I quickly walk down the busy street,
the foot traffic heavier than normal thanks to the lunchtime rush. My
eyes dart between the phone in my hand and the buildings around me, my
gaze falling onto whatever street numbers I can see printed on the
exterior of the towering skyscrapers in the center of the business
district. With each step I feel my stomach churn, a pit of worry and
despair forming as I make my way towards my sudden appointment at my
local Department of Assignments Office.
"Why
did I sign up for this?" I whisper under my breath, panting a little as
I rush along the footpath and weave between the slow walkers around me.
It
had been years ago that the first successful body swap had been
completed. The process hadn't involved any sort of mental transfer or
comfortable instantaneous trade. Instead it had required a slow and
uncomfortable process where each person had their body broken and molded
into its new shape, some form of science involving quantum entanglement
leaving the two subjects an exact copy of each other down to the DNA.
After
evidence of the first swap had been published the government
immediately outlawed the practice. However, over time an idea began to
be floated around between the company which owned the rights to the
technology and those in power to bring the technology back under limited
circumstance. And so the Department of Assignment was born, a
government agency that purported to 'assign' people to who they 'were meant to be'.
The agency worked by pairing up people who had signed up, putting people into a body and life that 'fit'
them better than their current one. This wasn't immediate of course, a
person may sign up and never hear back from the agency for years and
years due to their perfect pair never signing up themselves. On top of
that, both people always had the option to decline the swap though few
ever did.
At first practically no
one signed up, only those looking for a better life or in an extremely
undesirable situation making appointments with the agency. They even
expanded the service to other countries including the UK and several
parts of Europe to no avail. However, over time a number of benefits
were tagged onto a number of benefits. At first it was a small tax
rebate, then a way of paying off fines. The number of applicants surged
once it became policy for the agency to wipe student debts, both owed
and to be accrued, upon signing up.
Cursing
under my breath I remember why I had signed up for it, the allure of
wiping out all my student debt before I had even earned any in my
studies was too good to pass up. For nearly a decade I had gotten away
with it too, never hearing so much as a peep from the Department of
Assignment.
However, all that had
changed last week. Right before the start of the weekend I had received
an email from the Department, informing me my 'partner'
had finally been found and that I was to head to my local office at
12:30 pm on Monday afternoon with a number to call if I wanted to
decline and be removed from the service. That weekend I had gone on a
bender, drinking in my potentially soon-to-be-former apartment as I
tried to decide on what to do. On the one hand I loved my life, but on
the other hand there was apparently one I would be better in out there
and this was my one chance to try it. Thanks to this drunken weekend I
was now running late, having decided much like everyone else who
followed through that this was too unique an opportunity to pass up.
Suddenly
I see it, a large concrete rectangle only reaching a few stories tall
sitting on the opposite corner. I quickly check the address again,
confirming the location as I sprint across the street and through
traffic in an effort to not be too late.
Sweating
profusely I jog in through the glass front door, entering into the
small foyer. The white-tiled room is flanked with concrete pillars, the
bland structures supporting the porous rendered ceiling and breaking up
the small worn leather benches that sit between each of them. At the far
end sits a small oval desk, the steel exterior of the desk simply
making the whole room feel far more gray and depressing.
I
begin to quickly pace my way inside, noticing an elevator on either
side of the room which had been previous obscured by the supporting
pillars. My eyes fall onto the balding man sitting behind the desk, his
high receding hairline being prominently displayed as he leans over some
paperwork.
"Hi...Sorry...I'm..." I pant, trying to introduce myself as I catch my breath.
"Mr. Hughes?" a gruff voice calls out to my right, the sound of footfalls against the white tiled floor growing closer.
"I...yeah...sorry I'm..." I stammer, spinning around to see the source of the voice before being cut off.
"Late?" the voice interjects.
As
I finish my spin I find myself looking down slightly, an older man
staring at me with a stern expression. His tanned skin appears a little
worse for wear, wrinkles having grown under and around his hazel eyes
with age. His large calloused hands clutch a small manila folder,
several staples holding the old picture I had taken on my first visit to
the folder next to my printed name. The man's hair is shaved short, a
slight amount of white hairs beginning to grow around his sideburns and
the back of his larger flared ears.
"Sorry I..." I try to explain to the man. However, he raises his hand to silence me before waving me over to the elevator.
"Nevermind that, your partner is already prepared and ready for the process" he quips, leading me up into the elevator.
As
we ride up I try to wipe the sweat from my face, getting in a
comfortable state before talking again. Before I can say anything the
elevator doors open, leading to a thin corridor with numerous small
offices leading off to either side. The offices alternate between having
windows into them, revealing a small desk surrounded by filing
cabinets, and those without.
The man rushes off, causing me to follow along after him.
"So who am I..." I begin to ask before getting rudely interrupted.
"I
can't divulge personal information about someone else for privacy
reasons. You can ask again after the procedure" the older man grunts,
pausing by one of the windowless rooms.
"Alright.
Get in, strip down, and place your thumb on the scanner on the wall" he
exclaims, opening the door and revealing a darkened steel-plated room.
I tentatively take my first step towards the door. However, I suddenly feel a firm hand on my back give me a sudden shove.
"Come on, we don't have all day" the gruff man bemoans, shoving me in and closing the door behind me.
As
I stagger in I find myself in relative darkness, the only illumination
coming from the dim red light of the -fingerprint scanner at the back of
the room. The walls hum in a deep low tone as I quickly strip out of my
jeans and boxer, my cock withering in the freezing temperature of the
confined room. Walking towards the scanner I slowly pull my black
t-shirt over my head, letting it fall behind me as I use my feet to tug
my shoes off my feet.
Before long I'm left standing in my birthday suit, my hands shaking as I look down at the scanner.
"I shouldn't have done this...I shouldn't be doing this" I hiss, slowly bringing my hand to the scanner.
As
I place my thumb on the red light the whirring hum in the room grows
louder, a subtle hiss coming from in between the gaps in the steel
plates. Suddenly I feel a sharp prick in my thumb, causing me to retract
my hand as I small dribble of blood trickles down that digit.
"Finally, okay we've confirmed you're you Mr. Hughes and we can finally get started" the gruff voice of the mean man comes over some sort of speaker in the room.
As I go to speak I find my tongue has gone numb. In fact, most of my mouth was numb along with the tips of my fingers and toes.
"Just
relax, this is just to keep things from getting too...uncomfortable"
the man states, pausing as he seems to reminisce about the process
himself.
"Just try to relax, it'll be starting any minute now"
