Chapter Three - Full Immersion

Harry trudged down the sprawling campus of Pacific Coast University, his head down, shoulders hunched against the weight of the morning. The familiar paths of the California college felt foreign and uncomfortable now, every step echoing with the soft whispers and stifled laughter that trailed him like a shadow.

The 19-year-old had barely slept; the memory of his latest ‘Lifesynced’ ordeal replayed in his mind over and over again, the taste, the comments, the humiliation, only to wake to the damned plump lips staring back at him in the mirror on his own real-life face.

Harry’s hoodie was pulled tight over his head, but it couldn’t hide the evidence square on his transformed face.

Students clustered near the Digital Studies building, their eyes darting towards him as he approached. A group of girls giggled behind their hands, their whispers slicing through the air. “Did you see his stream last night?” one muttered, her voice carrying just enough to reach his ears.

“Those lips. Is he trying to mimic his new avatar?” Another sang. Harry’s jaw clenched, his fists tightened in his pockets. Had the entire damn campus watched his humiliating stream? He wanted to scream, to tell him it wasn’t his choice, but what could he say? That a damn game was rewriting his body? He didn’t fancy a one-way trip to the loony bin.

He pushed through the glass doors into the hallway, the fluorescent lights casting harsh reflections on the polished floor. The chatter followed him, a relentless hum of adolescent judgment. He’d been the king here just a few days ago, the streaming celebrity all the men envied, and the women lusted after, but now he felt more like a punchline.

His sneakers squeaked as he rounded a corner, nearly colliding with a scruffy kid leaning against a locker. The boy’s smug grin was unmistakable. He was Johnny Logan, or SnatchHunter69 as Harry better knew him, an avid follower of Harry’s work on GlitchCast.

“Great show last night, man,” the kid said, his voice dripping with mockery that was usually absent. “You put on one hell of a performance. I’d be happy to help you keep it going in real life,” the scrawny man teased. “Maybe get you a nice wig to match your hair on Lifesynced and put those lips of yours to work,” He chuckled, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

Harry’s vision blurred with rage. Before he could think, his hands shot out, grabbing the kid by the collar of his shirt and slamming him against the lockers. The boy’s laughter cut off with a gasp, his eyes widening in fear as Harry held him harshly, his breath coming in sharp, angry bursts. “You think this is funny?” Harry growled. “Say that again, asshole. I dare you!”

“I - I’m sorry, man!” the kid stammered, his bravado crumbling in an instant. “I didn’t mean it, I swear. It was just a joke!” His hands flailed, trying to push Harry off, but the streamer held him there a moment longer, the anger pulsing through his like a living thing. Finally, he released the kid, who stumbled against the lockers before running down the hallway.

Harry turned away, his chest heaving in fury, the hallway spinning around him. The laughter had stopped, replaced by a tense silence as the students witnessed his altercation. He stormed towards the exit, shoving the door open with more force than necessary. His classes can wait. He had more pressing priorities. The whispers picked up as he disappeared around the corner, a chorus of mockery he couldn’t escape.

He didn’t stop until he reached the edge of the campus. He caught his reflection in a nearby window, those plump, curved lips pouting in horror, a permanent reminder of Hayley’s intrusion into his reality. He pressed his forehead against the glass, his breath fogging it up. What was he going to do now? What choices did he have? His questions were left unanswered as he headed back to his SUV. He wouldn’t find the answers here. He needed to get back to Lifesynced.

❖

Harry slammed the door of his luxury apartment behind him, the echoes of the campus laughter still ringing in his ears. His SUV had barely cooled from the drive back, but he couldn’t stay away from Lifesynced any longer. The only way he could figure out what was going on was by communicating with the PC avatars and uncovering the truth himself.

He stormed to his gaming setup, the neural device still lying on the floor where he had thrown it before. He picked it up and stared at it; he needed to do this, he convinced himself.

He attached the device around his neck and picked up the controller, the familiar prickling sensation crawling across his skin as his vision blurred. When it cleared, he was back in that grimy motel room in Lowtown, the semi-transparent black night dress clinging to his transformed frame- Hayley’s frame. He groaned; the high-pitched sound of her voice immediately grated on his nerves, but there was no time to swell. He needed Echo Bucks. He needed to get out of this hellhole if he was ever going to investigate the glitch. He had to figure this out, one way or another.

The bar was attached to the motel, and a short walk later, Harry trudged inside. The place was busier than the morning crowd, tables filling with rough-looking patrons, the vast majority of them NPCs, nursing cheap beers and digging into low-quality meals. Dustin was behind the counter as usual, wiping it down with a rag that looked as filthy as the floor.

“Back for more, lass?” Dustin asked, his gravelly voice laced with the same opportunistic smirk Harry had come to despise. “Ready to earn your keep? Rent is due soon.”

Harry wanted to snap back, to tell him where to shove the job, but he swallowed his pride. “Yeah,” he muttered, the word tasting bitter on Hayley’s tongue. He needed the money if he was ever going to climb out of Lowtown before it was all wasted on rent.

Dustin flicked his wrist, and in an instant, the red bustier and black denim miniskirt - his replaced starter gear that was ‘gifted’ by an anonymous donor - vanished, replaced by that damn maid outfit. The sleek, form-fitting black and white uniform hugged every feminine curve, the low neckline accentuating his cleavage, the short skirt barely covering his ass with his ruffled hem. Thigh-high fishnet stockings encased his legs, and those 4” black patent stiletto pumps forced his steps into an unsteady sway. The white apron tied around his waist and the stiff cap with “Dustin’s Bar” in cursive completed the look, branding him as the bar’s property.

Harry grabbed a tray, his movements still clumsy in the heels, and started serving drinks. The bar hummed with activity, the clink of glasses and the low murmur of voices filling the air. Patrons leered as he passed, their eyes lingering on his transformed body. “Hey, sweet thing, how about a private dance?” one slurred, his hand reaching out. Harry sidestepped, flashing a flirtatious smile despite the disgust churning in his gut. “Not today, darling,” he cooed, Hayley’s voice taking over, the witty deflection automatic thanks to that cursed character sheet. Despite his ‘quirks,’ he had no intention of earning extra tips today.

Another tried, “What’s a pretty mouth like yours good for?”

Harry’s stomach turned, but he quipped, “Serving drinks, not granting wishes,” and moved on before the man could press further.

He was getting better at dodging these creeps, steering clear of the traps that had snared him yesterday, but it came at a cost. The shift dragged on, hours of balancing trays and dodging hands, and when it finally ended, Dustin called him over.

“Here’s your cut,” Dustin said, tossing a small pouch of Echo Bucks onto the counter. Harry opened it, his heart sinking as he counted, 50 bucks from the shift, plus a measly 20 in tips. Barely enough to scratch the surface. “I’ll be taking the rent tomorrow,” Dustin added, his smirk widening. “Pay up on time, no excuses.”

Harry’s fists clenched around the pouch, the weight of his situation pressing down harder. 70 Echo Bucks a day wouldn’t get him far. He’d avoided the degrading offers this time and kept his dignity as much as he could, but it wasn’t enough. The game was rigged against him.

He stormed back to his room, his outfit morphing back into the waist-cinching bustier and leather miniskirt, the heels clicking against the pavement, each step a reminder of his feminized state. He needed to find a way to turn this around, and fast. The memory of his campus experience fueled his resolve. He wasn’t just fighting to reclaim his rightful body; he was fighting for everything he built. The stakes were high.

❖

Harry leaned against the bar counter, scanning the room. Still in his bustier and miniskirt, he wasn’t here for work. The game economy mechanic wouldn’t allow a PC to work two shifts on the same day, but he wasn’t here for that.

Harry had spent his entire time in Lowtown since leaving the soup kitchen on day one, working for Dustin and earning Echo Bucks, but he needed information. He needed to learn how the game operated and how he could manipulate it. Harry was celebrated as one of the most skilled gamers on GlitchCast, and those skills were desperately needed right now.

The bar buzzed with life as the early evening fell, patrons laughing, glasses clinking, the air thick with the familiar stench of sweat and beer. Rugged NPCs and a few PCs mingled at the tables, their voices a low rumble beneath the flickering lights. Harry’s eyes darted from face to face, searching for someone who might know more than the usual Lowtown drunks. His heels clicked softly as he shifted his weight, the red bustier tight against his chest, the black denim miniskirt riding up his thighs. He hated this body, hated Hayley’s voice, and hated these damn slutty outfits. Why did programmers always create such ridiculously fetishistic outfits for women in video games?

A figure approached through the smoke-filled room, cutting through the crowd with a presence that didn’t belong. The mysterious man was tall, clad in a sleek black suit that stood out like a diamond in the dirt, tailored, pristine, a far cry from Lowtown’s rags. A black mask covered the top half of his face, leaving only a sharp jaw and a faint, knowing smirk visible. His dark eyes locked onto Harry’s, glinting with something sharp and calculating. This wasn’t another NPC; this was a real-life character, and he certainly seemed to know something about this place.

The man approached the scantily clad off-duty waitress. “You’re not like those other NPC barmaids, are you?” the man said, his voice low and smooth, slicing through the bar’s clamor like a knife. You look lost, like you don’t belong here. Am I getting warmer?” The man had no name above his head. Lifesynced’s Realism Mode add-on prevented Harry from knowing who he was talking to until the man introduced himself.

Harry’s instincts kicked in, his gamer’s mind sizing up this stranger. “Perhaps,” he replied, Hayley’s voice slipping out in that high-pitched, flirtatious tone his character sheet forced him to use. “But who are you to know anything about it?”

The man’s smirk deepened, his eyes narrowing as if savoring the challenge. “Someone who’s been playing this game for a little while,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small, metallic token, its surface shimmering with faint, etched lines that pulsed with a soft glow. “I’ve seen what it can do to players, how it can twist them. You want out, don’t you?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and his breath caught. Who was this man, and what the hell did he know? He kept his expression guarded. “What’s that supposed to do?” he asked, Hayley’s voice lilting despite his wariness. If this mysterious man was the key to reverting his changes, he needed to keep him talking.

The man slid the token across the counter, its faint glow catching the dim light. “Take it to a NewU Change machine. There’s one just down the street,” he said, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’ll give you a confidence boost—something to help you claw your way through this mess. You’re a streamer, right? Use it smart.”

Harry’s fingers hesitated over the token, the cool metal tempting him. “And why should I trust you?” he pressed, Hayley’s voice softening into a cautious coo; damn that character sheet.

“No reason you should,” the man replied, his smirk flashing again. “But you’re running out of options, aren’t you?” Before Harry could respond, the man turned, vanishing into the crowd like smoke, leaving only the token and a lingering sense of unease. Harry stared at the circular metal piece thoughtfully. That man knew too much, but was he a friend or a foe?

Harry snatched the token, its weight solid in his hand. He rolled it between his fingers, the pulsing lines mesmerizing. He had no idea what this clunk of metal did, but the man was right; he was running out of options. With a final decision, he tottered towards the bar’s exit. He needed to take the chance. This was the first real lead he’d gotten.

❖

Harry stepped out of Dustin’s Bar into the dim Lowtown evening, the token clutched tightly in his hand, its pulsing glow casting faint shadows on his fingers. The streets stretched out before him, a maze of cracked pavement and flickering neon signs, the air heavy with the stench of rotting garbage and stale smoke.

His heels clicked unsteadily against the ground, the red bustier squeezing his feminine waist, the black denim miniskirt riding up with every step. He hated this body - Hayley’s body - but the masked man’s words echoed in his mind: a confidence boost, a chance to claw his way out. If this token could give him an edge, he had to take it. It was the first real lead he’d gotten since this nightmare began.

The man had said the NewU Change machine was just down the street, so Harry scanned the corners for anything that stood out. A block away, he finally spotted an old, rusted contraption tucked against a crumbling brick wall, its faded sign flickering “NewU” in jagged pink letters.

The machine was tall, its surface scratched and dented, with a slot glowing faintly where a token might fit. It looked like something out of a forgotten arcade, but the hum of energy beneath its surface told him it was more than a relic. He approached, his breath catching as he rolled the token between his fingers. What was he doing? He had no idea what this token or this rusty machine could do. But what choice did he have? He was drowning here, and he needed a lifeline.

Harry hesitated, Hayley’s high-pitched voice muttering a curse under his breath as he stared at the slot. His instincts screamed caution, but desperation won out. He slid the token in, the machine whirring to life with a low, grinding rumble. A panel creaked open, revealing a narrow chamber barely wide enough for his frame.

He squeezed inside, the door slamming shut behind him with a clang that echoed in his ears. Lights flared, red and blue streaks flashing across his vision, and a sharp, electric tingling erupted across his chest, like needles pricking his skin.

Harry’s fists clenched, and his heart pounded. “What the hell—” he started in his high-pitched lull, but the hum surged, drowning out Hayley’s voice.

The tingling intensified, a burning pressure building in his torso, and he gasped as his chest began to swell. The red bustier tightened, fabric stretching against his skin, as it barely contained the expanding assets on his chest. The gamer looked down in horror as he saw them: massive, enhanced breasts jutting out ahead of him, high on his chest, and extremely firm. They defied gravity and were at least DD cups, heavy and undeniable. The machine’s lights dimmed, the hum fading, and the door hissed open, spitting him back into Lowtown’s grimy air.

Harry stumbled out, his balance thrown off by the sudden weight pulling at his torso. He clutched at his chest, the sensation all too real, soft yet unnaturally firm, a grotesque parody of what he’d once admired on women, still admired on women. His bustier automatically adjusted its proportions to fit his new assets.

“What the fuck is this?” he squeaked, Hayley’s voice rising in a mix of panic and fury. Even her sensual character sheet couldn’t hide the alarm and desperation in his voice. He tugged at the bustier, but it only accentuated the ridiculous size. Anger surged through him, real anger. A confidence boost? This was a sick joke; another layer of humiliation piled onto his already crumbling identity!

He spun on his heels, nearly toppling as the new weight shifted, and stormed back to Dustin’s Bar. That masked bastard had played him, and he needed to know why. The bar’s noise crashed over him as he shoved through the door, the crowd thicker now, a sea of leering eyes turning his way. He scanned the room, searching for that sleek black suit, that half-masked smirk, but the man was gone. Vanished into the haze of smoke and bodies, leaving Harry with nothing but this - this abomination.

“Oi, lass, where’d those come from?” a grizzled NPC hollered, his grin wide and lecherous.

Another whistled, “Now that’s a sight!”

Harry’s stomach twisted, the bile rising in his throat, but Hayley’s voice stayed locked behind his clenched teeth. He stood there, chest heaving under the strain of his new assets, the bar’s clamor pressing in like a vice. He’d been tricked and humiliated again, and the masked man was nowhere to be found.

His fists balled at his sides, nails digging into his palms as the crowd’s jeers washed over him. This wasn’t confidence; it was a spotlight, a cruel beacon drawing every eye to his degradation. He turned, shoving back through the door, the weight of his chest bouncing with every furious step.

Back on the street, the cool air did little to calm him. He needed to find that man, needed answers. He knew about Harry’s situation and seemed to revel in making it worse.

However, a flicker stirred beneath the rage, something alien and unbidden. Harry’s posture straightened slightly, Hayley’s head tilting back as if daring the world to look. Was this the boost? A twisted, forced bravado? He shook it off, his mind racing. His character sheet had been updated with his new proportions and automatically added a fourth unique attribute - Sexually Confident. Harry groaned. He was fighting for his life, and he was losing.

❖

Harry stood frozen just inside Dustin’s Bar, the door swinging shut behind him, the smoky air hitting him like a wall. The crowd had thickened since he’d left for the NewU machine. It was a mix of burly NPCs and a handful of fresh-faced new player characters filling the tables, their voices a low roar beneath the clinking glasses.

His heels clicked against the worn floor, the red bustier now straining against his massive new DD cup breasts, high and firm, a grotesque version of femininity that made every step feel like a spotlight swinging his way. The black denim miniskirt hugged his thighs, and he hated how exposed he felt, how Hayley’s body drew every eye in the room.

He hadn’t returned to work, but he’d hoped to catch that masked man again to demand answers. Instead, the bar erupted into chaos the moment he stepped inside.

A whistle pierced the air, sharp and lewd, as another patron, a scruffy user, no name above him due to the damn Realism mode, leaned forward. “Now that’s a rack worth tipping!” he hollered, his eyes glinting with crude delight.

“Hey, baby, how’d those melons fit around a nice, girthy cock?” a gross, chubby NPC bellowed from a table, his slobbering grin wide enough to show missing teeth.

The room buzzed with laughter, heads turning, eyes locking onto Harry’s chest like vultures on carrion. His stomach churned, the disgust a familiar knot, but then something twisted inside him, a low and creeping heat spreading from his core. Hayley’s “Sexually Confident” trait activated. To his abject horror, a shiver of arousal rippled through him, his skin prickling under their stares.

“Oi, sweetheart, come give us a closer look!” a new player character shouted, enjoying his own immersion, slamming a mug on the table. Harry’s mind screamed to run, to shove through this filth and escape, but his body betrayed him.

Hayley’s posture shifted, chest out, hips swaying, a sultry tilt to her head he couldn’t stop. “Only if you’ve got something worth looking at,” her voice purred, light and teasing, slipping out before he could choke it back.

The crowd roared, some clapping, others tossing out offers. “20 Bucks to cop a feel!” The heat surged, a pulsing confidence that made his legs steady, his gaze bold.

He was turned on. The realization crashed over him, a wave of terror drowning the flicker of pleasure. This wasn’t him - this couldn’t be him - but the game was twisting his mind, Hayley’s trait feeding off the objectification like fuel.

“She’s loving it; look at her strut!” a man wearing a filthy white shirt jeered, and Harry’s hands shook, his real self clawing against the sensation. Still, Hayley’s smile widened, daring them to keep going. The more they stared, the more her confidence swelled, a sick loop he couldn’t break. His breath hitched, a flush creeping up his neck, and he hated it, hated how good it felt, how powerful, despite the nausea churning within him.

“No, no, no,” he muttered, Hayley’s voice lilting in panic, and he bolted as fast as his high heels would take him.

“Where you off to, sexy?” an NPC called, but Harry didn’t look back, shoving through the throng, the weight of his breasts bouncing with every frantic step.

The bar’s raised voices faded as he burst up the stairs and headed to his rented motel room. He slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place, his chest heaving under the bustier’s tight grip.

He yanked at the outfit, hands trembling as he opened his inventory, desperate to shed this nightmare. The semi-transparent black night dress appeared, now stretched taut across his new assets, the fabric clinging to every curve, the neckline dipping low to frame his swollen chest. He stared at himself in the motel closet mirror. The nightdress had been transformed, designed to show off his fake assets in all their glory, pushing them up and out even more than they naturally did themselves. His nipples could be seen protruding through the thin material.

Harry shook his head and stumbled to the bed, the mattress creaking under him as he collapsed. He couldn’t stay here, not with these new sensations. The “Log Out” option glowed in his vision, and the 19-year-old stabbed at it with a mental scream. His vision blurred, a now familiar sensation, and the virtual hell of Lowtown melted away as he fled back to reality. Even a real world with gaudy lips was better than this hell, he thought.

❖

Harry jolted awake in his luxury apartment, the familiar hum of traffic filtering through the window, a jarring shift from the virtual chaos. His chest heaved, sweat slicking his skin, the neural device slipping from his neck to clatter onto the hardwood floor.

Relief surged through him; he was back in the real world. However, his relief was short-lived. A heavy weight tugged at his torso, an unnatural pressure he couldn’t ignore. He froze and glanced down.

His t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, two massive mounds jutting out, high and firm, at least DD-cups, just like Hayley’s. His hands flew up, grabbing at them, the soft yet unyielding flesh all too real under his fingers. They were on his chest, in the real world!

“What the fuck is this!” he bellowed, his voice a raw, jagged edge, the smooth baritone he owned now cracking with panic and rage. He slipped the t-shirt off, stumbling to his bathroom mirror, the sight slamming into him like a freight train.

There they were, huge, enhanced breasts, a twisted mirror of Hayley’s virtual form, now carved into his own skin. His hairless chest made them pop, the smooth expanse a cruel canvas for this nightmare. Those plump, cupid bow lips trembling in a sultry, horrified pout, desperate eyes just above them. He squeezed them, fingers digging into the flesh, willing them to vanish, but they stayed, heavy and taunting, a permanent reminder of the sick game he was immersed in.

He lurched back, his fist smashing into the wall, the crack reverberating through the silent apartment. This wasn’t just a glitch anymore; it was his life. That mysterious man knew what the coin would do to him in that machine, which meant the stranger probably knew that Harry would grow them in the real world. This wasn’t a mistake; someone willed this to happen. His legs gave out, and he crumpled to the floor as he clenched his fists. He breathed deep, exhausted gasped. The world was once at his mercy; now, he was the world’s toy.

A faint chime sliced through his sullen mood, the computer’s notification light blinking insistently from his desk. Harry dragged himself up, each step a reminder of the weight dragging at his chest, the sway of his new form mocking him.

He slumped into the chair and opened his email, the screen’s glare harsh against his weary eyes. A new message loaded, sender marked “Unknown,” and his breath paused as he read.

“Your traits are designed to humiliate you,” it stated, cold and clinical. “I can reverse your real changes—lips, hair, chest, everything—but you must complete a list of tasks in-game first. Meet me at The Gilded Fork restaurant in Maplewood when you’re done. You will find the list in your motel room when you log in.” There was no name attached. Who sent this? Was it another trick?

Harry’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, his mind a storm of fury and fragile hope. Reverse it all? The lips that dominated his face, the hairless skin that stripped his masculinity, now these grotesque breasts, could this unknown sender really undo it?

His chest tightened, and he was desperate for a solution, but how could he trust again? That masked bastard in the bar had handed him that token, smirking as he set this trap. Was this the same guy, dangling another carrot to watch him squirm? Or someone else? Was this an Echolife employee dangling a carrot in front of him to watch him suffer?

He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, the weight of his chest pressing against his arms, an alien sensation. The Gilded Fork, some high-end spot in Maplewood, far from Lowtown’s muck, maybe Goldcrest Meadows or Crestwood Heights.

Getting there meant diving back in, facing Hayley’s world, her traits, those damn tasks. Could he stomach it? His previous experience flashed back, the heat, the confidence he hadn’t wanted. Harry shuddered and felt sick. If he didn’t follow the clues, what would happen to him next?

Staying here, like this - no. Harry couldn’t face the campus, and certainly couldn’t let Georgia see him with these things bouncing off his chest. This sender might be a liar, a puppet master pulling strings, but even a slim shot at reversing these changes beat this prison of flesh.

He straightened up and his new breasts shifted with a sway that made his skin crawl. His gaze locked on the neural device, its cold gleam a taunt on the floor.

Trust or not, he had to choose: risk it all on this unknown promise or let “Lifesynced” claim what was left of him. He stared at the screen, the email’s words burning into his eyes. It felt like a lose/lose situation, but he had already decided. He knew what he had to do.

End of Chapter Three