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The next day, ‘Karyn’ had an appointment, so I used the opportunity to paw through her items and see if there was anything on Lord Mallory or Transmigration Studios.

Her desk and closet were empty of anything pre-swap. As was her suitcase and carry-on.  It was as if all traces of who she’d been were erased.

I went into her study, and logged onto her computer. She always used the same password, which I’d never told her I knew, so I was able to login fairly easily.

Immediately, websites with screens in Asian writing popped up. Bingo.

I took screen caps of a few of them, and scrolled through her history. Apparently she had an email account she checked regularly under her old name, but I couldn’t understand any of the writing or messages. I was able to get google translate to figure out some of it, and sure enough she had logged into Transmigration Studios website.

She definitely had a logon. There was the standard account and profile information, and also tabs for the new persona with contact lists, pictures of her ‘new friends’ all with information in Asian that I couldn’t understand, but could guess at. 

I was able to see her ‘pre’ swap info also, and took copious notes.

She’d been a woman name Li-Hahn Tram. Born and raised in Singapore, she’d been 82 when she swapped. Apparently, she’d made most of her money as an investment banker and had quite the sum. She’d paid $187,000 for the swap into Karyn per auction 9485. 

I swallowed. That was more than double my yearly income. There was going to be no way I could even match that kind of cost.

Or could I? The house had equity. We had two cars, one that I owned outright. I did the math. With the equity in the house, plus cashing out my retirement I could put that amount together, in fact I could go as high as $200,000 if needed.

Jesus, was I really thinking about this?

Okay, genius, so you get on the inside, you get to one of the auctions or whatever, and you win an auction. Now you’ve bought yourself a new body, so what? How does that help Karyn?

I could threaten to expose the operation. Bring in the feds, some government agency. 

That would take time, and from my reading they had fail-safes; go to any policing agency and you get yanked out of your body permanently into oblivion. Do not pass go, do not collect $200.

It was a very neat, tidy operation that had apparently been going on for years. Black market sale and trade of bodies.

I thought about it. If it had been going on for years, there had to be a ‘robin hood.’ Someone, or a group of someone’s who knew about it and were trying to do something about it. I needed to find them.

I needed the dark web.

I put her laptop away, and collected my own, dashing out the door.

As I drove through the streets, I thought about it.

Ex-Muritious and the gang of Transmigration studios had apparently put a modern front on an ages old machine. Generations ago, people would literally attend auctions in the dark of night wearing masks and shrouded in capes as some young nubile form was brought onto a stage. The person would be turned, and an examiner would perform a demonstration of teeth, strength, suppleness, muscle-tone and more. 

The bidding would commence with the forms holding up numbers quietly to the sound of a chime that intoned the different bidding levels. There wasn’t an auctioneer just a series of tones to indicate amounts and everyone knew which tone was assigned each denomination. They would hold up a placard at the desired levels until only one placard remained.

Apparently, the auction itself hadn’t changed since the very first one that pre-dated Christianity. How could I, just one lonely man, bring down such an ancient rite?

Then I chuckled. One thing I knew was insurance. Every auction house, both online and in person had a company that insured against fraud, liability, bad transactions and the like. If this very successful auction had been running since before Christ, there had to be an insuring agency behind it. A group, well funded, that maintained the business of the auction, ensured proper payment, and reimbursed individuals in the event of a bad transaction. There had to be bad transactions in all that amount of time. If I could find this dark agency, perhaps I could work at it from the back side.

I grinned, hopeful for the first time since this had happened.

***

Li-Hahn came home a few hours later.

“Hi Baby!” she said, after walking in the door. I gasped.

She’d had…something…done to her mouth. She had the trout lips favored by so many movie and tv stars, an obscene change that made me wince.

“What do you think?” She fluttered her nailed hands at her mouth. “Are they more kissable?”

Swallowing, I leaned in and kissed her softly. “Do they hurt?”

“Mhmm, a bit. And some of the swelling will go down, so you can put away that frown, Mr. Frowny Face!”

I nodded. I really needed to get Karyn back in her body pronto before this bitch did something to her body that could not be undone.

She fluttered around the house, dropping articles of clothing, bags, her purse and other items. Shortly, I heard her talking in the studio, loud exclamations about how amazing her new lips were and how everyone should ‘stay tuned!’ for the new Karyn. 

I sighed, sitting on the couch and waiting for her to finish. I made us a little dinner - chicken and rice, and set out two plates, along with a nice wine and lit the candle.

“Oooh! Someone is giving some effort!” She said, fluttering into the room.

“Ah, yes. I treat my baby right.”

She leaned in for a chaste kiss, then winced. “Sorry, they’re pretty sore.”

“It’s okay, honey. Try to eat something.”

She daintily skewered some chicken and placed it in her mouth, chewing carefully with those lips slightly open.

I closed my eyes in disgust, trying not to allow the display unsettle me.

“So I wanted to talk to you about something,” I said.

“Oh?”

I nodded. “What kind of referral fee do you get with Transmigration Studios if you bring in a new client?”

The act dropped, and she put down her fork. She held up a taloned finger, then sipped some wine, fluttering her eyes closed.

“You want to soul-exchange.”

I shrugged. “Why not? You seem to have traded up.”

“But why, Robbie? You’re a handsome man!”

I appeared to be thinking. “I was bullied a lot in grade-school. When I got into high school, I played in the marching band and was never the popular kid. I envied the quarter-back, the basket-ball players and all the girls they scored.”

“Awww, poor widdle Wobbie!”

“Anyway, I’ve always wanted a more attractive body. Chiseled, cut, the kind girls go for.”

She nodded, excitedly.

“So since you are so beautiful, I thought maybe I’d trade up too. Get someone who looks like they deserve to be with you.”

She squealed. “Yes!” She got up out of her chair, then clopped over to me, sitting down in my lap and throwing her arms around me shoulders.  “Baby, what if you become a handsome black man?”

“Sure,” I lied. “Whatever you would find attractive.”

She nodded. “Well, I do get quite a finders’ fee, but you would have to be certain…”

“Oh, I’m certain.”

“Then I’ll make the arrangements! Oh, darling, this makes me so excited, you have no idea!” She threw her arms around me, her platinum locks sliding into my face.

Wincing, I nodded.

“Take me into the bedroom, lover.” She said in a husky voice.

I lifted her in my arms, and walked down the hall.