Breathing deeply from the tube crammed down my throat, my vision blurred as I stare through the thick green ooze encasing me, I try to keep calm. It had been hours since I had climbed into the tank, stripping myself down completely before diving into thick and oddly electrifying goo, and with each passing minute the fear of being forgotten grows and grows.
As I try to move and shift in the heavy goop I find my arms and legs barely responding. The subtle tingling from the electrified substance surrounding me seems to deaden my muscles and dull my senses, causing the faint warmth spreading through the tank to lull my limbs into a practically limp state.
The faint beeping of a heart rate monitor barely manages to reach me inside the tank, the heavily muffled noise increasing in tempo as I cast my mind back to how I had ended up inside the terrifying tank. It had sadly only taken a single ad to get me on this path, one little email to capture my thoughts for the preceding weeks.
Sick of the dating game?
Want to simply settle down with the person of your dreams?
Book an appointment at the Swap Clinic today
Ask for our new program
Build-a-Mom
When new of the 'Build-a-Mom' service offered by the Underground Swap Clinic reached the ears of the official proprietors all hell broke loose. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, as the teams inside the business tried to decipher just what was being offered.
Logs were monitored, receipts checked and double checked, and spies sent to observe the process in the hopes of working out just what was worth so much to these hidden prospective customers. However, after all that effort little to no progress was made.
Logs were fine, well within the acceptable margins.
What receipts they could find in there system didn't point to any odd activity.
And those spies they sent were either rebuffed or simply never returned from their little escapades.
Stuck with just the name of this ghostly service the creative and marketing team was left to simply come up with a new service based off the scant information they had. Yet again, time slowly past as the teams scratched their heads and tried to make hide-or-hair of what they had available.
At first they had considered it being some sort of service to make people into older women, to find create adoptive parents out of willing subjects. However, despite how close this first attempt was to the truth it was quickly shot down as absurd. Why would so many people so eagerly seek to suddenly become a mother? Some older or mature woman?
Soon, a new idea began to form, one closer to the product the Swap Clinic would eventually offer. What if, rather than making a mother immediately, they were making people who would one day become a mother? The misnomer of the service aside, this idea was rapidly expanded on as the teams all agreed they could see how it could come about.
Before long the pitch was ready, months of frustrating research and meetings coming to bare fruit.
With the way dating, in particular online dating, was these days many people struggled to find their supposed soulmate. From looks to personality it was hard to find their perfect person, future husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, from within the sea of swiping faces.
What if one could become the perfect partner for someone else, a perfect pair that were simply made for one another.
Build-a-Mom: Made for Each Other
This was how I had been introduced to the service, with an email being served up to me after signing up to yet another dating site. Despite not being unattractive by any means, I had always seemed to have trouble with dating.
From beauty standards, to my nerdy interests, and sadly my recent lack of employment what rare few matches I made simple never lasted all too long.
With the analytics catching this trouble I had been sent an email promising my romantic salvation, all at the cost of the me I knew and loved. For months I had left the email sitting in my inbox, scoffing whenever I caught the title while checking for anything new.
However, as the weeks wore on I soon found my thoughts lingering on the ad. What if a soul-mate was just a trip to the Swap Clinic away? Each day I spent without at least checking would become a day without the love of my life.
It was like a poison, slowly infecting more and more of my mind as time went on. Soon I found myself on the Swap Clinic website, hovering my mouse over booking an appointment each day before chickening out. It was a drastic measure, to place myself in the hands of another in order to simply have a chance at love.
Yet, the opposite thought was as alluring as the former was repulsive. If they process worked then would I even care? Would I mind being made to be a perfect fit with a perfect partner?
Before long I caved, booking the appointment that had led me to my current state.
It had all been rushed, the appointment being little more than signing papers before I was herded into the tank room. In the dim light I had been asked to strip down, the icy air that surrounded me at the time only making the thick warm ooze all that more inviting.
However, once I had been hooked up to the breathing mask and the watery eyes from having my throat invaded by the thick plastic tubing, I had found myself trapped in the deep tank with little ability to communicate let alone escape.
"This way" calls a soothing voice from beyond the room, my eyes darting around in a panic as I try to see who is speaking. From the slightly open door I watch as a tall dark-haired woman struts in atop a pair of shiny black heels, the clean tiled floor clicking loudly with each of her mincing strides.
I squint, struggling to make out the woman through the pale green goo around me. Her blouse is white, I think, with a slight ruffled texture running up along with the buttons. A tan pencil skirt encases her slender legs, the light brown material blending in with her clipboard rather well.
She adjusts her small black spectacles, looking down at the board before looking back to the doorway.
"This one has a good base" she explains, her sultry and smooth tone barely carrying through to me inside my warm prison. "Educated, submissive, some good life skills you appreciate. You do want them to be able able to cook correct?"
I watch as a shadow creeps into the room, the thick dark lines spreading from the bright light beyond the door as my future partner slips into the room. I swallow hard, gagging and squirming weakly as my eyes lock to figure as they approach the tank.
My eyes go wide along with theirs, my pathetic squirming growing more pronounced as I set my gaze on...
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