Undercover at the Launch Event The New World of SwapTech chapter 4 by deleted_user

Solstice Shores’ Lunar Deck was invitation-only, velvet-rope exclusive, and drenched in the kind of opulence that made Damien want to spit. Golden hour bathed the rooftop in a glow straight out of a luxury vodka ad. Every surface gleamed — marble, glass, human skin — while slow, sensual house music oozed from recessed speakers. Gorgeous people lounged around a champagne fountain.

Damien adjusted the straps of his microdress and tried to remember his cover story. He was “Mira.” She was a newly uploaded Trust Fund TikTok micro-influencer, supposedly here for a soul-searching journey of sexual self-actualization. Whatever the fuck that meant. He practiced saying it out loud once and nearly vomited.

His goal was simple: find Arjun Sanghera, tech billionaire, meditation fetishist, and personal nemesis. Rumor was Arjun was building his own transformation platform — and poaching Swaptyx talent to do it. And tonight, he was supposedly revealing his new “disruptive bodywear initiative” at this party.

Which meant Damien, bouncing uncomfortably in a wet dream body, had to blend in with a crowd of hormonal rich people and gather intel without staring too long at his own cleavage.

The party itself was a carnival of chaos.

A muscular, chocolate-skinned woman in thigh-high latex boots was pole dancing on a glass railing while a masked man fed her strawberries.

A topless silver-haired siren in a cocktail napkin dress was chain-smoking and giving financial advice to a crowd of twenty-somethings in speedos.

Two men in coeds' bodies were locked in a giggling lap dance contest on a marble loveseat, watched by a middle-aged woman in a beefcake sleeve who clapped with visible delight.

Damien pushed past a trio of influencers mid-livestream. One had a visible penis and visible breasts and was speaking in French to a drone camera. Another was crying about how her sleeve had “too much pussy energy” and she “couldn’t vibe with it spiritually.”

He needed a drink and a lead — in that order.

The bar was circular, manned by a holographic server with three breasts and an attitude. She scanned Damien and chirped, “Welcome to your authentic fantasy self! Would you like your libido heightened?”

“God no.”

“Default cocktail selected: The Mirage Mule — lube-infused and biochemically flirtatious. Enjoy!”

Damien grimaced and took it. He sipped. Ginger, vodka, and… something. Suddenly, a hand slid around his waist. His thighs clenched involuntarily.

“And who might you be?” a voice purred.

Damien turned — nearly spilling the drink. The woman was six feet tall, copper-skinned, and absolutely statuesque. Her hair was buzzed short and glinted metallic under the lights. Her smile was slow and sharp, and her voice oozed money. Damien didn’t recognize the sleeve, but the eyes—those fuck-you eyes—gave it away.

It was Arjun.

Or at least, it had to be. The same smirk he used in every pitch meeting, every interview, every time he steamrolled someone smaller.

Damien fake-giggled and put on his best ditzy smile. “I love your look.”

“I designed it,” Arjun said casually, as though it was nothing. “Third-gen biofab. Custom personality layering. A body built for persuasion.” Her hand stayed on Damien’s waist. “And pleasure.”

Damien nearly gagged.

Arjun leaned closer, her breath warm. “You’re new here, aren’t you? Haven’t seen you at any of the partner summits.”

Damien batted his lashes. “I’m exploring new investments. Thought I’d check out what the fuss is about.”

“Well, you came at the right time,” Arjun said, pulling out a shimmering black keycard and waving it briefly. “We’re about to soft-launch something tonight. Private demo. Invite-only.”

Jackpot.

Damien tilted his head, played dumb. “Oooh, a demo? Sounds exclusive.”

Arjun smiled, all teeth. “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

Ten minutes later, Damien found himself on the penthouse balcony with eight other guests, each more ridiculous than the last. One was wearing a see-through mesh robe and stroking a furred tail. Another was hitting a vape pen while groping her own grapefruit-sized breast.

A high-pitched chime sounded. Everyone quieted.

Arjun stepped forward, now wearing a sheer cape and nipple glitter. “Friends, lovers, tech libertines… welcome to the future of identity.”

A curtain drew back. Behind it stood a pod — metallic, humming, the size of a walk-in closet.

“This,” Arjun purred, “is the EgoShifter™. You don’t just wear a sleeve. You become a brand-new self. No memories. No baggage. Just pure, distilled, experimental living. A vacation from your identity.”

The crowd gasped. Damien’s stomach flipped. This was dangerous. Permanent neural swaps? No backup self? This wasn’t evolution — it was an erasure engine. Arjun was going full scorched-earth.

Damien needed to find out more. Specs. Licensing plans. Weaknesses.

But first, he had to keep playing the part.

So he smiled, sipped his Mirage Mule, and batted his cartoon lashes at the shark in a goddess’s skin.