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"Calm… calm down! This is… an illusion. Optical. A hallucination. I’m standing in the center of the portal, I have a helmet, armor, everything’s fine… it’s just something wrong with perception. Fuck, this just can’t be happening like this…"
He held his hands out in front of him. Narrow wrists, thin fingers — and no gloves, no reinforced joints. Smooth, tanned skin. His palms were trembling.
— This is a dream. Must be dream. Or sim. Or… fuck… brain go bad from chrono-ra… ra… — he rattled off quickly, stumbling at the end because the words suddenly began to stick in his mouth, his tongue heavy and uncooperative, refusing complex speech.
He swallowed, slowly exhaled, and forced himself to look around.
— Calm… calm, Renaud… — he breathed more quietly now, trying to keep his breathing steady. — Need to assess the situation…
But the moment he turned his torso, his breasts shifted heavily again, as if reminding him of themselves with every gram. Their movement distracted him more than the humid jungle air. Jules lowered his gaze and, with trembling fingers, touched himself — carefully, as if afraid of being burned.
They were voluminous, soft, firm, and excessively real. The softness yielded under his fingers, and a wave of strange sensation ran through his body, making him flinch.
— Calm… — he whispered, even though his voice still shook and his thoughts tangled, despite years of professional experience. — Need to… uh… control… breathing…
He straightened up, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing himself to pull his hands away from his skin. His fingers were shaking, and he lowered them down to his waist, then immediately slid them lower, feeling how narrow his waist was and how smooth the skin felt — however, this was another mistake. His hips were wider than he was used to, as if someone had pumped them up from the inside with a jack and fixed them in place with something rigid. He jerked his hand back sharply, inhaling in short, spasmodic bursts.
— Doux… Seigneur…
His tongue felt like it wouldn’t obey. The sounds of his familiar, native language felt somehow wrong.
He shook his head and stepped forward, clenching his fists — his breasts swung again, painfully pulling at the muscles between his ribs. He grimaced.
"Need to… get used to it… at least a little…" he thought, hearing a rustle behind him.
Jules tensed, freezing as he stared into the trees.
"People? Or animals?" the thought pierced him so sharply that he almost heard an internal click.