In a world where technology can completely transform a person’s body but leave their face untouched, unfolds the story of 23-year-old Mike O’Connor. Persuaded by his girlfriend and lured by the promise of easy money, he agrees to take part in an extraordinary experiment. The conditions seemed simple: temporarily take on a new role, crafted using advanced technology. But he never imagined the result would place him in the body of a 33-year-old woman named Apolonia Kowalska, complete with a meticulously designed biography and a scripted life plan.
Now he is Apolonia—a modest, kind-hearted cleaner from Poland, a married housewife accustomed to caring for others. This is the complete opposite of Mike’s assertive and independent nature. His new life revolves around household chores, cleaning work, and the role of a devoted wife, all dictated by strict instructions that he must follow without deviation. Breaking the rules or straying from the scenario carries severe consequences, including a hefty penalty as compensation for breaching the transformation contract.
Will he be able to hold onto his sense of self while following these rigid instructions, or will his personality begin to conform to the role imposed upon him? Or perhaps, the physical transformation and psychological pressure will change him forever?
At the heart of the experiment lies a profound question: how deeply is our identity tied to our physical form? What happens when that connection is severed? How far is a person willing to go for money—or perhaps, in search of their true self?
“Town” is a provocative exploration of the boundaries of human identity, gender roles, and the lengths one will go to survive and retain their freedom.
Author’s Note:
The story is a work in progress, and I will strive to publish new parts every day. I hope you enjoy diving into this narrative as much as I enjoy creating it. Your comments and favorites inspire me to keep going. Happy reading! 😊
If you like my art, sketches, stories, transformations you can find more like this on my Patreon page or in DeviatArt Premium Early Access folder for subscribers here. Every bit of support is truly appreciated, but just having you here means the most to me - without you, none of this would have been possible. Thank you very much!
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– Is this some kind of joke? – I asked irritably, pressing my hands against unnaturally smooth, strangely silky skin. My nails were long and unnatural, like they didn’t belong to me. But the thing that annoyed me most was the chest—those damn boobs felt alien, swaying with every move. The bra dug uncomfortably into my shoulders, pressing so tightly it felt like my chest was trapped in a small cage.
The curator standing in front of me merely shrugged, hiding a smirk. That bastard was stretching every word on purpose, savoring my discomfort.
– No, Mr.… or rather, Mrs. Kowalski, this is not a joke. This is your reality now. Welcome to The Town.
He casually slapped a hand on the tablet and showed me my new "profile": Apolonia Kowalska, 33 years old, janitor at the local school. Married to Marek Kowalski, a construction foreman.
– What the hell do you mean, Apolonia? What the hell? Who the fuck is that? And I’m 23, for fuck’s sake! – I shouted, but the voice that came out wasn’t mine—a high, melodic voice that sounded like I’d just recorded a pop hit for the Top 10 charts.
– Not anymore, – the curator said, standing up and giving me a condescending look as he slipped the tablet back into his folder. – And by the way, we’re no longer "acquainted." Stick to the script. Your husband will be here soon. He’s already been briefed and will be home shortly. You should review the documents with your instructions, and as a piece of advice, Mrs. Kowalski—get started on dinner. Marek’s had a long day, he’s hungry, and there’s a list in the kitchen of things that need to be done, – he added with a barely concealed grin, rolling up his sleeves.
I stood there, stunned, feeling my hair tickling my neck in an unfamiliar way, and my chest—damn it, so annoyingly present with every breath—heavily swaying beneath the fabric of the bra. Cook? For some guy I didn’t even know?! I came here to earn money, not to become… a wife! Anger boiled inside me, but all that came out was a high-pitched sound better suited to a spoiled pop star than me, Mike O’Connor.
– Are you kidding me? – I gritted my teeth, trying to make my voice firm, but it came out more like a sarcastic yelp. – I’m not… cooking! This is ridiculous. This body… this… – I gestured sharply toward my chest, instantly regretting it as the motion caused a slight vibration in the bra. – …this is all a mistake! Where’s Steph? She’s supposed to be here!
– Steph? – the curator repeated lazily, raising an eyebrow as if the name couldn’t interest him less. – My assignment is to speak only with you, Mrs. Kowalski, and frankly, I have no idea where your… Steph is. Information about other participants is off-limits to you. And honestly, you don’t need it.
He started toward the door, lazily swinging his tablet in his hand, as if deciding whether to say more or leave me to stew in my own frustration.
– Oh, and one more thing, – he added sarcastically, stopping in the doorway as I struggled to process everything, – there are cameras everywhere here. We need to monitor how well you… adapt. So don’t even think about "escaping" or pretending. Being yourself means being who you are now. Pretending to be Mike… well, that would be a violation of the rules. If you decide to quit the experiment early, I’ll remind you that there’s a penalty fee for the transformation.
– A penalty?! – My voice broke into another sharp squeal, more like the scream of an irritated pop diva than anything threatening. I swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising panic. – How much?!
The curator paused, still standing in the doorway, and turned his head slightly to give me one last lazy, slightly contemptuous look.
– One million two hundred thousand dollars, Mrs. Kowalski. That’s the amount you’ll owe for prematurely terminating the experiment. It’s all outlined in your contract, – he said with a slight shrug, as if we were discussing a minor inconvenience rather than a number that paralyzed me.
– One… million… – I whispered, feeling my knees trembling treacherously.
– And two hundred thousand, – he added with a smirk, giving a final wink. – But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Good luck, Apolonia.
With that, he left, slamming the door behind him, leaving me alone in a foreign body, with a foreign name, in an entirely foreign reality.
I stood staring at the door as if it could answer me. Inside, everything was boiling. Disjointed thoughts spun in my head—about this damn experiment, about Stephanie, who had vanished from my life, and about the fucking $1.2 million debt looming over me if I decided to quit this… I didn’t even know what to call this shit!
– Goddammit! – I cursed aloud, but again heard that strange, feminine voice. It sounded so fake and affected that it made me sick. I grabbed my head, feeling long hair brushing against my fingers and nails scratching my skin.
– This isn’t me… this isn’t me… – I kept repeating, but everything around me, all these sensations, left me no choice.
Something clicked softly in the corner of the kitchen, and I suddenly remembered the cameras. They were watching. Those bastards were watching my every move. I looked around: a cozy, meticulously decorated feminine apartment that was now mine. On the table lay a list of tasks—apparently the infamous "instructions" for my new role.
Stephanie, you damn idiot, what have you dragged me into?!