Smooth Talker? The New World of SwapTech chapter 6 by deleted_user

Jonas stood at the entrance to the West Coast Comic Nexus Convention Center, watching the steady stream of attendees flow through the glass doors. Cosplayers in elaborate armor, families with children in tiny superhero costumes, groups of friends laughing and taking photos. The air buzzed with excited chatter and the distant thump of music from inside.

He was barefoot. He was wearing yoga pants and a tank top. He was a woman.

Here goes nothing.

He walked up to the security checkpoint, where a broad-shouldered man in a black uniform stood beside a turnstile. The guard's eyes swept over Jonas — a quick, professional assessment — and landed on his feet.

"Ma'am, you need shoes to enter the building."

"I know," Jonas said, and the high, soft voice still caught him off guard. "Look, I need help. I'm not... I'm not actually a woman. I'm a man named Jonas Keller. I used a SwapPort to get here, and there was a mix-up with the body. My ID, my phone, my wallet — everything is locked in the SwapPort locker back at the facility. I just need to get inside and find my friend, and he can help me sort this out."

The guard's expression shifted. Not quite skepticism — more like I've heard some weird shit at this job neutral. "You got any proof of who you are?"

"Not on me. But I can tell you my full name, my home address, my SwapPort confirmation number—"

"Ma'am, I can't let you in without a badge or a ticket. The badge is tied to your registration. You don't have your badge, you don't have your phone to show the digital copy, and you don't have ID to match the name on the registration." The guard shrugged, almost apologetically. "I'd be breaking protocol."

Jonas felt his jaw tighten. "So I'm just supposed to stand out here?"

"There's a guest services window to your left. They might be able to help you with a replacement badge if you can verify your identity another way."

Jonas turned and saw a small booth with a sign reading WILL CALL / GUEST SERVICES. A line of about fifteen people snaked in front of it.

Fifteen people. Barefoot. In yoga pants.

He looked back at the guard. "Is there any way I can skip the line? This is kind of an emergency."

The guard's face softened. "Tell you what — you go to guest services, explain the situation, and if they give you trouble, ask for Gary. He's the shift supervisor. Tell him Dave at security sent you."

Jonas blinked. "Really?"

"Don't make me regret it."

Jonas nodded, a surge of gratitude washing through him. "Thanks. Seriously. Thank you."

He turned and walked toward the guest services window, his bare feet slapping against the polished concrete floor. The line of people looked at him — a barefoot woman in workout clothes, approaching with a determined stride — and he felt their eyes on him like a physical weight.

I can do this. I just need to explain everything to the right person.