The neon lights of Neo-LA cast an eerie glow on Zeke's thin face. He held two chemically paired vials in his tattooed hands - one blue, one yellow.
Switchblade. The ultimate escape.
In this cesspool of commodified consciousnes, Zeke was king. His product didn't get you high; it got you out.
The process was simple, almost elegant. "Receivers" downed the yellow, "Switchers" the blue. One soul seeking payment, another chasing second chances. Two lives forever changed with a single swallow. A chemical tango.
Zeke never asked questions. He didn't want to know why the uptown man in the tailored suit was so eager to shed his skin. Nor did he care about the weathered woman's reasons for wanting easy credits. Their stories, their desperation, their dreams - none of it mattered to him.
All that mattered were the credits pouring into his accounts, a digital deluge of wealth.
But a gnawing emptiness festered within Zeke. An abyss no amount of credits could fill. Zeke had money and power. And now Zeke had cancer too. He had received notification after his annual checkup. It was devastating news - months to live. To escape death, he'd have to switch. He needed a willing Receiver - and fast.
His gaze kept drifting to Brick, his monolithic bodyguard. Young, vital, with a physique hewn from living stone and a face that could make angels weep.
Zeke didn't have that. He didn't have youth. He didn't have women falling at his feet. What he had was eating him alive.
Zeke's plan crystallized, sharp as broken glass. First, the switch. Then, with a body chiseled by the gods themselves, he'd pluck the eyes from his discarded shell. Use them to unlock his fortune. Transfer the credits, birth new accounts with his stolen gaze. The old, weak Zeke would be powerless to stop his reborn self. Clean. Simple.
"Hey, Brick," Zeke's voice slithered through the neon-washed night. His cybernetic eye whirred, focusing on the hulking silhouette by the office door. "You feeling okey?"
"Boss?"
"You don't look so hot. Something eating at you?" Zeke's compassion performative.
Zeke pulled up a display, medical records dancing in the air between them. "Just had my check-up. Doc says I'm fit as a fiddle. Got me thinking about you, big guy. When's the last time you got looked at?"
A flicker of unease crossed Brick's chiseled features. "Been meaning to, boss. Was gonna ask you, but you always real busy."
Zeke's smile was a shark's grin. "Well, let's fix that, shall we? No time like the present. We'll use the AIMedScan in my lab."
"Lab, boss?"
Zeke swept the detritus from his desk, papers fluttering to the floor. "Just lay on here Brick," he sighed.
Brick's massive frame settled onto the desk, silent and still as Zeke manipulated a device above him. A cold blue light bathed Brick's body. "Stay still now," Zeke commanded, his voice a silken noose. "It'll take less than a minute."
The scan was quick, painless. The results, a carefully orchestrated devastation.
Zeke stared at a small screen on the device for what seemed like ages. "Let's try that again. I think there's..."
"There's what, boss?" Brick's sounded worried.
"There's something here in the results Brick. Don't worry, might just be a glitch. Just lay still while I run the scan again." Zeke forced a wobble in his voice.
The scanner whirred for a second time and Brick stared up at the ceiling while the blue light bathed his body once more.
A loud bleep signalled the end of the scan. "You can sit up now Brick. I'll just take a minute to look at the results."
Zeke sat back in his chair and rubbed the top of his bald head with his good hand.
Zeke's performance was Oscar-worthy, his face a mask of sorrow as he delivered the fabricated diagnosis. "I'm sorry, Brick. Stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Prognosis: 3-6 months... at best."
Color drained from Brick's face, leaving him ashen. "There's gotta be a mistake."
Zeke's hand found Brick's shoulder, ignoring the surge of triumph in his chest. "I'm so sorry, my friend. But... maybe there's a way I can help."
Understanding dawned in Brick's eyes, hope and suspicion warring within them. "Switchblade? With who?"
"Me, Brick. You'll Switchblade with me."
"But boss, I can't ask you to - "
"You're not asking," Zeke cut him off. "I'm offering. You've been my loyal bodyguard for 5 years now, and you've saved my life more times than I can count. Let me save yours for once."
Brick hesitated, hope and suspicion warring in his eyes. "Why would you do this?"
Zeke shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. "I've lived a full life. Made my fortune. Have no family to speak of. I'd be happy to live in your hulking body and grab 6 months of jiggy-jiggy with the ladies. Downside for you is that you'll get to live in my broken body for years to come."
"Boss, that's... that's good of you," Brick said.
"It's my pleasure Brick. Like I say, 6 months of jiggy will be a great way to go. Let me grab the vials."
Brick smiled as Zeke pulled out two vials from a drawer.
The switch was quick, clinical.
Zeke opened his eyes to a world seen from six-foot-four of solid muscle. He flexed, marveling at the raw power coursing through his new body. He felt invincible, reborn.
But the feeling didn't last.
A sharp pain lanced through his abdomen, stealing his breath. His vision swam, the neon lights of the lab blurring into a nauseating kaleidoscope.
Brick, now inhabiting Zeke's body, smiled. But it wasn't the loyal, trusting smile of before. This was something predatory, triumphant.
"Hurts, doesn't it?" Brick said, using Zeke's voice with unsettling ease. "Cancer's a bitch."
Horror dawned as Zeke realized the truth. The medical records hadn't been faked - he'd been duped.
"Yeah, ironic, right. I hacked your records," Brick laughed.
"Why?" Zeke growled, the word rumbling from Brick's massive chest.
"Because you had something I wanted," Brick sneered. "The business, the bottomless bank account. But you were too busy being jealous of this - " he gestured at the muscle-bound body Zeke now inhabited, " - to appreciate what you had."
Zeke lunged, his new body's strength propelling him forward with startling speed. But Brick was ready. A small device in his hand glowed red, and suddenly Zeke's world exploded in agony. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire.
"Neural disruptor," Brick explained casually, watching Zeke writhe on the floor. "Designed it myself. Triggers the pain receptors in that new nervous system of yours. Neat, huh?"
Through gritted teeth, Zeke managed to spit out, "You're dying too, you idiot. My body isn't exactly young."
Brick's laugh was cold. "True. But it's got something better than youth - the reputation to keep this business running. I figure I've got a year, possibly two, to build up a nice nest egg. Then?" He shrugged. "I'll find some young, dumb recruit who dreams of being a crime lord. Make another switch."
"You won't get away with this," Zeke growled, struggling to his feet.
"Oh, but I will," Brick replied, his finger hovering over the neural disruptor. "Because if you try anything, if you so much as whisper to anyone about what happened here, I'll make sure your last few months are spent in agony so intense you'll beg for death."
With a casual flick, Brick tossed a credstick at Zeke's feet. "Here's your severance pay. Don't get your hopes up. It's not enough to buy a switch. Should cover about a week in the gutter. After that?" He shrugged. "Well, that's not my problem."
The door hissed open, then closed. Zeke, wearing Brick's body - was gone.
Zeke stared at his massive, unfamiliar hands. Hands that would soon be useless as the cancer ate through his borrowed body. He was trapped, not just by the disease, but by the very empire he'd built. Any attempt to reveal the truth would be met with skepticism at best, a painful death at worst.
Outside, the neon signs flickered like dying stars. Somewhere in the maze of streets below, hundreds of blue and yellow vials changed hands. Hundreds of lives rewoven into a tapestry of desperation and hope. The Neon Mind Bazaar was open for business. And Zeke, its former king, was now just another lost soul, trapped in a flesh prison of his own making.
And in Neo-LA's night, the truth glowed brighter and more terrifying than ever: There is no escape. Not really. Not ever.
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