Sitting in the quiet waiting room I can't help but fidget with the small piece of paper in my damp hands, my nerves causing me to sweat more than I would have liked. With my head hanging forwards I glance around the wide-open room, taking in the sights of the Swap Clinic in the early hours of the morning. It was empty for the most part, with only a few other people sitting in the uncomfortable sea foam green plastic chairs that lined the foyer. A small television hangs from the ceiling, the sound of the morning news being cut occasionally by the sound of ringing phones or quiet conversations between the receptionists and the other staff.
To the far end of the waiting area was a large white desk separating us from the consultation rooms to the rear of the building. Two young women, dressed in identical white professional attire, dart around behind the looming desk as they answer phone calls and collect paperwork for the morning consultations.
I nervously shuffle my boots against the cheap navy blue carpet, trying to vent thee anxious energy in any way I could. My eyes drift down to the paper in my hand, locking onto the heading for the hundredth time;
"Congratulations, You are our Grand Prize Winner"
It had been months ago, around the holiday season, that I had entered this contest. Each year the Swap Clinic ran a charity raffle, offering up specified traits as minor prizes and donating the proceeds to a variety of worthwhile charities. However, along with the fun and interesting grab bag of traits up for offer there was also the highly coveted 'Grand Prize'. The winner of the Grand Prize would receive the chance to have a "Full rebuild" as explained in the advertisements. In actuality it allowed for the winner to swap out one trait from each of a certain selection of trait categories, the same as those in the minor prizes, and was limited by what the Swap Clinic reasonably had available.
Most people didn't really mind the fine print, the allure of starting fresh overshadowing any of the restrictions that the 'Grand Prize' entailed.
I had entered the raffle like most people did, by buying a ticket from one of the hawkers out on the street collecting donations. I hadn't even thought about winning a minor prize, let alone the 'Grand Prize', but as the numbers were called out on Christmas Eve the implications of my ticket became all too real.
Unbeknownst to those around me I had won a complete rebuild of myself. While the Swap CLinic had announced there was a winner they had, quite rightly, not announced the winner's name for privacy reasons. They had called me a few days after the reveal however to congratulate me and to explain the terms of the offer more succinctly than the advertisements and hawkers had when the raffle tickets were for sale.
I had been unsure about what to do, not wanting to give up on the me I knew but also knowing this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. The number of swaps involved would easily cost more money than I could ever hope to save up, and the prize was non-transferable.
I agonized over the decision for weeks until the fateful day in January when I was told my contract at work was not being renewed due to heavy budget cuts. Jobless, rapidly burning through my savings, and struggling to find a new job in academia where I was I decided to take the plunge.
Last night I had been out late enjoying my going away party. To all my friends and family I was merely moving far away, trying my luck on the road and in faraway countries where I could hopefully "find myself and what I want to do with my life." Little did they know that I wasn't moving to a new country at all, but instead was becoming a new me.
As I stare at the ticket, thinking about all that had lead me here, I am snapped out of my stupor by the sound of someone calling my name.
"Mr. Hughes?! Mr. Hughes?!" a melodic voice chirps from the reception area, a young woman with her dark hair tied into a tight pony-tail standing behind the desk as she whips her head around in search for me.
Still a little nervous and embarrassed about being here I duck my head down as I stand, waving to the receptionist as I slouch and walk up to her.
"Oh wonderful" the young woman says in a telltale customer service tone. "Right this way sir, Dr. Jones is ready to see you now" she continues, ushering me down into one of the long hallways leading off behind the desk.
The young woman clutches a clipboard to her chest, a slight grin breaking through the trained expression she had been using with the other customers up until this point.
"Congratulations" she squeals excitedly, trying her best to keep her voice low. "On winning I mean, you are so lucky"
"Yeah" I mutter nervously, rubbing the back of my neck as I look away. "I...well I wasn't expecting to win. It's all a little...well it's a lot to take in" I explain as I walk slowly behind her, the receptionist's tight pencil skirt shorting her stride and leading us to move slowly down the hall.
"Oh of course...but...I mean it's exciting right? I mean I only won these last year" she asks before pointing to her cheeks, running her finger across a faint smattering of freckles.
"I...Yeah...It's nerve-wracking and...well..." I stammer, trailing off as the receptionist stops outside one of the many doors leading off from the hallway.
"Oh you'll love it, and if not...well there's always next year's raffle" she says with a short giggle before returning to a more professional tone as she opens the door. "Right in here Mr. Hughes, Dr. Jones is waiting inside."
I quietly thank the receptionist as I slip into the small office, my eyes darting over the many certificates lining the walls before falling onto the older woman sitting behind a large computer screen at the back of the room.
The woman appears to be in her late forties or early fifties, the crow's feet around her eyes and the slight amount of gray roots in her otherwise blonde hair giving off the telltale signs of graceful aging. A lab coat lays hanging on the back of the desk chair she is sitting on, leaving her in a tight form-fitting sweater. The pale yellow woolen sweater clings to her chest and contours the curves of her large yet perky chest that seems to stand in defiance of her advanced age.
"Please take a seat" Dr. Jone says in a kind matronly tone, gesturing with a slim hand to the far more comfortable-looking chair opposite her.
Nodding to her I slink deeper into the room, collapsing my slim 6'3" frame to the soft padded chair.
"So..." Dr. Jones mutters, typing away at the computer. "Congratulations on your win Mr. Hughes, I promise you you'll be very happy with your prize" she says almost absentmindedly as her deep blue eyes dart over her screen, the faint reflection of pages of dark text flashing past.
"Thanks...Um...So how does this work?" I ask, shuffling in my seat as I try to get comfortable.
"Oh well that's simple" Dr. Jones says before returning to silence. After a few moments she pauses her work, looking past the screen to me. "Oh sorry, you'd probably like me to explain it" she continues, obviously being easily engrossed in her work.
I nod to her and in return receive a warm smile from the older woman across from me. "Well we at the Swap Clinic have access to a lot of traits from all over the world thanks to our numerous locations. The winner of the 'Grand Prize' gets the chance to select from these traits when they make their new composite self" she explains, her eyes glancing back at the screen every few moments as she struggles to not do her work.
"However, there are some limitations" she says in a matter-of-fact tone, the sound of her typing slowly returning. "These aren't pre-planned swaps. We can only work with what we have inside a clinic right at this moment and which isn't already booked for a swap or has already been purchased. This can be fairly...limiting in terms of what you'll have to choose from, but in return you don't have to pay a single dollar for any of the service or for any of the traits" she continues, leaning back over to the screen.
I swallow hard at the thought of having to pick from limited options, unsure just how much of myself I wanted to give up. "How many..." I begin to ask, coughing as I clear my throat. "Sorry...How many options will I have to choose from? Can I keep some of...well me?" I ask, chewing at my bottom lip.
Dr. Jones doesn't respond for a moment, hammering away faster at the keyboard as she tries to catch up on the lost time created from having to explain how this all worked. She suddenly perks up as she registers the questions, leaning around the screen to look at me once again.
"Oh well you'll still have all your memories of yourself, we can't touch those" Dr. Jones chuckles. "But for everything else...well you'll have..."
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