[ WP ] In the future , technology exists to transfer one person 's conciousness to another body , giving identity theft a whole new meaning . Write about the identity black market .

Shunting. It was the single greatest advancement in medicine since the life clocks, porting an entire mind from one body to another. The clocks had been bad enough, an analyzer of mitochondrial dna for signs of breakdown, an accurate prediction of a person's lifespan, not accounting for other natural causes. The clocks had almost started the Second Fall of Man, their mere forty years of global warfare nothing compared to hundreds of years of bitter warfare while man learned to live with itself again. The shunts definitively began the Second Fall. The wealthy used both clocks and shunting to give themselves unnaturally long lives, selecting healthy'donors' from the populace with good genetics and'long clocks', moving between bodies to preserve their empires or revitalize themselves after destroying a donor host. 
 
 Soon, true moral decay set in, as it always does where power is concerned. Gender swapping. Role swapping. Identity theft. Kidnapping. Human trafficking. Murder. Crime syndicates blossomed as men pursued power through longevity, real empires. The social advances of the past hundred years slowly but steadily wiped out as humanity sank back into strife. The Mars and Venus colonies remained unaffected, but soon cut themselves off, declaring independence and going their own way. 
 
 Before long, the first animal shunt was performed, illegally, putting a human into a gorilla. Giving a human that kind of strength, or giving an animal that kind of cunning intelligence, it was a disaster before it began. Their test subject was a short timer, destined to be a soldier or body guard, but lacking in ambition or care had become one of the dregs, living on the streets, committing petty crime. He killed four people in his escape, and remains at large outside Prague, a genuine urban legend preying on travelers and the unwary. 
 
 Time went on. Things got worse. 
 
 Ian stepped out of the London fog and crossed the street, approaching the gates of Hyde Manor, a sprawling manse and grounds built upon the ruins of what was once Buckingham Palace, itself destroyed centuries ago during the Fall. 
 
 At the gates, a very small man minded the entrance, unassuming in trousers and coat, a small round cap that suited his stature keeping a mass of curls from escaping into the chill night air. A neural whip hung from his belt, a truly nasty weapon that lit the nervous system afire, without causing much physical harm. Ian was familiar with them, he had two inside his coat. Whips were the preferred weapons in the human trafficking circle, as they subdued a victim readily, but did n't damage the host: Resale value must be preserved. 
 
 Behind the diminutive man, a pair of chimera stood guard, the brawn to his brain. Genetically engineered animals, both were some form of primate, perhaps gorilla or baboon, crossed with what appears to be Bengal tiger. Chimera, animals with shunted human minds, were the preferred muscle for crime syndicates, many of whom held so much power as to operate openly. It was difficult to take them seriously, dressed in suits, but the heavy weaponry helped. 
 
 The small man challenged him as he approached. `` Wot're you about, hey?'' His accent was thick, for a Londoner, but authentic, nonetheless. Ian dug up a brogue from his childhood, guaranteed to set the little man's teeth on edge. 
 
 `` Oi, I'm jist down from th' highlands to see me da, and I saw yoor kittens, there. Can I pet one?'' He gestured at the chimera on the left, drawing a sneer from both and a snort from the gatekeeper. 
 
 `` Yer drunk and having the piss, are ya, hey? Move yer arse or ah'll whip you stupid and wear your meatsuit home for dinner!'' His hand dropped to the handle of his whip, the chimera both leaning forward in anticipation. Ian took a step forward, hand outstretched as if he genuinely intended to pet the five hundred pounds of fur covered death before him. He feigned a stumble as if drunk, and used his outstretched hand as a counterbalance as his other hand dipped inside his coat for his own whip. 
 
 Too late they caught his ruse, as he flailed about him with eight feet of woven nanofiber, coursing with harmonized energy. He lashed at the farthest chimera first, across the neck and dropping him like a sack of potatoes. Ian plowed into the little gatekeeper, trodding him underfoot and using him as a springboard to leap at the remaining chimera. Completing his motion, he rammed the handle of his whip into the chimera's sternum, squeezing the grip fiercely to surge the power output as it struck bone through suit and shirt. A blow to the neck with a neural whip short circuited most of the peripheral nervous system, even in a cat this size, the paralysis would last a few hours. A strike to the chest would induce spasms across the musculature in the chest, causing spastic breathing patterns leading to overoxygenation of the brain followed by unconsciousness. 
 
 `` Well, the was certainly more civilized than I'd anticipated,'' Ian said to no one in particular, dropping the brogue of his long lost homeland. He put a boot to the gatekeeper's rib cage, `` What's your name, thuglet? And who's inside tonight?'' Ian powered down his whip, and began to coil it around the man's head and neck. The stench as the man voided his bowels was offputting. 
 
 `` Ah'm not talking, hey? They'll kill me dead if'n I tell you anythin'!'' 
 
 `` Whereas I will merely turn this whip on, leave it here with you, and take yours as a fair trade while you flail about in the gutter, lying in your own shite.'' The little man began to hyperventilate. Ian fished in his pockets, coming up with a small bodycomp, a wearable computer connected to various accessories on the man's person, a flashbang, and four sticks of haze, a popular street drug. `` Who's in the house, gutter shite?'' Around his wrist, Ian found a holo, paired to the bodycomp. The display lit the air, showing a guest list to be permitted through the gates. Six names, none he recognized. 
 
 Popping the cap from one of the haze sticks, he stabbed the thin needle into the man's thigh, the autoinjector delivering the dose immediately. A thin keening sound was the only reply, as the haze grabbed the man's nervous system and took him for a ride. From the chimera he took a heavy rifle, a large bore piece of demonry sporting a ten round magazine of ridiculously high power.50 calibre rounds and a bank of small gyrostabilizers under the barrel. A weapon like this was primarily to intimidate, but was not intended for a fire fight of any length. It did n't have to be. Personal body armor would not stand up to a slug of this size. Most vehicle armor would n't either. Ian remembered a time when using something like this on people was a war crime. Today, it was business as usual. At the very least, he could use it for picking locks. He primed the charging lever, checking the chamber, and cleared the safety. The gyros, combined with a laser sight, allowed the shooter to almost lock the weapon in place, a button under the thumb spinning the gyros faster to inhibit lateral and vertical motion. 
 
 Eyeing the gate, he looked for a control pad, finding an e-reader panel recessed in the brick. Flat, no buttons, it was likely keyed to something on the midget. Probably a subdermal in his hands. The wrist holo had been on his left wrist, so he's probably right handed. Ian dragged the moaning man by his collar, roughly flailing him at the wall a few times until his hand brushed the panel, the proximity enough for the RF trigger to activate. He left the shit-stained dwarf in his stench as the gates opened. 
 
 A line of hovercars filled the driveway, sleek and as expensive as they looked. A valet looked up from his wrist holo as he heard Ian approach, starting to offer service but choking off as Ian brought the rifle up in one hand, and held a finger to his lips with the other. The gyros in the rifle automatically began to spin up, a muted, ominous hum. The valet swallowed and nodded, eyes round with fear. Ian pointed at the gates and jerked his head. The valet needed no further encouragement and edged around Ian to depart. 
 
 ``... sir? Hey, mind the dogs!'' the valet whispered, before bolting to the street. Ian smirked at the unexpected display of decency, from a man just doing a job.'Dogs' meant more chimera. Ian hooked the pin of the flashbang into his belt, allowing for a quick, one handed deployment, and proceeded up the steps into the house. 
 
 Edit: better disassociation with the other story line that this extends. Fixed some language that struck me as wonky after another read through. 
 edit: language and clarity.
