The Veteran The New World of SwapTech chapter 6 by deleted_user

Jonas was still leaning against the pillar, trying to remember how to breathe normally, when he heard the voice.

"Hey. You. Come with me."

A hand grabbed his wrist—firm, insistent—and pulled him sideways before he could react. He stumbled, caught himself, and found himself being dragged through a gap between two vendor booths, past a stack of empty cardboard boxes, and into a narrow corridor that ran behind the exhibition hall. The sounds of the convention faded to a dull roar.

"Wait—what—"

The hand released him, and Jonas turned to face his rescuer.

She was tall—maybe five-nine—with sharp cheekbones and dark hair pulled into a severe ponytail. She wore a black leather jacket, ripped jeans, and mirrored sunglasses that reflected Jonas's own startled face back at him. Her nails were long, painted silver, and looked sharp enough to draw blood.

Molly Millions, Jonas realized. The razorgirl from Neuromancer. Or Johnny Mnemonic. Or both.

She was hot. Not in the exaggerated, porn-star way Jonas was hot—but in a lean, dangerous, I could kill you with my pinky way. The leather jacket was unzipped just enough to show a black tank top underneath, and the silver nails caught the fluorescent light as she crossed her arms.

"You looked like you needed an exit strategy," she said. Her voice was low, with a slight rasp, like she'd been smoking for twenty years.

Jonas opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again. "I—yeah. Thanks. I just—"

"First time?"

The question was simple, but the weight behind it wasn't. Jonas felt his carefully constructed composure crack.

"What?"

"First time in a woman's body. At a con. Being looked at like that." She tilted her head, and even behind the mirrored shades, Jonas could feel her gaze boring into him. "I can always tell."

Jonas's first instinct was to lie. To say no, I'm a woman, I've always been a woman, this is normal for me. But the words died in his throat. What was the point? She'd already seen through him.

"How did you know?"

Molly—or whoever she was—let out a short laugh. "The way you're standing, for one. You're holding yourself like you're trying to take up as little space as possible. Women learn to do that eventually, but fresh SwapPort arrivals? They always do it immediately. It's like watching a newborn deer learn to walk." She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing sharp green eyes. "Also, you've got that look. The 'I just realized I'm a piece of meat and I don't know how to process it' look. I wore that look for about six hours straight my first time."

Jonas stared at her. "Your first time?"

She grinned. It was a wolfish expression, full of teeth. "Craig. Middle-aged, divorced, dad of two. I came to this con last year in a SwapPort body too. Different one, though." She leaned against the wall, crossing her ankles. "Last year I was dressed as Psylocke. The Marvel vs. Capcom version, not the comic version. You know the one—purple leotard, thigh-high boots, psychic knife, and a body that made men forget their own names."

Jonas blinked. "You were Psylocke?"

"I was hung like Psylocke. That body had an ass you could bounce a quarter off, and tits that defied gravity in ways that should have been illegal. I spent the first hour just walking around, feeling the way the leotard rode up my crack, watching guys literally walk into poles because they were staring at me." She laughed, a low, rueful sound. "I was a walking boner factory. And I had no idea how to handle it."

Jonas felt his cheeks flush. "That's... that's basically what's happening to me right now."

"Yeah, I figured." Craig—because that was who he was, under the Molly Millions skin—pushed off the wall and walked closer. "Power Girl, right? Premium replica body?"

"How did you—"

"I saw the boob window from across the hall. That's not a costume you buy off the rack. That's a Swaptyx special." He gestured at Jonas's chest. "How much did that set you back?"

"I didn't choose it. It was a mix-up."

"Ah." Craig nodded sagely. "The 'randomized' feature that's not actually random. Classic Swaptyx. They give you what they think you want, not what you asked for." He looked Jonas up and down, but it wasn't the hungry look from the convention floor. It was appraising, almost clinical. "You've got the premium muscle density too. I can tell from your shoulders. You could probably punch through a wall in that body."

"I don't want to punch through a wall. I want to go home."

"No you don't." Craig's voice was firm but not unkind. "You want to enjoy the con. You want to see the panels, buy the merch, maybe meet some friends. You just don't want to do it while every guy in the building imagines you naked." He paused. "Which, by the way, they're all doing. Every single one. The ones who aren't imagining you naked are imagining you on top of them. Or under them. Or bent over a table."

Jonas felt his stomach turn. "That's not helping."

"I'm not trying to help. I'm trying to prepare you." Craig's expression softened. "Look, I'm not saying this to freak you out. I'm saying it because I spent the first day of my first con hiding in the bathroom, crying, because I couldn't handle the way people looked at me. And I don't want that to happen to you."

Jonas was quiet for a moment. Then, reluctantly: "I was about five minutes away from that."

"I know." Craig reached out and put a hand on Jonas's shoulder—a friendly, human gesture. "So here's the deal. I've been in this body for two days now. I've learned a few things. And I'm going to share them with you, because no one shared them with me, and I spent way too long figuring it out on my own."

Jonas looked at him. "You're going to give me tips?"

"I'm going to give you a survival guide for being a hot woman at a nerd convention. Listen or don't. Your choice."

Jonas nodded slowly. "Okay. I'm listening."

Craig's grin returned. "Good. Let's start with the basics."