Call the Sheriff The New World of SwapTech chapter 8 by deleted_user

Greg, still wrapped in his oversized flannel shirt and sagging jeans, stomped through the kitchen with short, furious strides. The extra weight on his chest bounced uncomfortably with each step, and the hem of his pants kept threatening to slip past the swell of his now-absurdly wide hips.

This was madness.

He was a woman. A very obvious woman. Busty, soft, ridiculous. It wasn’t just that his body had changed—he’d been made into something that looked like it belonged in a country music video on mute.

He reached the kitchen counter and snatched up his phone, jabbing the screen with a finger that now had shorter nails and pinker nailbeds than he remembered. His contact list pulled up automatically.

Sheriff David Mendoza.

Greg tapped the call button, jaw set.

Mendoza was a good man. Church-going, veteran, no-nonsense. Greg had married him and his wife back in ’03. If anyone was still holding the line, it was him.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

A click. Then a strained, clipped voice. Female. A new receptionist, Greg assumed. They went through them frequently at the station.

“This is Sheriff’s Office. We’re overwhelmed. If this is not an emergency, please—”

“It’s me—Greg Talbott. I need to talk to Sheriff David right now.”

A pause. The line crackled. Then came a reply. “Uh... I think you’ve got the wrong number, ma’am.”

Greg blinked. “Who is this? It’s Greg. Pastor Greg. From First Baptist. I know David firsthand. I baptized his daughter in ’22.”

“...Greg?” Something in the voice changed. The woman on the other end let out a shaky breath. “Wait. Is this really Greg?”

“Yes!” Greg barked, trying to keep his voice low and stern, but it came out high and exasperated. “Something’s happened! I was in the garden and—next thing I know—I’m five feet tall with a pair of... of melons strapped to my chest!”

There was silence on the other end. Then a strangled noise that might’ve been laughter.

“So it's even out by your neighborhood,” the voice said. “Crap. Greg. It’s me. David. I—”

Greg froze. “What?”

“I know. I know.” The voice dropped lower, rougher. Still feminine, but tinged with familiar grit. “Something happened. I don’t know what, but it’s everywhere, Greg. Not just you. Most of my deputies are unrecognizable. Hell, I barely even recognize my own reflection.”

“You too?” Greg hissed, pressing the phone harder to his ear. “You—you’re—”

“A woman, yeah.”

Greg stared at the cabinets. A distant dog barked down the block. The world had gone completely insane.

“Phones are ringing off the hook,” Sheriff Mendoza continued. “People are panicking. Most men changed. All within city limits. My best guess—it’s regional. Some kind of... event. Tech-related. Swaptyx is being mentioned all over the scanner.”

“Of course it’s Swaptyx,” Greg muttered. “I told people that company was unholy.”

“You and me both.”

There was a pause.

“I’ve got the governor’s office on hold. And about 60 calls from crying husbands who have suddenly been flooded with estrogen. Can you hold it together?”

Greg glanced down at himself—breasts swaying even under the baggy shirt, jeans barely hanging on, his whole body soft and foreign. He looked like a parody of a woman from one of those commercials he always turned off.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’ll try.”

“We’re setting up a command post outside City Hall,” Mendoza said. “If you can, get down there. Carefully. Don’t draw attention.”

“I can’t exactly blend in,” Greg said, tugging the flannel shirt tighter across his chest.

“You’re not the only one. Just... be careful, Greg.”

Click.

Greg stared at the phone, the line now dead. The kitchen felt colder. The world outside was quiet—too quiet for a Thursday morning. The wind rustled the rose bushes outside the window, as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed.

Greg looked down at himself—at the ridiculous curves, the way the too-large shirt barely contained him, the fact that even standing still made him feel like a pin-up under siege.

And still... he wasn’t alone. Other men were going through this too. The sheriff. Probably everyone in town. And if Swaptyx was responsible...

Greg’s fists clenched. His boobs bounced.

He winced.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.