Historical Reconstruction

Interactive “relive the past” lessons weren’t uncommon in 2078, especially for students of the History Department at New California University — the nation’s largest research hub, where neuro-immersion tech had long since become part of everyday academic routine.

Rick and Lia… a classic pair of “just friends” who everyone around saw as a couple — except for themselves. He was tall, a little awkward, with that uncertain look in his eyes that people have when they think too much before saying even a word. She was smart, confident, with a strange kind of allure she either didn’t notice or just pretended not to. They shared a passion for history. And something else Rick was too scared to even think about.

– Ready? – she asked, winking a second before the connection,

He nodded, trying not to show the nervous twitch in his fingers, not wanting to reveal how much this — and doing it with her — meant to him. On the count of "one, two, three," they activated the simulation together.

– "Connection complete. Welcome to Historical Reconstruction: Wild West."

The system voice came through as cold and emotionless as ever, followed by a bright flash.

…

The crash of a piano, the stench of cheap whiskey, and the sweetish scent of perfume hit Rick all at once. His vision sharpened, painting a clear picture: definitely a saloon, dimly lit by kerosene lamps, packed with drunk cowboys at rough wooden tables sticky with spilled ale and beer. Men were laughing, slapping each other on the back, casting lazy glances toward the stage — where he stood.

– Oh God… – slipped out in a thin, feminine voice, and he instantly felt his ribs trapped in something painfully tight. His chest — two heavy, full parts of his new body — were squeezed so hard it made him want to scream. They bounced softly with every breath, crushed under a corset so tight that breathing felt like effort, not instinct. Every movement sent tingles through his nipples.

He gasped — and choked. Thick hair, smelling like a mix of cheap shampoo and powder, fell into his face. Bouncy curls framed his cheekbones, brushed his neck, tickled his collarbones. Fingers with painted nails shot up to push the hair back, and he felt the earrings sway gently from his ears.

He was wearing a bright dress — crimson, slit up to the thigh, with a deep neckline that men in this saloon probably already paid for with their inner coin of lust. He could feel the fabric rubbing his thighs, the garters tugging at his stockings, the heels forcing him to walk with swaying hips, like he was doing it on purpose.

– Shit – he whispered again, and right then one of the cowboys near the stage shouted loudly:

– Hey, Rose! Give us “Whiskey River” again, baby! And with a dance this time!

Rick — now Rose in this simulation — froze. His brain refused to process it. Why him? Why wasn’t Lia in the woman’s body? This had to be some kind of glitch! Right in front of his eyes — hovering in the air like a hologram — an info panel lit up in thin glowing text, just like the interface of the simulation.

Character Identification:

Name: Rose LaMar

Gender: Female

Age: 27

Role: Singer at the “Dusty Coyote” Saloon

Reputation: Low. Ties with local sheriff (suspected prostitution), frequent scandals. Known for seductive performances and a bold attitude.

Skills:

– Charm (+3)

– Singing (+2)

– Belly Dance (+1)

– Revolver Shooting (-1)

Traits:

– Curvy female body, big tits, long hair

– Limited freedom of movement (contract with saloon owner)

– High chance of intimate scenes with frequent NPC interaction

Mission:

– Live through the day fully in character

– Interact with other characters

– Avoid breaking era immersion

– Surprise objective will activate later

Rick — Rose — swallowed as he read line by line. ‘Contract with the owner?’ — what kind of slave mechanic is this?.. But it was the last line that really got to him. ‘Surprise objective.’ In games, that usually meant something awful. But in a simulation — one this realistic — it was honestly terrifying.

He slowly lowered his gaze. The man, still grinning, was waiting for Rose to start singing. Lia? Where's Lia?

And there she was — he recognized her by the same label above the man's head, visible only to him. He stood by the door, cigar between his teeth, looking like someone who didn’t give a damn about rules. Tight pants, vest, hat, that stare — like a bad western hero writing his own ending. Lia was already watching him with a serious face, but the moment she noticed Rick’s gaze fall on her, she smirked.

Then, taking her time, she removed the cigar from her lips and exhaled a thin stream of smoke. The smile stayed, but her eyes changed. They were sharp now. And worse — condescending.

Rick, madly in love with Lia, knew this was a disaster. He stood there, dressed like that, burning with shame, wishing this cursed simulation would end. And yet, he couldn’t show weakness — not now, when every part of him wanted just one thing: to run. Run from her stare, which now had something new in it — something that sent chills down his spine and made the breasts under his corset tremble from a sudden, humiliating excitement.

He stepped back, forgetting the heels. The tip almost slid off the stage, his leg twisted, and he barely caught himself by grabbing the edge of the stand. A few men at the tables laughed. One even whistled and slapped the table:

— Rose is on fire tonight! Dance, pretty thing!

'Dance... God, what the hell did I get into?!' flashed through his mind. He shut his eyes and opened his mouth, knowing this simulation had rigged everything for the character, but still desperately not wanting to go through with it.

— Whiskey River, don’t run dry... — he began, eyes wide open, not expecting his voice to sound so melodic, so sexy, so feminine.

Inside, everything clenched. God, it was so humiliating. He was singing. He, for fuck’s sake, was singing in front of all these dusty, sweaty, stinking cowboys in a dress that barely hid anything and instead highlighted every curve.

At some point, he lost sight of Lia, but a moment later, he saw her standing beside him. That cowboy. If not for the label above his head, he’d never have guessed it was Lia.

— Call me Jack Hawkins, sweetheart, — she said huskily when Rick finished the song. — And what’s your name, darling?

He froze like a deer in headlights. The hall was clapping and whistling, but all of it faded into the background when that damn confident, dangerously magnetic cowboy with “Lia” floating over his head — stood close enough for Rick to smell the tobacco and leather.

Rick swallowed, throat dry.

— Rose... LaMar, — he whispered, feeling how wrong that name sounded. — But you already know that, Li—

— Jack, — she cut him off, stepping in and pulling Rose by the waist. — Don’t break character, baby. Or the moderator might show up, and our little show won’t end too pleasantly.

He nodded slowly, feeling the earrings swing from his ears. His legs trembled. Under the dress, everything was sweaty, stockings sticking to skin, and he felt the corset tighten on his back, not letting him breathe with his full breasts. Breasts. His female, goddamn, large breasts.

— Well then, Rose LaMar, — Lia-Jack drawled, stepping closer, — you sing like an angel, but you move... — she glanced down at his legs and smirked, — like a chick on ice. Come on, let me show you how it’s done.

— I’m not— — he tried to say, but Lia was already leading him in a dance.

First a side step, then a turn. The heels clicked, almost gave way, and Rick clung to Lia — clung to the man. To his shoulder. To his hips, as she pulled him in. And he realized: Lia was enjoying this. Every move. Every reaction.

— You’re surprisingly feminine, — she whispered, pressing in so close not a sliver of space remained between their bodies. — I thought you’d struggle... fitting in. But it looks like you’re enjoying being Rose.

— No... this isn’t me... — he whispered, feeling how his whole body moved in ways he didn’t want. How the dance made his hips sway, like they no longer obeyed him. How a heat started building low in his belly, making him cringe with shame.

And then, in the air, a line lit up — visible only to him, not Lia:

SURPRISE TASK ACTIVATED:

Find a way to seduce Jack Hawkins.

Reward: exit the simulation.

Penalty for failure: session extension.

He froze, and Lia, noticing how pale he’d gone, leaned close to his ear and whispered:

— Something wrong, Rose? Don’t worry, we’re just playing, silly. I’m sure nothing serious will happen here.