A Body Swap Study
Author’s Note:
This is a long one but I hope you enjoy it. Had this story in mind for a while but I was looking for the perfect pair of men to use. The pics here are the SFW version. If you wanna see the full NSFW version, you can see them on my discord: https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS
There’s considerably less photos in the tumblr post than the one on discord
A Body Swap Study: Posters had begun appearing throughout the city, each one promising an opportunity too good to be true. The details were vague yet enticing: a groundbreaking psychological and neurological study seeking male participants between the ages of 18 and 60. The commitment was significant—a full year in a secured facility—but so were the incentives. Housing, meals, and an eye-watering sum of money were offered in exchange for participation. A non-disclosure agreement was mandatory, hinting at the study’s highly confidential nature. Some dismissed it as a scam, but for those desperate enough, it was an irresistible lifeline.
Silas was one of those people. A twenty-year-old aspiring actor in Los Angeles, he had once been confident that success was just around the corner. Yet, after countless auditions and endless rejections, he found himself unable to pay rent, with no prospects in sight. Handsome, fit, and brimming with charisma, he carried himself with the bravado of someone who had the world at his feet. But behind that confidence lay a man aware of how precarious his situation had become. When he saw the poster, he barely hesitated before signing up. It was money, stability—just for a year. How bad could it be?
Rob, on the other hand, had just lost his job. It wasn’t the first time. Overweight since childhood, he had grown accustomed to the silent judgments and casual dismissals of others. He was highly intelligent, kind-hearted, but plagued with insecurities that made it difficult to navigate social situations. His appetite was insatiable, his body unaccustomed to exercise, and he often sweated excessively, making him self-conscious about his appearance. When he stumbled upon the poster, it felt like a godsend. He needed money, and if spending a year in a research facility was the price, so be it.
The research team was flooded with applications, but two names stood out: Silas and Rob. Their physical and psychological differences made them ideal candidates. When they arrived at the state-of-the-art facility, they were greeted by Dr. Hank, a middle-aged man with an air of quiet authority. He welcomed them into a sleek, modern space filled with cutting-edge technology and a team of eager scientists. As Silas and Rob exchanged glances, their immediate impressions of each other were hard to ignore.
Silas couldn't tear his eyes away from Rob, his gaze flickering between disgust and disbelief. The sight of him—slouched and bloated—made something twist deep in Silas’ gut. How could someone let themselves reach this point? Rob's clothes hung loosely on his frame, but it was clear the fabric couldn’t fully conceal the rolls of flesh beneath. His face, once vaguely youthful, now sagged with an unflattering weight, his skin stretched tight around the folds like it was struggling to keep up with the overwhelming bulk.
The size difference between them was so stark it almost seemed like a cruel joke. Silas stood tall, lean, a picture of discipline and control. And then there was Rob, who looked as though he'd long given up on any semblance of self-respect. His greasy hair hung limply, a stark contrast to the neatly combed strands Silas took so much pride in. The small beads of sweat on Rob’s forehead seemed to reflect a deeper, unspoken struggle—one that Silas couldn’t quite place but that filled him with an uncomfortable mixture of superiority and contempt.
A huff of disbelief escaped Silas before he could stop it. How does someone let themselves go like that?
Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, he scolded himself. He knew nothing of Rob’s life, his struggles, or how he had ended up this way. It wasn’t fair to judge him for his body alone. Still, it was difficult not to feel a sense of superiority.
Rob’s gaze lingered on Silas, and for a moment, he felt a sharp pang of envy twist in his chest. Silas exuded a kind of effortless confidence that Rob had always longed for, something he could never seem to grasp. His eyes traced Silas’ lean, sculpted form, the way his clothes fit him perfectly, as if every inch of him had been meticulously designed for maximum impact. There was a magnetic energy around him, a self-assuredness that Rob could never seem to summon, no matter how hard he tried.
It was frustrating—almost maddening—watching Silas move with that kind of ease, as if nothing in the world could faze him. Rob had dreamed of that confidence, had imagined walking into a room and commanding attention without even trying. He’d fantasized about being in shape, about going to the gym and chiseling his body into something that might make him proud, but the reality of his lazy habits, his poor diet, and his inability to break free from his patterns always held him back.
But standing next to Silas now, the gap between them felt painfully insurmountable. He couldn’t ignore the stark contrast: where Silas was sharp, defined, and disciplined, Rob felt sluggish, soft, and weak. A bitter jealousy simmered under his skin, but there was something else too—a strange, almost involuntary thrill at the sheer difference between them.
As his eyes briefly scanned Silas’ body, he felt a jolt, a tightness in his chest that he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just envy. There was a certain pull to Silas—something more than just admiration. Rob didn’t quite know how to label it, but there was a raw, magnetic attraction in the way Silas stood, in the way his presence seemed to fill the room. It stirred something deep inside Rob, a hunger he’d never fully understood, an aching desire to somehow be that person, to embody that power, that control.
But, even as these thoughts circled in his mind, he pushed them down, focusing instead on the fleeting hope that this experiment, whatever it was, might be his chance to finally change. To escape his stagnant life and step into something new. The envy was still there, but now it was tinged with a desperate yearning, an almost primal desire to shed his old self and embrace whatever might be possible with Silas’ image, if only for a moment.
Dr. Hank soon gathered them for an explanation. The study, he revealed, was not just about the brain—it was about identity itself. The goal was to explore what happened when the mind was gradually reshaped to fit a new body. This wouldn’t be an instant switch. Instead, over the course of months, every aspect of their lives would be systematically exchanged. By the end of the experiment, their minds would fully adapt to their new identities.
Both men were horrified. The idea of losing themselves, even temporarily, was unnerving. But Dr. Hank calmly reminded them of the immense compensation they would receive. He assured them that the process would be entirely reversible and that Silas and Rob would return to the outside world when the study concluded. It was a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless. With some hesitation, they signed the NDA and the consent forms, sealing their fate.
After signing, they were introduced to the rest of the research team and given a tour of the facility. It was more luxurious than either of them had expected—a strange fusion of laboratory and resort. There was a buffet, a gym, an arcade, and even outdoor spaces like a pool and lush green parks. Each man was given a private room, equipped with all the comforts of home. For a moment, it almost felt like a vacation. Almost.
The first phase of the experiment was simple: a swap of personal objects. They were instructed to exchange clothes in front of each other, a task that made Silas uneasy from the start. As he pulled off his fitted designer t-shirt, he couldn’t help but glance over at Rob’s exposed body standing before him. The difference between them was almost jarring. Rob’s stomach protruded noticeably, his belly soft and rounded, the fabric of his shirt clinging tightly to the folds of flesh beneath. His arms were thick, but the weight wasn’t muscle; his skin, slick with residual sweat, reflected a life of neglect.
Silas’ gaze lingered briefly on the stretch marks crisscrossing Rob’s torso, a stark contrast to his own firm, meticulously cared-for body. It wasn’t a feeling of disgust, not exactly, but a deep sense of disbelief at the reality of the man in front of him—someone who lived in a completely different world, a world Silas had never been forced to acknowledge until now.
As Rob peeled off his jeans, Silas’ eyes flickered downward despite himself, taking in the full extent of the contrast between them. Rob’s thighs were thick, heavy, pressing against each other with every movement, the skin slightly chafed where they rubbed together. His calves, though large, lacked the definition Silas was used to seeing on his own body, and his knees seemed almost swallowed by the surrounding flesh. Silas couldn’t help but notice the way Rob’s stomach sagged slightly over the waistband of his underwear, the elastic digging into his skin, leaving faint red marks. His hips were wide, his lower body carrying the bulk of his weight, and even the way he stood—feet planted firmly apart for balance—was so different from Silas’ own natural stance.
As he slid Rob’s oversized, sweat-dampened shirt over his head, Silas was hit with an immediate discomfort. The fabric, heavy and loose, hung off his own frame like a sack, draping over his well-defined muscles in an unfamiliar way. The scent of Rob’s body—a mixture of stale deodorant and the lingering musk of someone who didn’t care much for hygiene—clung to the fabric, making Silas wrinkle his nose. The jeans were even worse—baggy and stretched out in places that seemed unnatural. They hung off him awkwardly, as if he were a child playing dress-up in his father’s old clothes. His discomfort deepened, the weight of Rob’s existence—his habits, his choices—pressing down on him in a way that felt almost suffocating. Silas swallowed hard, fighting the unease rising in his chest. This wasn’t just an exchange of clothes; it was a glimpse into a life he had never truly understood, and the reality was far more unsettling than he had imagined.
Meanwhile, Rob’s hands trembled slightly as he peeled off his old, sweat-stained t-shirt and handed it to Silas. He had seen fit men before—on television, at the gym he had always been too intimidated to enter—but never had he stood so close to someone like Silas, let alone stripped down before them. His eyes traveled over Silas’ body, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. Silas was everything he had ever wanted to be—lean, toned, effortlessly powerful. His chest was firm, each muscle subtly defined without being overly bulky, his stomach tight and sculpted, as if he had never known the struggle of excess weight. His shoulders were broad, his arms chiseled, his entire frame carrying a natural confidence that came from discipline, from a life of control.
As Silas removed his last layer, Rob felt a pang of something deeper than envy—an aching realization that they were built for entirely different worlds. When he stepped into Silas’ crisp, perfectly fitted clothes, the waistband snug against his stomach, he felt like an imposter. This wasn’t just an exchange of fabric—it was a fleeting, painful glimpse into the life he had always wished for but had never been able to reach.
Rob’s eyes traced Silas’ form with an almost analytical intensity, absorbing every detail of the body he had always longed for. His chest was firm and smooth, his pectoral muscles subtly defined, rising and falling with steady breaths. His collarbones jutted out ever so slightly, accentuating the lean, angular structure of his upper body. Silas’ arms, even at rest, carried an effortless strength—biceps and triceps taut beneath his skin, veins faintly visible along his forearms, a sign of low body fat and rigorous training. His stomach was a masterpiece of discipline, each muscle carved into a set of defined abs that tensed slightly with every shift of his posture. Lower down, his hips were narrow, his waist trim, leading to long, toned legs with thighs firm and proportionate, the muscles apparent even in stillness. His calves were sharply contoured, the kind Rob had always envied in runners or athletes, shaped by years of movement and effort. Even his stance was different—relaxed but assured, as though he had never once worried about how much space he took up. Rob swallowed hard, not out of embarrassment, but from the sheer weight of the comparison. Silas’ body wasn’t just different—it was proof of everything Rob wasn’t, everything he had always wished he could be.
Rob couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy mixed with awe. Was it really possible for a person to look this… perfect? He had always admired fit men from afar, but seeing Silas up close like this made his own body feel even heavier in comparison.
Sliding into Silas’s clothes was an entirely different experience—one that filled Rob with a strange, exhilarating thrill. The shirt was snug, hugging his body in ways he wasn’t used to. It was strange, almost suffocating, but he didn’t hate it. In fact, he reveled in it. The fabric was soft, clean, and carried a faint scent of expensive cologne—nothing like the lingering musk that clung to his usual clothes. When he lifted his arms again, the motion brought a fresh wave of Silas' scent—an intoxicating mix of soap, skin, and something subtly masculine that Rob couldn't quite place. He inhaled before he could stop himself, a flicker of something heady and unfamiliar stirring inside him.
The jeans were impossibly tight, and he struggled to button them over his stomach, but he relished the sensation of wearing something meant for someone like Silas. He stood up straighter, tilting his chin slightly, imagining what it must feel like to actually *belong* in these clothes. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe—just maybe—this experiment could give him more than just money.
Aside from that, they also exchanged wallets, IDs, and phones. The symbolism was clear—this was the first step in becoming each other. From that moment on, they were required to wear each other's clothes. It felt ridiculous, even surreal, but they reminded themselves that it was all temporary. Just a year, and then they would return to normal. Or so they thought. That afternoon, Silas and Rob sat across from each other in one of the facility’s sleek, minimalist lounge areas. A small recording device sat between them, its red light blinking steadily, a silent witness to the exchange that was about to take place. Dr. Hank had given them clear instructions—share everything. Every detail of their lives had to be known by the other, down to the smallest habits and personal quirks. If they were going to live as each other, they had to be each other.
Rob cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Alright… I guess I’ll go first," he said. "My full name is Robert Daniel Whitmore. I was born in Chicago, Illinois. I’m twenty-six. Only child. My mom raised me on her own after my dad left when I was a baby. We didn’t have much growing up, but she worked hard to give me a good education. I was always the smart kid, the one with his nose in a book. I studied computer science at the University of Illinois, but I never really fit in. I… I always felt like an outsider, you know?" His voice softened, eyes darting away. "And yeah, I’ve always been… big. I tried to lose weight a few times, but food was kind of my escape. It still is."
Silas listened, arms resting on the back of the couch. He forced himself to absorb everything. It wasn’t just words—it was supposed to be his new reality. "Alright," he said, exhaling. "I’m Silas Maddox. Full name Silas James Maddox. Born and raised in Los Angeles. I’m twenty. I have one sibling. It’s just my dad, sister, and I after my mom passed away when I was a kid. He’s a talent agent, got me into acting when I was little. Did a bunch of commercials, tried for bigger roles, but nothing really stuck. I work part-time as a waiter, but acting’s always been my dream. I hit the gym every morning, keep myself in shape—image is everything in my business. And, well…" He gave a dry chuckle. "Let’s just say I’m used to getting attention."
Rob nodded, trying to picture himself in Silas’s world. The glitz, the constant pressure to be seen, to be perfect. It was so far from his own reality that it almost felt like fiction. Meanwhile, Silas tried to imagine Rob’s life—long nights behind a computer, the loneliness of always being the outsider, the struggle of trying to change and never quite succeeding.
For the next few hours, they drilled each other on details. Favorite foods, childhood memories, allergies, daily routines. Silas now had a mother who sent long-winded texts about his health. Rob now had a father who expected him to make it big in Hollywood. The longer they spoke, the more their lives intertwined, and the more unsettling it became. By the end of it, they weren’t just learning—they were becoming.
Afterwards, Dr. Hank paced in front of them with a clipboard in hand. The sterile white walls of the facility seemed to press in on him, making him feel trapped in something far more intense than he had expected. He glanced at Rob, who looked equally uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, his thick fingers fidgeting with the hem of Silas’s former shirt. Dr. Hank finally stopped pacing and turned to them with a sharp, expectant smile.
"Alright, let’s begin," Dr. Hank said, adjusting his glasses. "Silas—" He paused, then corrected himself with a smirk. "No, I should say… Rob. Let’s hear you introduce yourself."
Silas hesitated. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his jaw tightening before he finally spoke. "Uh… My name is Robert Daniel Whitmore, but you can call me Rob." The words felt foreign, wrong, like an ill-fitting costume.
Dr. Hank nodded encouragingly. "Good. And how old are you, Rob?"
Silas clenched his jaw. He wanted to say twenty, but he knew that wasn’t the right answer anymore. "I’m twenty-six," he muttered.
Dr. Hank’s smirk widened. "And tell me, Rob, between you two, are you the fit man or the overweight man?"
Silas exhaled sharply through his nose. His instinct was to scoff, to argue, but he caught himself. That wasn’t what Rob would do. That wasn’t what he was supposed to do anymore. "I… I’m the overweight one," he admitted, his voice quieter than before. The words felt like acid on his tongue.
Dr. Hank nodded approvingly before turning to Rob. "And you—Silas—let’s hear it."
Rob sat up straighter, as if already stepping into his new role. "I’m Silas James Maddox, but you can call me Silas," he said, his voice steadier than Silas had expected. "I’m twenty years old." He paused, then smirked slightly. "And I’m the fit one."
Silas narrowed his eyes at Rob’s confidence, while Dr. Hank merely chuckled. "Excellent. Now, let’s make sure this sticks."
For the next hour, Dr. Hank continued his relentless questioning, drilling into their heads who they now were. Silas had to repeat again and again that he was Rob, that he was the older, overweight man. Rob, meanwhile, seemed to grow more comfortable each time he stated that he was Silas, that he was the younger, athletic one. By the end of the session, Silas felt mentally exhausted, as if his very identity was being pried from his grip.
Dr. Hank set his clipboard down with a satisfied nod. "Good work, gentlemen. From now on, there are no mistakes. You will refer to each other, and yourselves, by your new identities. The more you embrace it, the easier it will be."
Silas let out a slow breath, glancing at Rob. He had no idea just how deep this experiment was going to go. And worse—he had no idea if he was ready for it.
The weeks that followed the initial introductions were grueling, both mentally and physically. Dr. Hank made it clear that the next phase was about full immersion. But it wasn’t just their identities that were being exchanged. Their diets were next. "If you’re going to live as each other," Dr. Hank had said, "you’ll eat as each other. Starting now."
The new Silas—Rob, still in his own chubbier frame but tasked with assuming Silas’s habits—stared at the plate in front of him: grilled chicken breast, steamed broccoli, and a side of quinoa. Across the table, the new Rob—Silas, with his muscular build but wearing Rob’s baggy clothes —eyed a towering burger, fries glistening with oil, and a milkshake dripping with whipped cream.
“You actually eat this stuff?” Silas muttered, poking at the burger with a mix of disgust and curiosity. Rob smirked, shoveling a forkful of quinoa into his mouth. “Better than rabbit food,” he shot back, though the dryness of the healthy meal made him wince.
What neither of them realized, however, was that the food had been tampered with. The meals, though appearing perfectly ordinary, had been subtly altered by the research team. The healthy dishes prepared for Rob were enhanced with compounds designed to make nutrient-dense foods more palatable, triggering cravings for lighter fare. Meanwhile, the indulgent meals given to Silas had been treated to mimic the addictive flavors of greasy, calorie-laden comfort food. Their bodies wouldn’t gain or lose a pound—Dr. Hank had ensured that—but their preferences were another matter entirely.
At first, the meals were torturous. Rob struggled to finish the modest portions, his stomach growling in defiance as he longed for something heavier. Silas, on the other hand, grimaced with every bite of greasy fries, his usual discipline warring with the newfound compulsion to clean his plate. But as the days turned into weeks, the changes began to take root. Rob found himself enjoying the lightness of a spinach salad, while Silas’s hand reached for a second helping of lasagna without hesitation. They didn’t notice the shift—not consciously, at least. But Dr. Hank did. From behind the mirrored glass of the observation room, he watched with quiet satisfaction as the experiment progressed exactly as planned. The transition wasn’t just about knowledge anymore. It was about instinct. The lines between Silas and Rob were beginning to blur, and neither of them could see it yet.
The gym was pristine, almost clinical in its design, with mirrored surfaces and gleaming equipment that looked barely touched. Silas and Rob stood in their respective rooms, separated only by the large glass wall between them. Everything had been designed to be identical—the machines, the placement of the dumbbells, even the lighting. It was as if they were inside a perfectly symmetrical illusion. The only thing breaking the reflection was the fact that the man staring back at them wasn’t their own.
Silas adjusted the snug, moisture-wicking shirt he had been given, shifting uncomfortably. It clung to his torso, emphasizing his lean, muscular build.
Across from him, Rob wore the same outfit—except on him, it stretched awkwardly over his stomach and arms, highlighting every roll and bulge. Silas tried to keep his expression neutral, but he could already feel the discomfort creeping in.
Dr. Hank’s voice crackled over the intercom, instructing them to begin their workout, ensuring they mirrored each other’s movements perfectly.
Rob exhaled and gripped the dumbbells, his fingers tightening around the cold metal as he pulled them upward in a slow, deliberate bicep curl. His eyes immediately darted to the glass wall, where “his” reflection—Silas—moved in perfect sync. The thick veins running down “his” forearms bulged with each rep, his biceps peaking, flexing, contracting like coiled steel beneath his skin. His shoulders, broad and sculpted, rolled with effortless precision.
Rob felt a thrill surge through him.
The illusion was mesmerizing. It was like looking into a mirror, but instead of seeing the soft, pudgy form he had known all his life, he saw strength. Definition. Perfection.
He relished every second of it.
He transitioned into shoulder presses, pushing the dumbbells overhead. His delts flared, the striations in “his” muscles appearing more defined with each movement. He admired how “his” pecs tightened, the sweat glistening over smooth, firm skin. It was intoxicating to see “his” body move with such effortless power. He had never looked so good—never *felt* so good. The glass wall was no longer just a tool for training; it was a portal into the life he had always craved.
His favorite part of the session was squats. As he lowered his body, he savored the way his quads flexed and stretched, the way his hamstrings tightened with tension before he pushed back up with ease. The sheer athleticism reflected back at him made his pulse race. This was his body now. The reflection belonged to him.
Silas, on the other hand, could barely stomach what he was seeing.
Every movement felt wrong.
Each rep, each squat, each contraction of his muscles only reinforced the horrifying illusion. He lifted his arms for a bicep curl, but instead of seeing his strong, defined arms moving in the reflection, he saw Rob—a version of himself that had become thick, heavy, and painfully out of shape. His once-chiseled forearms now looked soft. His chest, which had once been tight and strong, now appeared bloated, lacking any of the sharp contours he had worked so hard to maintain.
He swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing steady as he moved through the motions. The glass wall was unrelenting, forcing him to watch every painful second. The worst was when they moved to planks—he held himself up on his forearms, trembling not from exertion, but from disgust as he saw “his” stomach sag slightly, a clear reminder that Rob’s body was nowhere near as taut or conditioned as his own.
It was unbearable.
Rob, however, was still entranced. He smirked, flexing his arm slightly in between sets, watching “his” bicep bulge and harden. He turned slightly to get a better view of “his” back in the reflection, grinning at the way “his” lats flared out, creating the V-taper he had always dreamed of having.
Silas caught the expression on Rob’s face and felt something bitter rise in his throat.
Rob was enjoying this.
His hands clenched into fists. He had spent years crafting his body into peak condition, years sculpting every muscle, and now, here was Rob—lazy, overweight Rob—basking in the illusion that he had built this physique. That it belonged to him.
Silas wanted to scream.
But there was nothing he could do except continue the workout, moving in perfect sync, locked in this cruel, twisted reflection of reality.
Mid-workout, the gym was filled with the rhythmic sounds of exertion—dumbbells clanking onto the rubber flooring, controlled breaths exhaling between sets, the occasional grunt of effort. Sweat glistened on both men’s bodies, soaking through their clothes as they pushed themselves further.
Then Dr. Hank’s voice crackled through the intercom.
"Now, switch gym clothes. All of it."
Silas stiffened. Rob’s breath hitched in excitement. That meant everything they were wearing.
With no choice but to obey, Silas peeled off his tight, sweat-drenched compression shirt, grimacing as the cool air hit his damp skin. He looked down at his chiseled torso—his torso—before reluctantly reaching for Rob’s oversized, moisture-soaked tank top. The fabric was thick with sweat, carrying the unmistakable scent of Rob’s exertion. As he pulled it over his head, he shuddered at the way it clung uncomfortably to his body, the foreign musk invading his senses.
Rob, on the other hand, grinned as he grabbed Silas’s sleek, fitted gym shirt. The material was thin, designed to hug every contour of Silas’s sculpted physique. As he slipped it on, he gasped—it fit. It actually fit. The snug compression wrapped perfectly around his man boobs, his flabby arms, emphasizing every ridge and valley of fat. He felt powerful. He also enjoyed smelling Silas’s musk on his own body.
Silas tugged at the loose tank top draped over his frame, feeling utterly disgusted. The fabric sagged at the chest, pooled slightly around his waist—*it didn’t belong on his body*. He tried to ignore the way it smelled, the way it reminded him with every inhale that this wasn’t *his* usual scent anymore.
Then came Dr. Hank’s next command.
"Silas, stand in front of the mirror and flex."
Rob’s pulse quickened.
Silas hesitated, jaw tightening. Slowly, he stepped forward until he was directly in front of the glass. He knew what he would see. It never got easier. The reflection staring back at him wasn’t his own—it was Rob’s. His breath hitched slightly, the weight of the reality sinking in.
Behind him, Rob watched with barely contained excitement.
Silas lifted his arms, forcing his biceps to contract. The thick, rounded muscles peaked, veins pulsing beneath the surface. Rob mirrored the movement behind the glass wall, watching with hungry eyes as “his” body flexed in response.
"Continue flexing through a full routine, Silas—keep mirroring Rob."
Silas moved through each pose reluctantly, muscles rippling as he transitioned from a front double bicep to a side chest flex, his abs tightening with every motion.
Rob, however, relished every second of it. He struck the same poses, mimicking the movements exactly, grinning as he watched his reflection respond. It was intoxicating, seeing himself like this. Strong. Dominant. Perfect.
He hit a side tricep pose, watching the muscles coil and stretch, the lines crisp and well-defined. Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping onto his chest, making his already toned body gleam under the gym lights.
Silas, meanwhile, felt his stomach twist with resentment. He was being objectified—by Rob, of all people. He could feel the way Rob was drinking in the sight of “his” reflection, the way his eyes lingered on every flex, every contraction.
"Now, continue your workout." said Dr. Hank
Silas turned away from the glass wall, thankful to be done, but Rob was still fixated on the illusion. He grabbed the barbell with renewed energy, eager to lift, to feel *his* muscles working.
Silas did the same, but with every movement, he could feel Rob’s oversized tank top shifting awkwardly against his body, could smell the lingering musk of Rob’s sweat. His skin crawled.
And yet, when he glanced up, Rob was staring at his reflection with utter admiration. The realization made his blood boil. Rob loved this. Loved the body that wasn’t even his.
And worst of all—Silas couldn’t do anything about it.
After the grueling workout, their bodies were glistening with sweat, muscles sore yet warm from exertion. Dr. Hank’s voice crackled once again over the speaker.
“Now, head to the showers. Same procedure applies—mirror each other’s actions.”
Silas let out a slow, shaky breath. His body was screaming for relief, but the thought of yet another humiliating exercise made his stomach churn. Rob, however, practically vibrated with anticipation. He followed Silas out of the gym, every step feeling more natural—like he belonged in this role.
When they arrived at the showers, Silas froze in the doorway. Just like the gym, it was designed to reinforce their mirrored roles. A false mirror stretched across the length of the shower stalls, but Silas knew better by now. It wasn’t a mirror at all—it was a transparent glass wall. On the other side, Rob stood in the exact same spot, his eager eyes locked onto Silas like a predator finally cornering its prey.
“Similar in the gym, Silas leads. Rob follows.”
The words rang in Silas’s ears like a death sentence.
Rob moved himself forward, standing in front of the shower controls. Silas’s hands moved on autopilot as he turned the knob, warm water cascading down his body, rinsing away the sweat from the brutal training session. Every movement—every flex of muscle, every lift of his arms to wash his hair—was him copying Rob with unwavering precision.
Rob’s eyes raked over Silas’s reflection—his reflection, in his mind—watching the way the water slid over his toned chest, down his sculpted abs, trailing lower and lower. He swallowed, enthralled by every defined muscle, the way Silas’s shoulders tensed, the sharp angles of his jawline when he tilted his head back into the stream. Even the way Silas ran his fingers through his wet hair looked effortlessly cool, effortlessly right.
Rob mimicked every motion perfectly, but there was a difference. Silas was enduring this. Rob was savoring it.
For Silas, this was another level of hell. Every time he opened his eyes, he wasn’t greeted by his own reflection, but by Rob’s body, doing exactly what he was doing. He scrubbed his arms, his chest, but every movement was mirrored by a body that wasn’t his—one that was softer, rounder, completely alien. His jaw clenched as he reached up to wash his armpits, his biceps flexing involuntarily—only to see Rob’s reflection doing the same. It almost felt hypnotic.
His stomach twisted when he moved downward, washing his torso. The glass left nothing hidden. Every action was performed in sync, and even though he was looking at Rob, his mind hated how natural it felt—how his brain was beginning to accept that the body staring back at him was his own.
Meanwhile, Rob was in heaven. He took his time, watching Silas’s every motion like it was a performance crafted just for him. His favorite part? Seeing the shifting expressions of frustration, anger, and helplessness on Silas’s face. It fueled him. It made him bask in the reality that he was winning—he was Silas now.
When the shower ended, Dr. Hank’s voice returned.
“Now, put on your clothes.”
Silas let out a slow breath, desperate to escape this psychological torture. But the torment wasn’t over yet. Their clothes had already been laid out for them—Rob’s outfit on Silas’s side. Silas’s outfit on Rob’s side.
It was deliberate.
With no choice, Silas grabbed the oversized shirt and loose sweatpants that reeked of Rob’s scent. The fabric felt wrong against his skin, swallowing his frame in a way that disgusted him. He tugged the shirt over his head, feeling like he was drowning in the unfamiliar cloth, the musk clinging to him.
Rob, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He grabbed the fitted t-shirt, sliding it over his shoulders, marveling at how perfectly it contoured his chest, how snug it felt against his arms. He pulled on the athletic joggers, admiring the way they sat on his hips.
When they stepped out of the showers, it was almost laughable how much they looked like each other. The real Silas, dressed in Rob’s oversized clothes, looked tired, burdened, out of place. The real Rob, dressed in Silas’s perfectly fitted outfit, looked energized, confident, as if he had never not been Silas.
Without another word, they walked to their respective bedrooms. Or rather, each other’s bedrooms.
Silas stepped into Rob’s room, the scent of junk food and unwashed clothes filling his nostrils, making him gag. Rob stepped into Silas’s room, inhaling the crisp, clean air with a satisfied smirk.
This was exactly how it should be.
The psychological and the physical phases had started. Now it’s the social phase. At first, managing each other’s social media accounts had felt like a chore—a game of memorization, carefully choosing words and tones to match their new identities. But as weeks turned into months, it became second nature. Silas found himself scrolling through Rob’s old messages, responding to conversations about coding projects and online gaming as if he had always been part of that world. The new Rob was very hooked into gaming to escape his new reality.
Meanwhile, Rob was thriving, slipping effortlessly into the role of Silas Maddox. He flirted with confidence, set up dinner plans with strangers who had no idea they were speaking to someone completely different, and basked in the attention that came with being an attractive, fit young man.
The dating profiles became a particular source of amusement for Rob. He had never experienced so many matches before—his inbox was flooded with eager messages, women (and even a few men) vying for his attention. But photos were crucial. Every potential match wanted proof that the man they were talking to was real, and that’s where Silas came in. Rob would direct him meticulously, instructing him to pose just right, flexing in ways that accentuated his muscles. "A little more light on your abs," Rob would say, adjusting the angle. "Turn your shoulders a bit—yeah, perfect." Sometimes Rob would do a picture for Silas to copy. Silas found the whole thing humiliating. His body had become a product for Rob to use, a tool to maintain the illusion. But the paycheck, the contract, the experiment—he reminded himself it was all temporary.
Rob, however, had never felt more powerful. He scrolled through his matches, feeling giddy at the thought that people saw him—well, saw Silas—as desirable. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t invisible. He was the man others wanted. And with every post, every video, and every flexing picture he had Silas send, he felt himself sinking deeper into his new identity, wishing that maybe—just maybe—it didn’t have to end.
After a few more weeks, the next phase began. They were given necklaces that were simple, unassuming—thin chains with a small metallic pendant, cool to the touch as Dr. Hank placed them around their necks. Silas eyed his warily, rubbing the pendant between his fingers, but it felt ordinary. Rob, however, was eager. He had learned by now that every step of the experiment brought him closer to fully embodying Silas, and he welcomed it.
Dr. Hank cleared his throat, beginning the usual round of questions. “Rob, what’s your name?” asking Silas.
Silas exhaled sharply before answering, “Rob Whitmore.” But as soon as he spoke, his eyes widened. The voice that left his mouth wasn’t his own—it was deeper, heavier, unfamiliar. It was Rob’s voice. He pressed his fingers to his throat in shock.
Dr. Hank smirked. “Good. And how old are you?”
Silas hesitated. He knew the answer. He had rehearsed it for weeks. But now, with the strange weight of the voice coming out of his mouth, it felt disturbingly real. “I’m twenty-six.”
Dr. Hank nodded and turned to Rob. “And you? What’s your name?”
Rob swallowed hard. A shiver of anticipation ran through him. “Silas Maddox,” he said, and his heart nearly stopped. His voice—Silas’s voice—was smooth, confident, effortless. He let the words settle in his mouth, repeating them in his head.
Dr. Hank continued. “How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“And are you the overweight man or the muscular one?”
Rob almost smiled. “Muscular.”
The words sent a thrill through him. He glanced at the glass wall, catching sight of Silas in his reflection, and for a moment, it was as if his mind filled in the gaps. The voice, the posture, the way he had been living—He was Silas.
Silas, however, felt the opposite. Every answer he gave pulled him deeper into a reality he didn’t want to accept. His voice was wrong. His name was wrong. He had been forced to embrace so many parts of Rob’s life already, but this was different. This was intimate. It wasn’t just about acting anymore. It was starting to feel real.
Later that day, Rob stood in front of the glass wall of the gym again, watching "himself" move in sync. He had loved these sessions before, but now, knowing his voice matched the man in the reflection, it felt perfect. He wasn’t just imagining being Silas anymore—his brain was solidifying it as truth. He grinned as he curled the weights, feeling stronger, more alive.
But beneath that thrill, a fear lurked. What if, at the end of all this, they took it away? What if he had to go back to being Rob? The thought unsettled him, gnawed at the edges of his excitement. He clenched his jaw, pushing the thought away.
The next contraption was introduced a few weeks later. The contact lenses sat in two small cases, perfectly clear, almost indistinguishable from ordinary prescription lenses. Dr. Hank explained their purpose, though both men already had a feeling of what was coming.
Rob picked up his set first, glancing at Silas one last time before carefully placing the lenses in his eyes.
A quick blink, then another—his breath caught. Silas was gone. In his place stood himself—or rather, how his old body looked like. Chubby and hairy.
Rob looked at the mirror and saw Silas’s toned arms, sharp jawline, and athletic stance. Rob’s eyes widened in astonishment. He turned his head slightly, watching “himself” do the same, but from a different angle. His heart pounded in his chest as he raised a hand, watching his "reflection" move in perfect sync.
He quickly turned his gaze downward to confirm what he feared—and excitement exploded in his chest. His stomach—Silas’s stomach—was flat. No overhang, no soft flesh pressing against his shirt. He reached down and pressed his fingers into his belly and pecs, expecting firmness, expecting definition—
—but all he felt was flab.
The illusion wavered just for a second. He could see abs, but beneath his hands, he could feel the soft rolls of his true form. His breath hitched, but rather than disappointment, an intoxicating thrill ran through him. It was almost perfect. Just one more step.
On the other side of the room, Silas hesitated before slipping in his own lenses. He blinked a few times, forcing himself to look straight at Rob.
Except it wasn’t Rob anymore.
It was him. His own face, his own body. Standing over there. Moving in real time.
A cold wave of nausea hit him.
He swallowed hard and turned his gaze downward. Panic swelled in his chest. The first thing he saw was Rob’s thick arms. His belly bulged under his shirt, round and unfamiliar. His body looked like Rob’s. But—instinctively—he pressed a hand into his gut.
His own firm abs were still there.
For a moment, relief flooded through him. He wasn’t actually trapped. It was all just a trick. His fingers dug in deeper, feeling the muscle underneath. He could feel his real body, even if his eyes told him otherwise. But the sight was suffocating.
“Excellent,” Dr. Hank said, jotting something down. “Now that you both look the part, there's no need for shared workouts. You can train separately and continue your regimen alone.” Rob grinned, unable to stop himself from turning back to the mirror. His hands glided over his "abs" again, despite the deception. His mind was already starting to believe it.
That night, alone in his room, Rob stood before the full-length mirror, peeling off his sweat-dampened shirt. The fabric slid from his skin, revealing the defined lines of his chest and stomach—or rather, Silas’s chest and stomach. He ran his hands over his "chest," brushing over the sculpted pecs he saw. He looked perfect. The only flaw was that he could still feel his real body beneath the surface.
Despite this, his fingers ghosted over his reflection in the mirror, tracing the sharp definition of his jawline, his broad shoulders. He flexed an arm, watching the muscle shift, tightening with strength that—just weeks ago—he could never have imagined.
He tilted his head, drinking in the sight of himself. This was who he was now. The body of a man who belonged in the spotlight, on magazine covers, admired by everyone who laid eyes on him. His fingers dragged slowly down his stomach, stopping just above his waistband. His old body—his real body—had been soft, flabby, weak. But now? Now, he was powerful. Now, he could strut into any room and command attention.
A knock on the door snapped him out of his trance.
Dr. Hank entered, holding a small case of pills. “This should help reinforce the connection between your mind and body,” he explained. “Rob will feel heavier, as he should be, and you, Silas, will finally feel lighter and stronger.”
Rob snatched up the pill eagerly, barely hearing the rest of the explanation before swallowing it down. . Silas, however, hesitated. He looked at the grotesque reflection in the mirror—his reflection, bloated and unfamiliar. A deep pit of unease settled in his gut before he finally shoved the pill in his mouth, swallowing hard.
It didn’t take long for the effects to sink in.
Rob let out a slow breath as warmth spread through his limbs. His fingers pressed into his stomach again—except this time, there was no flab, no resistance. His body felt tight, compact, efficient. He flexed his arms again, his grin widening as he felt the tension in his biceps, the solid weight of strength coursing through him.
He turned back to the mirror, running his hands over his chest, over his stomach, up to his shoulders, reveling in every single inch of his sculpted frame.
“Oh yeah,” he murmured to himself, tilting his head, shifting his stance just slightly to emphasize his best angles. He threw a few casual poses, watching the light dance across the definition of his abs. Every movement felt fluid, natural. He had become Silas in every way that mattered.
Then he turned his gaze across the room.
Silas sat hunched on his bed, staring down at himself with a look of absolute horror.
His fingers gripped the flesh at his waist—except this time, it moved under his touch. It sagged, the weight pulling in ways that felt unbearable. His whole body felt sluggish, heavy, bloated. His stomach sat on his lap, the subtle bounce of soft fat foreign and horrifying. He clenched his fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream.
His breath turned shallow.
This wasn’t a trick anymore. The lenses made him see it, but now? Now, he felt it.
His gut clenched as he slowly raised his gaze toward the mirror.
Across from him, Rob smirked, basking in the glory of his—Silas’s—body, flexing without a care in the world. Silas’s stomach twisted as he watched the man move, admire himself, preen like he had earned that body.
Rob turned slightly to the side, taking in his reflection from another angle, running a hand through his hair before meeting Silas’s gaze in the mirror. He caught the flicker of envy in Silas’s expression—raw, unfiltered resentment.
And he loved it.
He let his smirk widen as he stretched his arms above his head, exaggerating the movement, rolling his shoulders just to feel the strength radiating from his muscles.
"Man," he sighed, dragging his hands down his torso again, relishing every inch. "I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this."
Silas gritted his teeth, his hands tightening into fists.
Rob turned to him, eyes gleaming. “How’s it feel?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement.
Silas didn’t answer. He refused to give Rob the satisfaction.
But that smirk—that knowing, arrogant smirk—never left Rob’s face.
He stretched again, yawned, then gave one last glance at his reflection, dragging his fingers across his stomach one final time before heading to bed.
Silas, however, had trouble sleeping that night. He sat in front of the mirror, trapped in the body he once mocked, his own physique stolen by the very man who didn’t deserve it. Eventually, he got tired and fell asleep.
The facility was silent in the dead of night, save for the occasional hum of machinery and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. Silas and Rob lay unconscious in their separate rooms, their breathing steady, their minds deep in drug-induced sleep. The sedation had been precise—calibrated to ensure that neither man would stir as they were carefully transported to the sterile, steel-lined chamber. The walls of the room were lined with machinery that pulsed with an eerie blue glow, their function known only to those who worked under Dr. Hank’s meticulous guidance.
In the center of the room stood two massive pods, each one large enough to contain a full-grown man. Their curved glass surfaces were clouded with condensation, hiding the intricate network of wires, tubes, and electrodes that snaked along the interior.
Dr. Hank observed as his team worked in practiced efficiency, preparing for the final phase of the experiment. He approached the control panel, his fingers dancing over the buttons before gripping the lever.
“This is it,” he murmured, almost to himself.
He pulled the lever.
The hum of the machines deepened into a low, resonant vibration. The pods lit up from within, a blinding white light flooding the room as energy surged through the complex system. Inside, the bodies of Silas and Rob twitched involuntarily, muscles seizing as the technology did its work.
The process took mere minutes.
When the glow finally dimmed, the pods hissed as they depressurized. The lids slowly lifted, revealing the men inside.
Where Silas had been placed, Rob’s body now lay still.
Where Rob had been placed, Silas’ body now remained.
It was seamless—perfect. Every detail, down to the finest fingerprint, had transferred flawlessly. The bodies had been switched completely.
Dr. Hank leaned in, inspecting them closely.
"Turn off the necklace and the lenses," he instructed.
A technician complied, pressing a button on a nearby console. The faint energy signatures that had once manipulated their senses flickered out.
Neither man would notice.
When they woke up, they would feel exactly the same.
And that was the true brilliance of it all.
The morning light filtered through the blinds as the new Silas stirred awake, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. Immediately, something felt different—better. He felt light. He felt strong. Ultimately, it felt right.
He sat up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, and as he moved, his body responded with a sharpness he had never known before. There was no sluggishness, no resistance, no weight dragging him down. His muscles felt compact, efficient, ready to move. A slow smile spread across his lips as he ran his hands over his stomach, reveling in the tightness of his abs, the firmness of his chest. It felt real now—undeniably real.
Standing up, he took a few steps toward the full-length mirror, his breath hitching as his reflection greeted him. Silas.
He turned slightly, rolling his shoulders, flexing his arms just to feel them move. A rush of warmth spread through his chest. This was his body now. He felt like he was really Silas.
On the other side of the facility, the new Rob groaned as he woke up, the simple act of rolling over suddenly feeling off. His limbs felt heavy, his movements slower, less responsive. He furrowed his brows, shifting onto his back and blinking up at the ceiling. Something wasn't right.
Sitting up took effort—too much effort.
His breath caught as his stomach pooled in his lap, the weight of it unfamiliar, foreign. His fingers dug into the soft flesh at his sides, and a wave of unease rolled through him. The pill must still be working, he told himself. The effects will wear off soon.
Dragging himself out of bed, he made his way to the mirror, bracing himself before glancing at his reflection. His breath hitched. He saw Rob.
No. That’s himself, he told himself.
He frowned, running a hand through his hair. He was still getting used to seeing himself like this, but now, it felt real. The weight on his body, the sluggishness in his movements—it was all too much.
Before either man could dwell on it further, Dr. Hank’s voice crackled through the intercom.
Gentlemen, report to the main room. They arrived at the usual session, sitting across from each other as Dr. Hank regarded them with a pleased expression.
“We’ve made some advancements,” Dr. Hank began. “To further reinforce your new realities, we’ve integrated AI into your devices. From now on, when you look into a camera, the camera will see yourselves—as you should.” Though in reality, there was no AI added. The truth is, they just completely swapped bodies.
Silas—the new Silas—felt a rush of excitement as he grabbed his phone and opened the selfie camera.
There he was.
The sharp jawline. The clear skin. The perfect physique.
He turned his head, testing the angles. His reflection followed flawlessly, every movement natural.
He had no reason to doubt it. He didn’t need Silas to take photos and videos for him anymore.
Rob—the new Rob—hesitated before doing the same. His stomach twisted as he raised his phone and stared at the image on the screen.
His lips pressed into a thin line. The AI was too good. The way it moved, the way the light caught his features—it was as if he were really looking at himself in the mirror.
His grip on the phone tightened.
“Everything you see, everything you feel, is a result of our process working exactly as it should,” Dr. Hank said smoothly. “You are exactly where you’re supposed to be.”
Neither of them questioned it.
The day continued as usual. Their meals were switched—Silas enjoying his healthy protein-heavy diet while Rob choked down the carb-heavy, high-calorie meals he had once despised.
At the gym, Silas—the old Rob—felt the rush of strength surge through him as he lifted the weights effortlessly. His body responded with power, precision. Each curl, each press, each motion was a testament to the reality he had embraced.
Across from him, Rob—the old Silas—was struggling.
The weights that used to feel light now burned in his arms. His breath came heavier, his movements slower. He watched as the new Silas worked out with ease, flexing in front of the mirror, admiring his own reflection.
The new Rob gritted his teeth. He hated how it felt. How natural it was beginning to seem. Not only that, he can smell his own musk. The old musk of Rob which is now his own.
He wanted to believe this was just a trick—just the pills, the lenses, the AI. But with every movement, every step, every moment… The truth settled deeper into his bones. And neither of them knew.
The final phase had arrived.
Dr. Hank stood before them, his expression unreadable as he clasped his hands behind his back. Silas and Rob sat across from him, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.
“For the next six months,” Dr. Hank said smoothly, “you will be living as each other in the real world. No more controlled environments, no more structured drills. You will be immersed completely.”
The old Silas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But… we haven’t actually swapped bodies.” His voice, now permanently sounding like Rob’s, was filled with doubt. “How the hell are we supposed to pull this off?”
The old Rob, in contrast, leaned forward eagerly. “Yeah, I mean… I know we’ve got the AI, the lenses, the pills, and all that, but outside, how do we make sure people don’t see the truth?”
Dr. Hank gave a slow, knowing smile. “That’s already been taken care of. All necessary arrangements have been made.”
Silas frowned. “Arrangements?”
Dr. Hank didn’t elaborate. Instead, he motioned to the assistant standing by the door. “Before you go, we have one last exercise.”
The old Silas’s stomach churned as the familiar process began once again. The final drill.
Dr. Hank turned to the new Rob first. “What’s your name?”
The old Silas clenched his fists but forced himself to answer. “Rob Whitmore.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
Dr. Hank’s smirk widened. "And tell me, Rob, between you two, are you the fit man or the overweight man?"
The new Rob exhaled sharply through his nose. His instinct was to scoff, to argue, but he caught himself. That wasn’t what Rob would do. That wasn’t what he was supposed to do anymore. "I… I’m the overweight one," he admitted, his voice quieter than before.
Dr. Hank nodded approvingly before turning to Rob. “And you?”
Rob grinned. “I’m Silas Maddox.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty”
“And are you the overweight man or the muscular one?”
The new Silas smiled. “Muscular.”
Dr. Hank’s gaze flickered between them, and then he continued, pressing deeper into their identities. Childhood memories. Family histories. Personal quirks. Every answer solidified the transformation, reinforcing who they had become.
Silas relished every moment, answering with enthusiasm, loving the power of fully stepping into Silas’s life. He stole glances at the reflection of his body in the glass, flexing slightly when he thought no one was looking.
Rob, on the other hand, responded reluctantly, hating every second of it. Each answer felt like another nail in the coffin of his old self, trapping him further in this deception.
By the end of the session, Rob felt hollow. Silas, however, felt exhilarated.
“Good,” Dr. Hank finally said, pleased. “You’re ready.”
The men were escorted out of the facility and sent on their way.
Silas stepped into the world, meeting his "friends" and "family." They greeted him warmly, embracing him, laughing with him as if he had always been Silas. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—only acceptance.
Rob arrived at his "home." Everything about it felt familiar even though it shouldn't be. Then everyone he met—his coworkers, his neighbors—treated him exactly as they would Rob.
Both men felt a deep, unsettling shock.
How was this possible? The world saw them exactly as they saw themselves. And they had no idea that it wasn’t just perception anymore.
Six months passed.
Silas thrived. He had embraced his new body, his new life, and everything that came with it. Every morning, he woke up feeling strong, powerful, and confident. The gym had become his second home, a place where he sculpted his already perfect physique and basked in the admiration of others. He had even landed a few acting gigs—something the old Silas had always struggled to achieve.
It was as if fate had corrected a mistake.
He wasn’t just living as Silas; he was excelling at it.
Meanwhile, Rob endured each day with growing frustration. He hated the way his body felt—heavy, sluggish, uncooperative. The workouts that had once been second nature were now grueling, humiliating tasks, and soon, he gave up on them entirely. Instead, he found comfort in food and video games, settling into the life he had been given, biding his time until the swap was reversed.
Because it would be reversed.
…Wouldn’t it?
The thought nagged at him more and more as the months passed. He had been counting down the days, waiting for Dr. Hank’s call, waiting for the experiment to end.
Then, one evening, the call finally came.
Both men were summoned back to the facility. Silas arrived in a crisp, well-fitted shirt that accentuated his muscular build, his presence commanding the room effortlessly.
Rob, in contrast, arrived in loose, comfortable clothes that did little to hide his weight gain, his expression filled with equal parts relief and desperation.
Dr. Hank greeted them with his usual composed demeanor. “Gentlemen, congratulations. The study has concluded.”
Rob exhaled sharply, shoulders relaxing. “Finally. So, we swap back now?”
Dr. Hank smiled, tilting his head. “That was never part of the agreement.”
A silence heavier than anything they had experienced before settled over the room.
Rob’s stomach twisted. “What?”
“The process was designed to be entirely reversible,” Dr. Hank clarified, his voice infuriatingly calm. “But I never promised that it would be reversed.”
Silas said nothing. He simply stared at Dr. Hank, his expression unreadable.
Rob shot Silas a pleading look. “You want to switch back… right?”
Silas met his gaze, and for the first time in six months, Rob saw something in his eyes that made his stomach drop.
“No.”
Silas didn’t want to switch back.
He had won.
Panic surged through Rob. “No. No, no, no. You can’t just—”
Rob removed his contacts and yanked his necklace but everything looked and sounded the same. When he looked at Silas, he still saw a muscular and handsome man there.
“Dr. Hank already told me that the contacts and necklaces were off months ago.” Silas said.
Dr. Hank simply gestured to the door. “You’re free to go.”
Silas left without hesitation, stepping back into his perfect life without a single glance backward.
Rob remained frozen, his world collapsing around him.
And when he finally stumbled out of the facility, no one—not his coworkers, not his friends, not the world—would ever believe that he had once been someone else. Not that he could, given his non-disclosure agreement.
The End.
It's always interesting to see scientific experiments in these kinds of stories, and you know I love stories with a cruel twist.
