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"Maybe… Maybe I should just go back and…" Malcolm hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the entrance to the body swap center he had walked into an hour ago, purely out of curiosity.
These centers had popped up like mushrooms after the rain, suddenly opening all over the country and becoming incredibly popular in no time. Being a rather modest and conservative young man, Malcolm had always looked at these places with caution. Besides, there were already strange rumors about certain rare cases that had ended badly. However, for the most part, people seemed to enjoy the body-swapping experience—something that had seemed impossible just yesterday had, in an instant, changed the entire world.
"Rental… Well, at least I’ll make some money," Mike exhaled with a sigh, staring down at his new female breasts. They weren’t particularly large, like most Asian women’s, but for him, they were entirely unfamiliar and impossible to ignore. But more than anything, what really bothered him was the ass—the one currently squeezed by the thong buried between his new body's cheeks.
Mike jerked at the fabric of the skirt, as if hoping that would somehow ease the pressure of the thin straps cutting into his hips and… far more intimate places. But nothing changed. The body was too petite, too fragile, too… unfamiliar.
— Fuck, — he exhaled, feeling the way his voice trembled. So soft. So high.
At the swap center, they had assured him that the procedure was temporary, painless, and most importantly—completely safe. He had rented out his body, hoping to earn some credits and make a little extra cash, and in exchange, he got this. Small, feminine, utterly foreign.
— Well, twenty-four hours isn’t that long, — he muttered, trying to keep himself together.
But with every passing second, "not that long" was starting to feel like a damn lie. Especially now, as he walked down the street in a tight white skirt that hugged his new wide hips, swaying with every step.
When he entered the subway, he felt the stares. It was terrifying. The way the men looked at him—like they were about to devour him. And the women… He just wanted to sink into the ground. Mike awkwardly stood by the train door, holding his phone in thin fingers with neatly filed nails, trying his best not to look around. The screen flickered with route indicators.
— Wait… what? — he whispered, frowning.
The letters on the screen suddenly lost all meaning. Well, not entirely—they were still familiar, but they scrambled into some kind of gibberish. Just a few hours ago, he had read English perfectly fine. But now, his mind was a mess.
He lifted his gaze to the signs inside the subway car. The same letters. English. But understanding them was slipping away, like someone had erased part of his brain.
His heartbeat sped up.
— No, this is bullshit. I’m just nervous… just… — he tried to convince himself, but his new body's tongue didn’t seem eager to cooperate.
What was her name again? Kim? Li? Or maybe… Shit. He didn’t even know the name of this body.
By the time he reached the apartment, it was already late. The neighborhood looked… rough. Narrow streets, peeling walls, boarded-up windows here and there, neon signs flickering in sync with a dying streetlight. Mike struggled to find the keys in the tiny black purse dangling from his shoulder, and after a shaky swallow, he jammed them into the lock.
The door creaked open, and the smell hit him immediately. Cigarette smoke, something sour, and an acrid, nasty stench that made him breathe through his mouth. He stepped inside and flicked the light switch—a dim bulb flickered to life, revealing the filth of this place.
Clothes were scattered across the floor. Wrappers. Empty bottles. In the corner, on a small, wobbly table, an ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, next to a plastic container with dried-up remnants of instant noodles. On the couch lay a pair of panties that no one seemed to miss, and through the doorway, a bed with crumpled sheets came into view.
Mike froze, not believing his eyes.
— Fuck… — he whispered.
His chest tightened. This wasn’t just someone else’s life—this was rock bottom. His pulse pounded in his temples. What the hell was he supposed to do now? How the hell did he even end up here? He just wanted some easy money!
He walked deeper into the apartment, carefully stepping around the trash, and glanced at the mirror by the door. Staring back at him was a young Asian woman with delicate features, long black hair, and anxious eyes. She was still wearing that damn outfit—a tight black top and an absurdly narrow white skirt that highlighted her—no, his—swaying hips.
A sudden, loud knock on the door.
— Open up, Lin! — a woman’s voice rang out, rough, slightly slurred from alcohol...