Bruce Wins The New World of SwapTech chapter 7 by deleted_user

Bruce rang the bell with a fist that could crack bone. The sound echoed across the garden. He stood six-five on the platform, chest heaving, zero body fat gleaming with sweat. “Told you,” he spat down at the pink water where Javi was still treading. “Simple as that.”

 

Sienna’s voice crackled from hidden speakers. “Ten minutes, Bruce. Pick your players. The Machine is hungry.”

 

The winner’s platform descended. Bruce strutted toward the chrome pods, already flexing his mental muscles. Ten minutes. Two bodies. Total control.

 

Charlie waddled up first, blocking his path. “Bro. Bro. Let's make a deal. We can work together in this game. Just don't put me in someone else's body. I’ll split the ten mil with you. Seventy-thirty. We can be—”

 

“Get out of my face,” Bruce said, not breaking stride.

 

“Sixty-forty!” Charlie yelled after him.

 

Alejandra intercepted him by the smoothie bar. She was still breathing hard from the climb, abs rippling, neon nails drumming a staccato on the marble counter. She leaned in close enough that he could smell the coconut oil on her skin. “Escúchame,” she breathed, hand landing on his bare chest. Her fingers traced the ink of his draft-year tattoo. “Put Walt in my body. Let him feel what it’s like to be small. Powerless. And let me feel that power. I’ll owe you. Big.”

 

Bruce’s eyes dropped to her mouth. “You want to lose your body?”

 

“I want his,” she said. “You don't need to know why. Just know I’d be grateful.” Her hand slid lower, just above his waistband. “Very grateful.”

 

He stepped back before she could seal the deal with more than words. “I’ll think about it. Though I don't think I'll want your generosity anymore if you're Walt.”

 

Bruce walked away to think more, when Ken materialized from behind a potted palm, techwear rustling.

 

“Statistical analysis,” he whispered, pushing his glasses up. “If you swap Charlie and Polly, you eliminate two social threats simultaneously. Charlie's getting voted out--everyone hates him--and the audience will hate Charlie for taking Polly's eye candy bod out of the game with him. And Polly only knows how to be hot; if she's in Charlie's body, she's not a threat to anyone. Clean surgical strike.” He fidgeted, then walked away.

 

Damn. That actually makes some sense, Bruce thought to himself.

 

Walt cornered him near the Machine itself. His hands shook.

 

“Son,” Walt said, trying to grip Bruce’s shoulder. “Put me in that Viking. Magnus. Six-four, two-forty, young. I’ve got the mind for that body. The experience. I’d be unstoppable. You and me, alliance. I handle the strategy, you handle the—”

 

“You’re old,” Bruce said. “Why would I help you?”

 

Walt’s smile turned teeth. “Because I'm a cutthroat strategist who knows how to win. I think I'm the only one here who isn't surprised by all this--because I actually read the fine print. There’s more twists coming, too. Right now, if we work together, I'm all brain and you're all brawn. But two's better than one. You want me strong when those twists hit.”

 

Bruce nodded absentmindedly, his eyes wandering across the lawn. Zelda looked back at him from across the way, but didn’t approach. Blue eyes locked on his, she smirked and mouthed two words: Make. Chaos.

 

Then she gestured with her eyes at Javi, who was squeezing water from his Stetson.

 

Polly found Bruce last. She’d fixed her extensions. Her 22-inch waist snaked against him as she walked, hip checking his thigh.

 

“You wouldn't, like, swap me with anyone, would you?” she whispered in her breathy voice.

 

The intercom screamed. “Time’s up! Bruce, to the Machine. Who’s swapping?”

 

Bruce stood between the pods, 225 pounds of deciding power. The others formed a semicircle, breath held. Ten million dollars. Total control. One choice.

 

Bruce's first choice is...