Try to Get Through The New World of SwapTech chapter 10 by deleted_user

A young soldier, her face pale under her helmet, stepped in front of their idling SUV and held up a hand. Dawson rolled down the window.

“Ma’ams, this area is under a mandatory evacuation order. You need to turn your vehicle around and proceed to the designated evacuation center at Stanford Stadium.”

Dawson leaned out the window. “Listen, soldier. We need to get to Swaptyx.”

The soldier’s expression didn’t change. It was a mask of rehearsed calm. “The Swaptyx campus is the epicenter of an ongoing biological containment incident. No one is allowed in or out. Please turn your vehicle around.”

“You don’t understand,” Brent said, his voice straining to sound authoritative and failing miserably, coming out as a pleading squeak. “We’re… we were affected. We need to talk to someone in charge.”

The soldier’s eyes flicked to Brent, and for a fraction of a second, he saw a crack in her professional armor. A flicker of pity, or maybe just overwhelmed confusion. There were probably hundreds of women saying the exact same thing.

“Ma’am, everyone in the affected zone was… impacted,” the soldier said, her voice softer. “The best thing you can do is get to safety. The evacuation center has medical personnel, counselors. They can help you.”

“We don’t need a counselor!” Dawson snapped, his frustration boiling over. “We need a goddamn scientist! I’m Marcus Dawson of the Seattle Seahawks! This is Brent Halvorson, San Francisco 49ers! We need to speak to whoever is responsible for this!”

The soldier blinked. She looked from Dawson’s fierce, strong-featured face to Brent’s softer, more classically pretty one. A look of dawning, horrifying comprehension spread across her features. She was seeing the people behind the faces. The football players. The men.

Dawson growled. “Now are you gonna let us through or do I have to call my agent?”

The moment of recognition passed, and the soldier’s training slammed back into place, harder now, fortified by shock. “The order stands, ma’am. No exceptions. Turn your vehicle around and proceed to the evacuation center. Now.” Her hand went to the sidearm on her hip. It wasn’t a threat, just a reflexive gesture of asserting control.

Dawson stared her down for a long, tense second. Brent could see the calculation in his eyes. The old Dawson would have probably tried to drive through the barricade. This new body, this weakness, changed the math.

“Fine,” Dawson spat, rolling up the window with a sharp whir. “Goddamn pencil-neck bitch.”

“She’s just doing her job,” Brent said quietly.

“I don’t give a shit.” Dawson threw the SUV into reverse, backed up with a jerk, and executed a clumsy three-point turn that would have been effortless in his old body. Now it was halting, uncoordinated. “Stanford Stadium it is, then. Maybe we can find the rest of the goddamn league. Have a fucking reunion.”