I await your arrival. Do not be late.

Sincerely,

Chris McClean

Heather felt a bit happy, it was time she left Vancouver. The ticket was for a fight tomorrow at 10 A.M. She had one more night of sleep here, then she would catch the flight. She immediately went to pack.

***

Heather inhaled, and then exhaled. There had to be a reason she was in this hard seat covered in "leather", but was probably made wholesale in some factory somewhere. She diverted her eyes towards the windows, only to gaze at a bank of light gray fog obscuring the McClean Center on this very cliché Monday. No point in looking at the magazines, Motor Trend and People held little interest, and she had already finished Time. The receptionist peered up from texting on some model of a smartphone and said that was ready to see her unenthusiastically. She gathered what little wits she had left, and turned the handle on the door. Before she could take a seat, said,

"Heather, thank you for coming, please seat yourself and listen."

"Yes ."

"Heather, please, call me Chris. Not only does make me sound old, you're pretending as if you don't know me, which we both know is not the truth," Chris continued in dull, somewhat monotonous tone.

"Yes Mr.…. Chris," Heather said. She also found this completely cliché, just like the weather. Here was Chris, explaining some task that was probably immoral while facing away from her and out the glittery blue glass headquarters of his and out to Central Park in a big black swivel chair.

"Heather, I've been quite impressed with your work in the Vancouver corporate espionage branch, and I've decided to promote you. You're in a different field of the McClean Corporation though. And not in telecommunications."

"And this new field would be?"

"Have you kept yourself up to date on our research and development?"

"Admittedly no, but please inform me."

"Have you heard on the news about our most recent breakthrough?"

"No, I haven't Chris."

Chris reclined in his chair, pushing the desk back three inches, then finally turned around to face Heather.

"We've finally been able to control forced mental manipulation."

Heather raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, let me rephrase that," he cleared his throat, and then continued, while leaning towards Heather and whispering, "We can erase minds."

Heather was now suddenly interested, and replied, "What are the practical uses of this interesting breakthrough?"

Chris chuckled, and the usual sadistic grin Heather (And twenty-three others who names she wanted to spit on rather than mention) feared for three summers of her youth.

"We can erase people's minds, and replace them with new skills, entire personalities. We'll rent em' out for anything; Corporate Espionage, Assassination, Body Guarding, and whatever people want with them, all for a pretty penny. I need you to oversee it. The project is codenamed "Project Mannequin". It will be based out of the Aurora facility. Floors 32 and 33."

"Uh, Chris, where am I going to get the people?"

"As for your employees, I've selected them, and you should know them. As for the Mannequins themselves, that's up to you. However, I have feeling who'll you want as Mannequins though." Chris finished.

"You're absolutely right Chris. Absolutely right."

***

Heather stepped out of the Chrysler 300C that had replaced the Crown Vic as New York's iconic taxi close to Battery Park. She looked up at her destination, the Aurora, a 46-story building housing most of McClean Corporation's more illicit activities in the region, ranging from simple corporate spying to housing half of New York's remaining Mafia bosses, all under the guise of a high-rise condominium building. Her black heels clacked as she strode in through the door held open for her. She walked up to the front desk to meet the receptionist, Abby. Abby was probably the biggest reason this place wasn't crawling with cops. She knew 32 ways to kill an NFL-player sized man with her bare hands, and that wasn't a wallet in her pocket, that was a pistol. She was also known for killing three private investigators that got too close, and was rightfully feared. All under the guise of a perky receptionist.

"Hi, can I help you in any way?" she said in a falsely perky tone, while scanning Heather to see if she was a threat to the activities in the building.

"Yes Abby, Chris sent me here. I'm running the," Heather peered down at the slip of paper Chris had given her, "The Penthouse."

"Ms. Reid, nice to meet you. You have the entirety of floors 32 and 33." Abby gave her a key, and pointed her towards the elevator. Heather clacked up to it, and pressed the up button. The doors opened twenty seconds later, revealing a thickly carpeted, mahogany paneled elevator. Heather stepped in, pressed 32, and the doors closed. Forty seconds later, the doors opened to find an expanse of unfinished concrete. The walls didn't even have drywall on them. The layout however, was interesting. Floor 33 was a ring of rooms and a half-wall looking down on Floor 32, with both levels connected by two copper-looking spiral staircases, and Floor 32 was a large open rectangle, with rooms under the ones on Floor 33. At the far end was a depression that maybe was supposed to be a swimming pool, and beyond that, a glass wall giving a view of Battery Park and the finally under construction 1 World Trade Center. Beneath her feet, a note broke up the uniform gray of the floor. It was in Chris' handwriting.

Heather,

Glad to see that you made it. I would have decorated the place, but I had issues that are more pressing. Your employees are in the room marked Restricted to your left. They're preparing the equipment for use. May this be profitable for the both of us.

Sincerely,

Chris McClean

Heather looked to her left. Yep, there was a door marked Restricted. After more clacking of heels, she opened the door. There, now at attention was Harold, Beth, Noah, and Cody. All four had disgusted faces; that they knew off the bat they wouldn't like this.

"Oh, Heather," Beth said with grated teeth, while trying to not sound insulting, "So glad you're here."

"Yeah," Harold agreed in the same fashion.

"Well, I say we should focus on the more pressing matter; Why we're here, what we do, and what are we going to do with this place, rather than egg on our boss," Noah countered.

Heather decided to make him second-in-command, if such a position was possible.

Noah continued, "I already have tasks set up for each of us. Beth and Harold work behind the scenes, monitoring the Mannequins that will soon be here from a distance. I will work as the one who'll be with the Mannequins in plain sight, comforting them, making sure they don't get too aware of what's going on. This shouldn't be much of a problem, when your memories are wiped, you pretty much walk around like a dazed five-year old at 10 P.M. And finally, Cody will watch the mannequins do any tasks outside The Penthouse from a distance, as Beth and Harold will not be able to watch the rented Mannequin."

"Noah," Heather replied, with an impressed tone, "We'll go with that. Anyone have ideas on this place itself."

Cody then broke his silence, "How about we just store them. Make sure they're fed and clean, but just stick to the basics necessary to survive. It'll be economical."

"I don't know Cody, the Mannequins might get suspicious. I say make this place a "spa". All the mannequins will think they're here for relaxing after a mental breakdown or something." Beth suggested.

Heather was impressed; Noah and Beth had come up with two viable things to get this joint running.

"We'll go with that too, now we need to make this place habitable." Heather concluded

***

Heather gazed in a hawk-like fashion at Cody and Harold, who were struggling to carry a planter full of ferns. After nearly having it crush Harold, the two had slid it into a hole next to the swimming pool, which now had a dark blue glass tile liner, as well as a glass wall separating it from the rest of the facility. She looked out at The Penthouse, which could now pass as a penthouse. The open area of floor 32 was taken up by a front desk near the entrance, separated by a glass wall like the one separating the pool. The walls were now a comfortable-looking pumpkin color. The floors were now lightwood. A red rug had two chocolate covered couches and a glass topped coffee table on top, facing an average sized television. Heather climbed up one of the staircases, and peered into an open door, to find Beth hastily painting the walls a sky-blue, with darker blue furniture under plastic throughout. Heather then opened the door next to Beth's and stepped inside. This room had olive-green walls, with an antique distressed white wood dresser, desk, bookshelf, and bed with a gray comforter and white canopy. Heather took a seat in the easy chair. "Perfect", she thought. She took out a list of names, and circled the first one. "Just perfect."