Suddenly, the word goes dark as my senses are ripped from me. In that moment it feels as though I'm moving through a tumble drier as the heat and the twisting sensations bombard me from all angles.
There is no break in continuity however, no floating in a void or darkness. Being trapped in the slightly expanded cognitive buffer is like not living at all, a brief second of non-existence before I'm brought crashing back down into a very different living breathing form as the original mind is plunged into the USB, crammed disorientingly inside for me to fetch later.
Inhaling sharply my head throbs, shocks and pulses of pain reverberating inside my skull. Searing bursts of static run like rivers through my stolen gray matter, the dense information being rapidly dispersed within requiring more and more connections to form around the more ingrained remnants left behind by the process.
Sweat clings to my skin, my whole body overheating as I find myself panting for air. The warmth from the walls doesn't help the matter, but the cause seems to b the heavy layers of clothing piled atop me. The heady scent of body odor blends with spray-on deodorant, the harsh chemicals leaving me wanting to vomit as it pairs with the disorientation bombarding me.
As the machine winds down the world comes into a blurred view as my eyes flutter up, a thick wavy mass of unwashed brown hair largely blocking my vision as it rests in a tangled mess. I can see something extending from my face, my new and rather prominent nose demanding my attention in the corner of each eye.
With a loud gasp I lurch up in my seat, a sweet feminine tone echoing inside my chamber. I can feel a wet t-shirt cling to my body, painting a mental image of what lay beneath. My stomach is flat as hell, my waist tapering in and leaving me rake thin. My hips pop out to the sides, though not to any large degree. A prominent weight hangs from my chest, the subtle bouncing only being restrained by the clingy t-shirt adhering to the large mounds.
Everything feels off. The room is larger than before, my mind buzzes incessantly as it tries its best to mesh with my stolen brain and the sensations bombarding me from all sides. My stomach churns sickeningly, a petite and boney hand flying up to my mouth as I fight back the urge to puke.
A loud thud comes from the boot beside me, a towering athletic blonde teenager bounding out of the chamber excitedly. The young man stretches and flexes his muscles, patting himself down as if taking stock of himself.
"Finally" the young man sighs, rubbing one of his bulging biceps and wincing ever so slightly. "It's good to be home... I mean..." he chirps, shying away a little as he turns to face my drained form in the other booth. "Not that... It's just... You get it, right Claire?"
"Huh?" I groan, looking up at the young man as my eyes go wide. While it may be simply because I was sitting, the young man looked like a giant. Short messy blonde hair framed his chiseled features, a football jersey and tight well-fitted jeans clinging to his muscular form. He looks over himself, plucking at his outfit with a quizzical look.
"Did you... Change my clothes?..." He asks, shifting his tree-trunk-like legs as they strain the black denim. His eyes turn back to me, a sheepish look overtaking him. "Sorry, I never got used to... Um..." he mutters, looking up and down my seated form.
Looking down myself I find my body wrapped in multiple layers of clothing, my upper body practically becoming lost beneath it all. While I can feel the t-shirt it's hard to tell just how much the young man had worn prior to swapping 'back', a tight burgundy wool sweater and a black hoodie at least being plainly visible to me.
My slender legs thankfully haven't received the same treatment, instead being stuffed inside a loose set of pale blue jeans and an old set of comfortable sneakers.
I can feel my face growing pale, the heat of all this clothing doing little to help the rough process of cramming my mind into this new body. On shaky legs I try to get to my feet, my knees giving out as the young man catches my arm.
"Uh... Mr. Vasquez?!" the young man calls, a deeply tanned dark haired man soon whipping around the corner before he can even finish calling the name. The older man joins in helping me to my feet, my whole body swaying awkwardly as I struggle with a newly found sense of vertigo.
"Ms. Fletcher, how are you..." the older man begins to ask, his gaze turning to the side of the console and out of my view as he gives someone an expectant look. I cut him off, the sound of the door opening and closing telling me someone had been sent elsewhere.
"I think... I think I have Swap Sickne..." I begin to mutter, freezing up as I take in my quiet and breathy voice properly for the first time.
Hey, quick question. Some of my students claim they're sick once the Swap Class
is over, but they were fine earlier. Are they just faking to get a day off?
Sounds like it mate
Nah bro, tat's just Swap Sickness
What's that?
It's fake
It's not, scrambling someone's brain can mess with them idiots
Why doesn't it happen at the normal clinics then?
Because those are newer machines fuckwit, it's like asking why the suspension is
shot in your twenty-year-old car versus a brand new one
The older man glares down at me, his dark brown eyes narrowing as he tries to discern something. For a moment it looks as though he is about to say some, his glare growing harsher before he looks down at my over-dressed body.
Sighing to himself he looks over at the blonde with a similar glare. "Mr. Langton, why did you wear so..."
"I...uh..." the young man mutters nervously, his tan face turning red like a tomato as he struggles to answer.
"Did you know what the weather was going to... Never mind, can you take Ms. Fletcher to..." the older man grumbles in admonishment, pausing his orders as the door flings open. "Ah, thank goodness" he sighs in relief, pulling at my arms as I'm forced to stumble out of the chamber and into the world at large.
I swallow hard as I find myself looking up ever-so-slightly at a plump pale brunette in her late twenties. Her doughy face clouded with a look of concern, the facade only worsening as she sees me. She quickly rushes over, slinging my slender arm over her shoulder as my hand glides across the tight robin's egg blue blouse she is wearing.
"Oh, you poor dear" she coos in a wholesome Irish accent, the gentle tones of her voice helping to put me at ease. "Let's get you cooled..."
"Mrs. Archer" interjects the older man, folding his arms across his chest. "Ms. Fletcher is feeling poorly, can you take her to the sick bay for an assessment?"
The plump young woman makes a quiet dissatisfied grunt, shifting me as I feel like a rag doll in her grasp. "Oh of course Harold, I'll just do my..." she chirps in a saccharine-sweet tone.
"Mr. Vanquez" the older man interrupts, huffing and practically pouting at the lack of formality.
I hear a tongue-cluck next to my ear, the plump woman trying her best to maintain her composure. "My apologies, Mr. Vasquez. I will take Ms. Fletcher to cool off" she states, emphasizing the names as she goes.
Before I know it I'm being dragged from the room, my gaze shooting over to the console as my mind turns to the mind trapped inside the USB within. I let out a little murmur as I'm slid out the door, my body working on auto-pilot as I'm led away.
"Fucker..." grumbles the pudgy woman, her sweet and delightful voice making the curse sound almost comical. "I mean... sorry you had to hear that sweetheart" she chuckles nervously, the large woman letting my head hang low as my hair blocks my view of the hallway.
"Let's get you to a nice bed where you can cool off. Once you're feeling better we can...
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