Where's the Remote? The Remote of Transformation chapter 10 by deleted_user

Paul lumbered through the screaming, disoriented crowd in his new burly construction-worker body, heavy boots thudding against the tiled floor. The tool belt slapped against his thick thighs with every step, and he kept having to fight the urge to adjust the heavy, swinging weight in his jeans. Not now, brain. Focus.

He patted down the safety vest pockets. Empty. No remote.

“Shit. Shit shit shit,” he rumbled in that deep baritone. The last time he’d held the damn thing was right before the mass swap—when he was still in that plain, mousy female body Brandon had given him. Which meant the remote was probably still in whatever pockets or hands that average-looking woman’s body had now.

He had to find her. Or rather, find whoever was currently piloting that body.

Paul pushed past a bearded trucker, frantically feeling between his legs and yelling, “Where the fuck did my pussy go?!” He scanned every face, every mismatched silhouette.

Near the smoothie stand, he spotted it—his last body.

The plain brunette with the messy ponytail, big glasses, modest B-cups under a baggy t-shirt, and unremarkable hips. She was standing frozen, staring down at her small hands like they were alien artifacts. But the posture was all wrong: shoulders hunched aggressively, one hand scratching at the crotch with zero shame, the other clutching something black and rectangular.

The remote.

Paul barreled over, trying not to loom too much with his massive new frame. “Hey! You—in my old body! That’s my remote!”

The person inside Paul’s former plain female body looked up. Her eyes widened behind the glasses.

“Holy crap… you’re huge,” the woman said, gruffly. “Name’s Mike. I was just trying to buy new tires for my truck when—bam. Now I’ve got tits. Tiny ones, but still. And no dick. This is fucked up, man.”

Paul winced. “Yeah… about that. I’m Paul. That used to be my body."

Mike looked back with skepticism. "Paul doesn't sound like a girl's name."

"Well, that wasn't my first body. Look, I need the remote back. I think I caused this whole mess.”

Mike narrowed his eyes, clutching the remote tighter against his modest chest. The motion made the baggy t-shirt shift over the small breasts. “You caused it? You’re the asshole who zapped the whole mall into a game of musical bodies?”

Paul’s big construction hands went up placatingly. “I was trying to fix the earlier changes! I panicked. The remote reads your thoughts and I was thinking ‘swap everyone back’ but it… interpreted it literally as swap everyone. I’m so sorry. I’m trying to make it right. Just give me the remote and I’ll try to undo as much as I can.”

Mike looked down at himself and then back up at Paul’s towering, muscular form. His expression twisted from confusion to pure irritation.

“You turned me into a frumpy chick, and you want me to just hand over the magic clicker? Fuck that. If this can do all that, I can change myself back. I should just zap you into a toddler or something.” Mike’s new feminine voice cracked with the anger of a pissed-off trucker. “Do you have any idea how weird it feels to have these on my chest? And everything’s so… sensitive down there. I keep clenching and it’s gross.”

Paul rubbed his bearded face, the scratchy stubble feeling completely alien. “I know. Believe me, I know. I was in that body two minutes ago. It’s weird as hell. But if we don’t get the remote back under control, this is permanent. Or worse. Please, Mike. I’ll owe you huge. Just let me try to reverse the swap.”

Mike glared for a long moment, then reluctantly held out the remote, though he didn’t let go yet. “Fine. But if you fuck this up again and I end up with bigger tits or pregnant or some shit, I’m hunting you down in whatever body I get. Deal?”

“Deal,” Paul said quickly, reaching for it with one massive hand.

Around them, the mall continued its meltdown. A security guard (now in a teenage girl’s body) was trying to break up a fight between two swapped people near the fountain. Somewhere in the distance, a familiar platinum-blonde head bobbed through the crowd—Vince’s Farrah Fuxx body, but the movements looked stiff and confused, not horny and chaotic.

Paul’s construction-worker heart raced. He had the remote again. Now he just needed to find Brandon and Vince before he tried anything else.

Mike crossed his arms under his small breasts, looking thoroughly unimpressed in Paul’s old plain body. “Well? Fix it, genius.”