Which Of You Did This? The New World of SwapTech chapter 6 by deleted_user

Diesel tugged down his stretched-out tank top, trying to hide the boobs that jiggled with every move. He stumbled forward, bare thighs rubbing together, hips swaying too much for his comfort. Across from him, Rico was doing the same, arms crossed tight over a chest that just wouldn’t be ignored.

“Okay, bro,” Diesel said, breathing fast. “We gotta figure out what the hell is going on.”

Rico nodded, still clearly rattled. “Yeah. This ain’t normal. This ain’t even close to normal.”

They walked slowly past the dumbbell racks and benches, where more and more women were groaning, waking up, and realizing something was seriously wrong. Diesel spotted James, the thick-necked ex-Marine who always benched four plates. Only now James had transformed into a leggy black woman in bright pink leggings that had definitely not been hers before.

“Yo, James?” Diesel called.

The woman blinked, wide-eyed. “How the hell do you know me?” she asked, her voice sultry and confused.

“It’s me. Diesel. We… uh… lift here together.”

“No way,” James muttered, looking down at her huge chest. “No damn way. This… is insane.”

Diesel and Rico kept moving, talking to everyone they recognized. Most had been regular gym guys—dudes with thick thighs, six-packs, loud grunts and loud music. Now? They were busty women in tank tops that barely contained their new forms, shorts that slipped off wide hips, and sneakers falling off dainty feet.

Some were angry.

“This has to be some f***ed-up joke!” a broad-shouldered blonde woman snapped. Diesel recognized her as Trevor, a loudmouth who never racked his weights. Now, Trevor had long legs, big boobs, and was glaring down at his own new cleavage like it had betrayed him.

Others were freaked out.

“I—I don’t have a dick anymore,” whimpered a short, brown-haired girl curled up near the squat rack. “It’s gone. I’m not dreaming. I checked.”

Some were in shock.

“Mirror,” one muttered over and over. “Where’s a mirror? I need to see my face. I don’t know who I am.”

And some…

“Damn, I’m kinda fine though,” said a lean, olive-skinned woman with a high ponytail, flexing her new arms and checking herself out in the reflection of a dusty cardio screen.

Diesel blinked. “Bro?”

“It’s Marco,” the woman said with a crooked smile. “Guess it’s Marcy now.”

Diesel exchanged a look with Rico. “Okay. So, we’re not alone.”

“Yeah,” Rico muttered, adjusting her shirt again, breasts still clearly heavy and awkward on her smaller frame. “But that don’t explain why.”

Diesel pulled out his phone, but it was glitching, the screen blinking. Emergency alerts were popping up, but none of them said anything useful—just a vague warning about a possible tech malfunction in the Bay Area. Nothing about why he suddenly had hips like a Kardashian and a voice like a telenovela star.

“We need answers,” Diesel muttered.

“Yeah,” Rico said. “And a damn sports bra.”

They looked around at the chaos—the crowd of confused, curvy women who were, up until moments ago, every man Diesel had ever fist-bumped in this place.

Someone had to be responsible.