(Let's say the inventor of body swap technology was actually a different young man, halfway across the country. We zoom in on him.)
Eli Vance was not what anyone would call popular. String bean legs. Scrawny chest. A face that hadn’t figured out how to grow facial hair correctly. Seventeen years old and stuck halfway between "boy genius" and "guy who still used mouthwash as cologne."
His bedroom looked like someone had tried to 3D print a spaceship and given up halfway. Wires dangled from the ceiling fan. LED strips blinked for no reason. In the corner, his pet turtle Judd glared at a Tesla coil like it owed him money.
But the crown jewel of the chaos was the “MindSync Resonance Field Generator™” — a glorified helmet attached to a hacked Xbox Kinect, two microwaves, and something Eli swore was not a repurposed sex toy. (It was.)
“I’m telling you, Judd,” Eli said, pacing in pajama pants and a hoodie with holes in the armpits, “if this works? Nobel Prize. Forbes 30 under 30. MIT sucking my—”
A sudden bzzt-crack! cut him off. The device hummed. The metal collar he'd clipped around his neck lit up with a suspicious glow.
Eli blinked. “That’s… new.”
Nothing to worry about, probably. He turned toward his whiteboard, still covered in half-legible math about consciousness frequencies and theoretical identity transfer. Then he did what any responsible high school inventor would do: sat on his bed, hit record on his webcam, and turned the dial up to eleven.
Absent-mindedly, dreaming about all the people at school who would finally give him a second glance after this worked - including one *particular* girl he'd had his eyes on - he absentmindedly read out, “Testing Resonance Field Generator, version three-point—"
FLASH.
Eli didn’t even have time to say “Oh shit” before the world white-outed.
He gasped, stumbled forward—and immediately tripped over his own two feet. But not the feet he was used to.
“What the hell—?”
His voice was strangely higher. Softer. He looked down.
“OH fuck me—”
Gone was the pale, flat, scrawny torso he knew. In its place: a pair of massive tits, full and perfect, straining against a tight lavender crop top he had definitely never owned. He reached up, hands trembling, and grabbed them. Just to check. Y’know, for science.
Soft. Real. Heavy. Jiggly.
He jiggled them again. Science had to be repeatable.
“Okay,” he whispered, breath catching. “This is a data point.”
His stomach was flat. His waist curved in. Hips flared out. Long, tanned legs that didn’t match his usual gamer tan, and an ass so fat he could feel it jiggle when he wobbled upright. He shuffled toward the mirror.
Staring back at him?
Sabrina Cross. Eli’s longtime, lowkey obsession. She was the senior girl who walked like she owned the hallway, laughed like she didn’t care about anything, and wore skirts shorter than Eli’s attention span. And now? She was him. Or, well. He was her.
Sabrina’s reflection stared back, confused. Hair a glossy black waterfall down her shoulders. Thick lashes. Full lips. Little heart-shaped birthmark on the hip—yeah, Eli noticed everything about her, and now he was all of it. He turned in the mirror, gave himself a tentative smack on the ass. Bap!
“Dude,” he whispered, awed. “I have a fat ass.”
From the hallway, his mom knocked. “Eli? Everything okay in there?”
Eli froze. Looked down. Looked back at the mirror. His tits bounced when he breathed.
“…Yeah,” he called out in Sabrina’s breathy mezzo. “Just, uh… puberty?”
The silence that followed was not encouraging.
“Okay,” his mom said finally, walking off. She definitely thought he had a girl over. He'd figure out how to explain that away later. Eli turned back to his reflection.
“This is a scientific emergency,” he said, trying not to sound excited. “I need to get data. I need to test the reversibility, document neurological continuity, measure hormone levels…”
He paused.
“…And maybe, like, touch myself a little. For the report. Obviously.”
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