'Borrowed' Body - Part One

Wringing my hands together in the cold night air I try to warm them up as best I can. Standing in the dark alley, the only light coming from a small dim bulb illuminating a nearby dumpster behind a Thai restaurant, I can't help but whip my head around anxiously.

Sliding my hands apart I knock at the door again, the low thud of the metal door reverberating throughout the alley as I hunch down again to keep from being seen.

For a moment I consider leaving. Maybe I had gotten the address wrong? Maybe I got which day the meeting was confused.

As I wrack my head, my mind looping over the possible problems over and over again, I hear a set of footsteps and hushed grumbling from beyond of steel door. As the door creaks open, the dull emergency lights inside barely illuminating the face of the young college aged girl leaning to look through the crack, I watch as a set of dark green eyes narrow through the shadows.

"Keep it down" she hisses, her voice hushed yet furious. "You Mr H?" she asks, inching the door open slightly more as she looks my far taller form up and down inquisitively and with an appraising eye.

"Uh..." I grunt dimly, my thoughts sending me reeling for a moment before I'm able to compose myself. "Yeah... yeah I'm Mr..." I begin to respond, the door parting the moment I say yes as the young woman ushers me inside.

"Then get in" she snaps, a slender tan arm lunging out to grab at my coat as I'm pulled inside. "I swear, if I lose my job because of you being all loud and stuff I'm going to..." she huffs, her words falling away as I stare at the poorly illuminated sign on the wall.

'Swap Clinic - Authorized Entry Only'

 

For as long as the Swap Clinic had existed there had been those who bawked at all the red tape that surrounded it. Between all the forms and disclosures along with all the required registration for everything the sheer amount of administrative paper work was enough to bury most would-be swappers.

On top of that there were the fees, every piece of paper that needed to be filled out or filed incurred some triple digit cost. On top of that there was the charge up for even using the company's proprietary technology which could run into the thousands to tens of thousands of dollars.

With barriers like this in both cost and the registration of swaps it was more than enough for people to search out cheaper alternatives.

With most staff being paid minimum wage and being forced into taking on more and more responsibility by managers, it was all too common for the underpaid and under appreciated staff to find ways to earn a little extra money on the side.

While traits that had been logged into the system couldn't be touched, a black market of backdoor swapping quickly began to pick up. You needed to know a guy who knew a guy, but so long as you had the right access to some low-level disgruntled employee and cash in hand a single swap or two were more than doable.

Of course, getting access to the Swap Clinic for only a few hundred dollar came with a slew of risks.

Firstly, there was always the chance of being caught. A misplace finger of the alarm keypad or not being clever enough to loop the security camera footage or scrub the machine's logs would quickly find swappers on a once way trip to being locked, having their biometrics locked out of ever using a Swap Clinic device, as well as any fines or jail time that could be associated with the trespass.

Secondly, without any records or registration it was as if no swap even took place. It would be all too easy for someone to mere refuse to return to the Swap Clinic, the threat of telling people about the swap being more than enough to leverage most into stay the way they had been made for the foreseeable future.

However, despite all this, people still sought out these rebel staffers in person and online forums in the hopes of a cheap swap or two.

 

As I'm dragging inside I look down at the young woman, her pimply face partially obscured in the dim emergency lights overhead. Her auburn hair is tied back into messy bun, the wiry end sticking out into a frizzy ball after a day of 'voluntary' overtime.

"Did you bring the cash?" she huffs, her hand reaching up to rub at one of her deep brown eyes as she struggles to stay awake. Her other hand reaches out behind her towards me, the five foot six woman's fingers open and closing as if to summon forth my money.

"Um... the other person is going to..." I begin to murmur softly, keeping down low as if someone could find us at any moment. The young woman smacks her forehead as I bring up the source of her payment, her hands moving to rub at her temples before shifting to her eyes again.

"Right... right..." she mutters softly, pausing only to yawn. "Stupid fucking... you worked at a college right?" she asks, stretching a little as we begin to approach a room with light streaming out from under the door. "Were they always so fucking useless with fixing fucked up scholarship payments or..."

I stop listening as she pushes the door open, my eyes squinting as they adjust to the light of the backroom. While the overhead lights remain in their dimmed state no small amount of white and blue illuminate the room, the bevy of screens on and working make me wonder just how many people are meant to be assisting this girl when she is working normally.

I swallow hard as I stare at the looming machine at the back of the room, the two metal cylinders designed for in-person swaps sitting with a cascade of cable sheaths running between them and up into the ceiling.

Looking from the empty pod on the left, the small bare stool barely visible in the din of the room, I slowly turn to the shadowy figure in the pod on the right. I fight for a weak smile as I stare at...