Elisabeth Sparkle had spent decades in front of the camera, her name once synonymous with glamour and youthful perfection. But time, ruthless and unrelenting, had made her an outsider in the industry she once dominated. On her fiftieth birthday, she found herself dismissed from the very television show that had kept her relevant—a daytime aerobics program that thrived on her charm and energy. Harvey, the show’s producer, offered her little sympathy. Her age had made her expendable.
Humiliated and devastated, Elisabeth drove aimlessly through the streets of Los Angeles, her thoughts clouded with anger and grief. Then, through her windshield, she saw it: a massive billboard of herself being stripped down, a younger, fresher face already replacing hers. The image of her past glory crumbling before her eyes was too much. The tears blurred her vision, the honking of distant traffic drowned in the roar of her thoughts, and before she could react, her car swerved off course, smashing into a streetlight.
The hospital was sterile and impersonal, a reflection of how she felt inside. A nurse tended to her minor injuries, her voice filled with practiced detachment. But as Elisabeth lay in bed, contemplating the abyss that stretched before her, another nurse approached her in secret. Without a word, the young woman slipped a small flash drive into Elisabeth’s hand. On it, a name: The Substance. Below it, a promise: “Become your best self. A better self. A new self.”
Curiosity turned into obsession. Alone in her dimly lit apartment, Elisabeth researched The Substance. The concept was simple yet terrifying. A serum that could craft a younger, stronger version of oneself—an entirely separate entity that would split from the original body. The two selves would alternate every seven days, the dormant form remaining in a state of deep unconsciousness, kept alive by intravenous nutrition. The only requirement: stabilizer fluid, extracted daily from the original body. A small price for immortality.
Desperation drowned out hesitation. With trembling hands, she ordered The Substance. The package arrived in discreet, clinical packaging. A single-use activator serum, sterile and unmarked. As soon as the needle pierced her skin, pain overtook her. A searing, inhuman agony. Her body convulsed as something tore through her from the inside. A slit formed down her back, stretching open like a second birth canal, and from it, she emerged.
The woman standing before Elisabeth was her—only different. Younger, taller, vibrant with a radiance Elisabeth had long forgotten. The new self named herself Sue, and Elisabeth could only watch as she tested her limbs, blinking in fascination at the body she now possessed.
Sue wasted no time. The same industry that discarded Elisabeth embraced Sue with open arms. Within days, she had taken over the role Elisabeth had lost. Her audition to replace Elisabeth on the aerobics show wasn’t just successful—it was a sensation. Harvey, who had once deemed Elisabeth too old, now found himself captivated by Sue’s effortless confidence. Offers poured in, and soon, Sue wasn’t just the face of the show; she was hosting the network’s most prestigious New Year’s Eve special.
Elisabeth, meanwhile, faded into the background of her own existence. In the weeks that followed, she watched in growing horror as Sue disregarded the switching schedule, stretching the limits of her time in control. A party here, a lover there—Sue indulged in every excess, every pleasure Elisabeth had once denied herself. To extend her reign, she extracted more stabilizer fluid than permitted. The result was catastrophic. When Elisabeth finally regained control, she discovered the damage Sue had inflicted—her right index finger had withered, aged decades in an instant.
Panic set in. The supplier’s warning was clear: disobeying the schedule would accelerate irreversible aging. The more Sue stayed in control, the closer Elisabeth inched toward oblivion. The line between them, once blurred, had sharpened into deep resentment. Sue viewed Elisabeth as a relic, dragging her down. Elisabeth, in turn, saw Sue as a parasite, feeding off what little remained of her life.
The balance of power collapsed when Sue stockpiled stabilizer fluid, refusing to switch back. For three months, Elisabeth remained trapped in unconscious limbo, her body decaying with each passing day. The morning before the New Year’s Eve broadcast, Sue’s supply ran dry. Forced to switch, she found herself once again inhabiting Elisabeth’s form—but what remained was barely human.
Elisabeth awoke to a nightmare. Her body, once fragile but familiar, had become a twisted husk of itself. Her back hunched, her skin sagging like melted wax. She was no longer a woman—she was a ghost clinging to a shell. Rage consumed her. If she was to perish, she would not go alone.
She ordered a termination serum, a lethal antidote designed to erase Sue permanently. But the moment of truth arrived, and hesitation seized her. The adoration, the fame—Sue had it all. Could Elisabeth truly let that die? She withdrew the needle just in time to resuscitate Sue, leaving them both conscious.
Sue, however, understood what had almost happened. Her hands tightened around Elisabeth’s throat. The struggle was brief. A single crack of bone, and Elisabeth collapsed, lifeless.
But Sue’s triumph was short-lived. Without Elisabeth, the stabilizer fluid ceased to exist. Her skin paled, her body withered. In desperation, she reached for the activator serum, despite its single-use warning. She injected it, praying for renewal. What she created instead was monstrous.
The thing that emerged from Sue’s ruined flesh was neither Elisabeth nor Sue, but an amalgamation of both. A grotesque, mutated being—Elisasue—a fusion of their features, grotesquely exaggerated. Patches of Sue’s beauty remained, but they were warped by Elisabeth’s decay. In horror, Elisasue clawed at its own face, its warped consciousness struggling to make sense of what it had become.
Clinging to its last shred of identity, Elisasue carved a mask from a poster of Elisabeth’s face and staggered to the New Year’s Eve stage. The lights flared. The cameras rolled. For a brief moment, the audience watched in mesmerized silence. Then, the illusion shattered.
Gasps turned to screams. An audience member lunged forward, slicing off Elisasue’s head—only for another grotesque head to grow in its place. Limbs cracked, blood sprayed. Panic erupted as Elisasue’s body ruptured, drenching the stage in viscera.
Elisasue fled, but there was no escaping what she had become. She collapsed outside the studio, her form distorting, bubbling with uncontainable energy. Then, she exploded, her remains splattering across the pavement in a final, grotesque display.
From the carnage, something moved. A single piece of flesh, still clinging to an identity long lost. Elisabeth’s face, frozen in a grim smile, detached from the wreckage. Slowly, it crawled onto the Hollywood Walk of Fame, settling on the neglected star that bore her name. In its final moments, it hallucinated admiration, basking in the illusion of worship one last time. Then, it melted into nothing, erased by the passage of time.
By morning, only a puddle of blood remained, washed away by a cleaning crew.
