Channel Surfers The New World of SwapTech chapter 3 by swapticon

The dorm room was a wreck—half-empty chip bags, two crusty pizza boxes, and the ever-present scent of weed and Axe body spray battling it out in the stale air. Three guys were sprawled out across a futon and two beanbags, eyes glued to the giant flatscreen mounted on the wall. A trashy reality dating show was on, something called Love Island: Miami Nights.

“Dude, I would kill to be Diego right now,” muttered Zach, scratching his belly. “Six-pack, fake tan, surrounded by ten bikini babes who all want to bang him.”

“Please,” scoffed Jordan, twirling a pen. “If I had to talk like that himbo for five minutes I’d throw myself off the hot tub deck.”

Tom didn’t say anything. He just stared at the weird new remote he’d picked up from a sketchy Swaptyx clearance bin during Spring Break. It was smooth, black, with only one massive red button in the middle and a spinning wheel of channels on the side. Embossed across the top in glossy letters: TVT REMOTE™.

“You think it’s real?” he finally asked.

Jordan looked over and laughed. “What, the thing that said it can send your mind into fictional characters? Bro. That’s a stoner’s wet dream.”

Zach snatched it. “Only one way to find out.”

He pointed it at the screen. On Love Island, Diego was flexing shirtless next to a hot tub, flirting with a pair of twins. Zach aimed right at him.

“Here goes nothing.” He pressed the red button.

There was a flash of static. Then pop — Zach’s body went limp in the beanbag.

“Uh…” Tom leaned forward. “Is he—did he just…?”

“Holy shit,” Jordan breathed.

On the screen, Diego blinked, stumbled, then grinned — a very Zach grin. He looked around, flexed his arms, and said, “Whoa. I definitely got the remote to work. Holy crap, these abs are real!”

“Zach?” Tom shouted at the TV.

Diego turned toward the camera and winked. “Sup, bitches.”

Jordan grabbed the remote. “Okay, this is insane. We have to try it again.”

But before Tom could protest, Jordan was already pointing the remote at one of the twins, the busty blonde in a string bikini labeled “TAYLOR.”

“You’re seriously—?”

Click.

Pop.

Jordan’s body slumped back against the futon. Onscreen, Taylor gasped and looked down at her chest, poking it like she wasn’t sure it was real.

“Oh my god,” she squeaked. “My voice is so high. I have boobs. Real boobs. This is awesome.”

Tom sat frozen. Two of his best friends were now living inside horny reality TV stars, giggling and pawing at themselves while the other cast members stared in confusion.

He looked at the remote, still sitting in Jordan’s slack hand.

His phone buzzed. A text from Jordan: Dude this is nuts. You gotta try it. Come be someone. Be the host or the camera guy or something!

Tom hesitated. Onscreen, “Diego” and “Taylor” were now making out in the hot tub, clearly not sticking to the original script.