The nausea of transferring takes a moment to fade. As you adjust to a new body, different weight, fitness level and everything else. You manage to keep your feet.
You take yourself in. The half-reflection in the glass in front of you is exactly what you were promised. Taking a deep breath, you admire his taste in clothes, and the confidence you project.
Sure you'll win the contract, get that promotion, and get rid of that parasite boss you have at the moment who claims all your victories as his own. A successfully mentored individual. You sneer at the thought, then catching your reflection, decide it doesn't suit.
Reaching to push the door open and exit the transfer pod.
- - - - -
The business terminal swirls away before you can step out. The nausea rises once more, as you see the world change before your eyes.
The bustling terminal vanished, you're looking into a private residence. Your thoughts still sluggish, and catching up with your new body. You really have to concentrate on not puking.
Only the very richest have their own transport pods. The room looks very Japanese, restrained, and yet somehow richly furnished.
You realise you've been Body Jacked, but the slow thoughts still don't process that as having any significance.
Steadying yourself, on the door, you see the owner step into view.
She plants herself on the sofa facing you. Finally, someone who can set this right, you think. But the owner's smile doesn't inspire confidence.
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Not wanting to make her work, and wanting to keep on her good side, you step out of the pod.
- - - - -
Well, that's your intention. But, it's more of a crashing fall. The transport dizziness still unbalancing you.
Struggling to get the room the right way up, it takes you a moment to get onto your seat, Form your chest. the veil of hair doesn't help either. But you eventually manage to lever yourself into a vaguely seated pose on her floor.
It's about then that the differences race to demand your attention.
The long hair... quickly loses significance, as you feel the pain from your feet. A glance down shows them in stiletto heeled boots. Glossy red, and reaching to your thighs, they're something you'd never have chosen.
The next thought is a struggle, but comes quickly too. "I'm a woman." you gasp. Your tone confirming it for your own ears.
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"Yes... Yes, you are." The owner agrees.
"I think I'll keep you." she adds.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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