My interface chimed the second I entered Paradise Lost, South Miami's hottest transformation club.

"High-level forms detected. Challenge available: Successfully mimic three elite transformations."

Music pulsed as bodies shifted around me - feathers bursting into scales, fur melting into chrome. Rich kids spending daddy's money on premium ElfCorp templates. But I wasn't here for the show. I was hunting.

A woman at the bar caught my eye. White tiger form, perfectly executed. Had to be custom work - the market rate for that kind of seamless transformation would buy a house. My interface scanned her automatically: Level 82.

I grinned. Perfect.

Here's what the elite shifters don't know: every form leaves an energy signature. Watch closely enough, and you can copy it. No purchase necessary. It's not exactly legal, but neither is the debt the Law Lords are holding over my head.

I ordered a drink and settled in to observe. The tiger woman moved with liquid grace, each gesture precise. I memorized the patterns: the way her claws extended, how her tail balanced her weight, the exact arch of her spine.

My first attempt in the bathroom mirror was garbage. The fur grew in patches, the proportions all wrong. Second try gave me extra toes. But by the fifth attempt, I had it. Not perfect, but close enough to pass casual inspection.

One down. Two to go.

A commotion near the VIP section drew my attention. Some tech bro was showing off his new dragon form, all obsidian scales and cyan lighting. Probably remortgaged his soul to afford it. The bouncers were trying to stop him from breathing fire indoors.

I started recording the transformation sequence when my interface flashed red: "Warning: Unauthorized form acquisition detected. Security alerted."

Shit. Someone had upgraded their detection protocols.

I abandoned the drink and headed for the exit. Two bouncers in chrome-shift templates moved to intercept. Their interface tags identified them as Transit Authority contractors.

I triggered the tiger form. Not perfect, but good enough to leap clear over their heads. Claws scrabbled on the dance floor as I ran. Someone screamed. A security drone sparked to life near the ceiling.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The back door was locked. I shifted back to human and pulled up my interface, frantically searching my saved templates. The drone's targeting laser painted my chest.

Found it. My fingers flew through the activation sequence as the drone fired.

The stun blast passed through empty air as I shrank. The mouse form wasn't pretty - I'd copied it off a street shifter for emergencies - but it let me squeeze under the door just as the bouncers rounded the corner.

I scurried into the alley, heart pounding. The challenge notification updated:

"First form recorded. Progression: 33%"

A shadow fell over me. I looked up to see the tiger woman from the bar. Except she wasn't a tiger anymore. She wore a Transit Authority uniform.

"Clever," she said, crouching down. "But we've been watching you, Alex. Three clubs in two weeks. Very ambitious."

I ran, but she moved faster. Her hand closed around my tiny body.

"Here's the deal," she said. "The Authority needs form specialists. People who can spot forgeries, track illegal templates. Your talent for pattern recognition is impressive. Work for us, we clear your debt. Refuse..." She shrugged. "The Law Lords are very interested in unauthorized copying."

My interface pinged again.

"Alternative challenge detected: Choose between freedom and security."

I shifted back to human, forcing her to release me. "How much does it pay?"

"Enough to afford the real templates. Plus benefits. Full medical, dental..." She smiled. "Legal transformation license."

I thought about the debt crushing me. About spending my nights copying other people's paid-for powers. About the rush of getting a form just right, of mastering the patterns everyone else just bought.

"One condition," I said. "I can quit anytime."

She considered for a moment, then nodded. "Approved. Report Monday for processing. And Alex?" Her smile showed teeth. "Don't copy any more forms until then. We'll know."

I watched her walk away, then checked my interface. Both challenges had updated:

"Form mimicry challenge: Failed."

"Path challenge: Succeeded."

I laughed. The Game had a weird sense of humor. But maybe it was time to stop copying other people's paths and start building my own.

First, though, I had some templates to delete. Monday was coming fast, and I needed to look like a reformed shifter.

Most of them, anyway. That tiger form was just too good to waste.