Following the events in Exile of the Mind, Prime Minister Vaughn has fallen, but his son, Darren, has established a rebel outpost. A misfit soldier, Henry Withers, is transferred into the sexy body of Darren's bodyguard so that he can infiltrate the colony, learn their secrets, and exfiltrate their leaders in Exile of the Mind: Shadow Protocol 1, available on Body Swap Stories, Smashwords, or Amazon.
Prologue
Taron led the way around the twisted chunks of metal and thick girders rising up into the darkness to either side of the derelict road. Flickering security lights did little to dispel the gloom. Collapsed buildings wrapped in moss roughly framed the wide road that used to be the main transport artery in the early days of the Lockesburg colony. These levels had been largely forgotten as the colony rose higher and higher into Triton’s atmosphere. Lower even than the lowest of the lows, these were the Depths. The only thing deeper were the Caverns where the mining operations took place. Even in the Depths, the rumble of heavy equipment in the Caverns could sometimes be felt through the soles of his shoes.
Taron paused, waiting for his friend, Milo, to catch up. He looked down at the vidscreen set in his forearm band to confirm they were heading in the right direction.
“We almost there?” Milo panted when he finally stumbled up to Taron.
Milo ran a hand through his short black hair and took another swig of the cheap liquor before passing it to Taron. They were both buzzed and full of bravado when they accepted this dare, and a steady supply of liquid courage saw them press on into the darkness. Every now and then Taron would pause and duck behind some debris, imagining he heard the buzz of a security or engineering patrol.
Milo was shorter and stockier than his friend, his face still holding onto the boyish chubbiness of his youth, his skin the color of fall straw. Taron was a pale, wiry beanstalk, heavily freckled and with a shock of red hair. Childhood friends, they’d never done anything as bold as to sneak past the security barriers into the Depths before. But now they picked their way through, following the rumors towards money and adventure.
Up ahead, a red glow flickered from around the corner, making excitement rise in Taron’s throat.
“We’re here!”
They turned the corner to find one of the rare intact structures. A low slung building with windows boarded up and the huge sliding front door sitting permanently ajar. Above the entrance, neon signs proclaimed this to be “Wynne’s Cornerclub”. The building was no longer listed on any municipal inventories, and was powered by stolen electricity. As the two twenty-one year olds moved closer, the booming bass of dance music from inside could be felt in the ground.
Taron held out his hand and Milo passed him the bottle with the last of the alcohol. The orange liquid burned in his throat and warmed his belly, making the world fuzzy and calm. He smashed the bottle on the ground and, wiping his mouth, strode towards the entrance, faking a confidence to mask his fear. Milo scuttled quickly behind.
Stepping through the fractured doors, they found the interior dim and dark as the outside. The walls were lined with repurposed cryo-pods and biochairs patched with stolen tech. Dark shapes of people could be seen floating within some of the pods. This was one of the outposts of the Outfit, a gang who had supposedly reverse engineered mind isolation tech. Unlike the original technology, which had been intended to remove mind from body, rumor was that the Outfit used it for full consciousness exchange between individuals.
As Milo and Taron stepped in, Taron sensed the presence of heavy thugs within the dark shadows to either side. The music cut out suddenly, the click of plasma rifles being cocked loud in the sudden silence. At the center of the room were the two twins, Rav and Ali, the Outfit’s ringleaders. Tall, sun-leathered men with grins too wide and eyes too dark. The Outfit’s signature tattoo—a black swirl—curled around their right eyes. They were reclined in the biochairs, heavily-booted feet crossed in an air of total relaxation. They looked up at the newcomers without a hint of surprise.
“We heard you’re paying for transfers,” Taron said, puffing up his chest.
“We want in,” Milo jumped in, standing tall, not to be outdone by his friend’s bravado even though he was trembling.
“What do you think?” Ali asked, grinning at his twin.
“Let’s take a look,” Rav said, before hopping out of the chair and coming towards them.
He peered at each of them closely as Ali slouched in his biochair, seemingly unconcerned as he lazily twirled a small, deadly-looking knife. Rav prodded Milo’s chest. Squeezed Taron’s shoulder. Peered into each of their eyes. Finally, he nodded.
“I reckon we could use these two bodies.”
“They look quite innocent, you know,” Ali said, a mocking tone in his voice.
“They do,” Rav grinned. “Enthusiastic but innocent. Seven days might fix that.”
Milo swallowed nervously.
“Great,” Taron said. “We want to be—”
Rav fixed him with steely grey eyes. “Thought you’d pick your bodies?” Rav barked a harsh laugh. “Nah, lads. That’s not how this works. You want to play adult games then you roll our dice.”
Taron was aware of movement behind him. The Outfit’s thugs blocking the exit. Ali slid off his biochair and gestured for the two young men to take a seat. The only way out was through. Milo seemed to sense the same thing. Instead of protesting, the two young men sat in the proffered biochairs.
Locks clamped their arms suddenly into place. There was a whir as some sort of large helmet dropped down over their eyes. Taron gritted his teeth. Milo sucked in a breath.
There was a pulse of light. A snap. A strange, buzzing hollowness.
It was like waking up, but with no sense of having fallen asleep. The helmet retracted with a whir. The arm locks snapped away.
Taron rubbed his wrist and glanced down to survey his new body, freezing in shock. His new hands were slender, the nails elegantly curved, the skin a deep caramel. Two huge breasts pressed up beneath a dark leather top.
Ali’s face appeared as he leaned in from above. “There she is. Come on up, sweetheart.”
Ali offered his hand. Taron, still reeling, took it and was helped to his feet. He noticed the shift in balance, the difference in weight distribution, the loss of height. He stared down at his new frame. It was soft in all the places his wasn’t: full hips, gigantic butt, a chest he immediately looked away from.
Across from him stood what must have been Milo, changed just as dramatically into a voluptuous, curvy black woman. A grey top with a plunging neckline revealed heavy, ripe breasts. Dark hair spilled down in a waterfall down his back. His lips were plump and full. Eyes big and brown. Face soft.
Neither of the women the young men inhabited appeared to be gang members. Their skin was unmarked and flawless. More likely they were girlfriends. Or prostitutes. Not at all the roguish thugs they wanted to transfer into. The shame and fear of instant regret settled into the pit of their stomachs.
Ali leaned in to the two of them. “Seven days,” he said. “Live in those skins. Return on the eight day and we might just let you turn back and claim your reward. In the meantime…” Ali smacked Taron’s fat butt, making him jump. “Your original bodies will be doing some jobs for us.”
“Drake,” Rav said to one of the armed men in the shadows. “See them back to the lows.”
As Taron left he took a last look back and saw his former body standing up from the biochair and wiggling its fingers, a wicked smile on its face.
Read the rest on Body Swap Stories, Smashwords, or Amazon.
https://bodyswapfiction.com/enter/exile-of-the-mind-shadow-protocol-1/
