SwapPorts as Usual The New World of SwapTech chapter 4 by bodyswapbabe

The transition was gentle—no tumbling sensation, no vertigo, no flashing lights. Just a long moment of weightlessness and warmth… and then Fitz opened his eyes.

Cool air brushed his cheeks. He blinked up at a wooden ceiling, soft and warmly lit, and slowly sat up in a body that felt… mostly familiar. The same height. Similar shape. But not his.

His hands were the first thing he noticed: broader than his own, the knuckles slightly more pronounced. A faint dusting of freckles ran along the forearms, and his usual wrist mole was missing. He flexed his fingers once, twice. Everything moved smoothly.

“Alright,” he murmured. “We’re here.”

Next to him, Rory sat up like a jack-in-the-box, rubbing his face and blinking rapidly. His new body had wild, dark curls instead of his usual buzzcut and was maybe an inch taller than the 7-year old usually was.

Miriam was next, laughing to herself as she stretched her arms and sat up. Her host body was gorgeous, in an understated way—strong swimmer’s shoulders, tanned skin, a short bob of honey-blonde hair. She flexed her arms theatrically.

“Oooh, hello, vacation mom. Look at these arms,” she said, giving one bicep a kiss. “Do I look tough? Like, 'I-wear-sunglasses-at-night' tough?”

Fitz smiled in spite of himself. “You look… athletic.”

Miriam winked. “Don’t be jealous, Laminator.”

Nolan sat up more cautiously. His host body—slightly broader in the face, with thick sandy hair flopping over one eye—looked startled in the mirror across from the pod. He frowned at his reflection and touched his cheek, then his teeth, then gave a small shrug.

Fitz stood, testing his legs. It felt like wearing a suit tailored just a bit differently than he was used to—roomier in the calves, narrower across the shoulders. He turned toward the others and gestured toward the lockers lined up along the far wall.

“Alright, gang. Let’s gear up. Phones, wallets, wristbands, sunblock. You all remember the color code for our locker?”

“Yellow stripe, third row!” Rory shouted.

“Inside voice, bud,” Fitz said automatically.

They moved through the motions quickly. Each locker contained the day bags Fitz had packed—sun hats, refillable water bottles, map printouts laminated in case the park’s digital app flaked out. The wristbands, once scanned, confirmed their host bodies and theme park access levels. All green lights.

“You didn’t cheap out on park passes, did you?” Miriam asked, eyebrow arched as she adjusted her band.

Fitz looked mildly offended. “I upgraded us to full-access with express lane add-ons and one snack token per person, per day.”

“One snack token?”

“That’s eight dollars of savings per churro,” he said.

She grinned and kissed his cheek.

Outside the SwapPort, the air was warmer—dry heat, with the scent of saltwater and kettle corn in the wind. They stepped into the rental kiosk next door, where a teenager in a green Swaptyx polo handed Fitz a keycard for a compact electric SUV.

“This one’s good for twelve hours on a charge,” the teen said. “And it’s synced to your wristband, so just wave it to start.”

The vehicle hummed to life like a sleeping cat. Rory immediately began fighting with his seatbelt; Nolan stared at the built-in tablet screen without a word. Miriam leaned back in the passenger seat and sighed.

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” she asked, smirking.

“You’re in a stranger’s body,” Fitz said. “With unknown reflexes.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I pre-practiced the SwapPort driving sim with my host’s specs. Spent two hours on it.”

Miriam stared at him. “You simulated driving the same car you’re driving now?”

“Yes,” Fitz said, adjusting his mirrors.

“…You’re so weird. I love you.”

Fitz smiled quietly, his heart giving a tiny, shy lurch.

The drive was short—Fantastialand Resort rose on the horizon like a candy-colored fever dream. A giant rotating ferris wheel loomed against the blue sky, half-submerged in a faux lagoon. Roller coasters traced bright streaks in the distance, and a brass band in pirate garb marched along the welcome promenade, music barely audible through the closed windows.

Rory screamed at the top of his lungs when he saw the dragon ride loop over the parking lot.

“WE’RE HERE! WE’RE HERE! CHUCK THUNDERPANTS RIDES AGAIN!”

“Volume!” Fitz hissed.

Nolan actually smiled, just a little. Miriam laughed.

They pulled into the priority parking lane—one of the perks of full-access wristbands—and the gate scanned their windshield with a pleasant chime.

As the SUV glided into the shade of the guest drop-off pavilion, Fitz put the car in park and took one long, slow breath.

This was it. The park, the family, the moment.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

They stepped out into Fantastialand together.