As I lay back on my head I can feel the cold sweat run down my neck. My vision is partially blocked from the rays of the early rising sun by the visor of my VR headset, the NeuroNet. I had gotten this thing ages ago, and for all intents and purposes it was old tech, but it still served its purpose.
This specific brand of virtual reality had been around for ages. Rather than monitoring the user's motions and displaying things on a screen, it interfaced directly with the user's brain. It utilized a proprietary technology to hijack the user's brain, blocking it from moving the body and converting it into a model in virtual space. However, due to this interfacing and recreation, there had been problems with older models where it was discovered that the user's mind as a whole could be carved out and uploaded to other places. This left the empty vessel to slowly die unless another mind was placed into the mindless shell.
Protections had been put in place to stop this, and the process typically burnt out the units and harshly reduced their functionality, but that didn't stop those who really wanted to from finding ways to organize such a procedure.
With a sigh I begin to boot up the system, remembering what had set me on this path. Several months ago I had been laid off from my college teaching job due to severe budget cuts. Rather than look for any sort of work I decided to stick to my academic field, and sadly had yet to find anything. Rapidly burning through my savings I started racking up credit card debt until it all became too much.
In my search for how to fix my situation I found a group called the Swap Agency, a VR group that claimed they could solve all of one's debts. On the verge of eviction, no job prospects, and with debt growing ever more concerning I contacted them and set up a meeting.
It took place in Virtual Reality, untraceable and discrete. The room had looked like a small office, a well-dressed gentleman going by the name "Mark" had listened intently to my story. At the end of our meeting he told me that they could fix my problem for only one small cost, my body and life. He explained that they would offer the chance to be me, and all that entailed, to those who could find the service. They would pay enough to cover my debts and the Agency's fees, and in return they would get to keep my body and life from here on out. While I was disgusted and freaked out at the thought of someone else becoming me I couldn't shake the thought that it was my only option. Reluctantly I accepted his offer and allowed the Swap Agency to create their advert for "Me".
I had spent the past month living frugally, a reminder of why I needed this. Whenever I waived on if I made the right choice another bill would arrive and remind me why I had signed up for this in the first place.
"How much worse could a new life be?" I'd mutter to myself each night before bed, the dread of another overdue bill keeping me up at night.
Today however was the end of that month, the time of my second and most likely final appointment with the Swap Agency. As I lay back on my kingsized bed with the headset on my head I feel the sensations of pins and needles in my scalp as the NeruoNet begins to interface with my brain. My breath grows heavy and labored, the fear of what I was about to do growing in me as I slowly lose more and more sensation in my body.
Finally, there is a flash of bright light before I suddenly find myself in the same small office from my first interview.
The room is perfectly compact, fitting two chairs and a desk in an otherwise useless simulacrum of a normal office. The room is painted entirely white, the lighting making it difficult to see the corners of the enclosed walls. The client chair I am sitting in is a basic wooden chair, while the seat behind the large black desk appears far larger and with much more luxurious leather padding.
Before I can think about the room much longer Mark appears through a darkened doorway directly behind his chairs. With a warm smile on his face he walks through the chair, not having enough space to walk around it, before sitting in the executive seat.
"Well Mr. Hughes welcome back, I take it your month went well?" he asks, pulling out drawer after drawer in the desk as he searches for something.
"I...yeah...I mean no it was...kinda rough" I mutter nervously, looking up at the weaselly-looking man with slicked-back hair.
"Well, it's all going to be better soon. We had a great week here, I mean a Great week thanks to your advert. The teams have been busy going through offers and finding the cream of the crop so to speak. I promise you'll be happy with these which ever you chose" he prattle on, his voice sounding more and more like a salesman each and every second.
"Choose?" I ask, cocking my head to the side.
"Well of course, we want you to be happy with the body you get in the end" Mark replies, clasping his hands together as he tries to sound compassionate. "We've had a large number of offers for your body, each giving more than enough to pay down the debts and cover our small fee, and while we've cut the wheat from the chaff the final decision will be yours"
We sit in silence for a moment after Mark's statement, the implication slowly sinking to my head. Everything feels kind of fuzzy as I process things, like my mind was butter spread over too much bread. However, suddenly I'm met with clarity again in a matter of moments.
"How...how many do I get to choose from?" I ask anxiously, worrying about this whole endeavor.
"Oh well that's simple Mr. Hughes" Mark chirps merrily. "You'll get to pick from...
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