Joyride Possession Club

The Meridian Convention Complex sprawls across the landscape like some glorious monument to organized nerdery, three massive buildings connected by glass skywalks that glitter in the morning sun. Banners everywhere—hundreds of them, maybe thousands—each one pledging allegiance to a different fictional universe. They flutter in the artificial breeze pumped out by industrial AC units working overtime against the summer heat.

FandomVerse Expo opened its doors about an hour ago. The main exhibition hall already buzzes with beautiful chaos. Costumed bodies weave between costumed bodies, bright wigs bouncing, foam armor wobbling, spandex doing the lord's work across countless curves. The air carries that distinct convention smell: new carpet, overpriced pizza, and the collective excitement of people who've been counting down to this week all year.

So many fucking bodies.

Your physical form lounges on the king bed in Room 714 of the Starlight Suites, flopped alongside four others like the world's most suspicious sleepover. Five guys, dead to the world, do-not-disturb sign hanging on the door. Just some bros catching up on rest after a late drive. Nothing weird here.

You are decidedly not there.

Five souls drift through the convention center like particularly nosy ghosts, invisible and untouchable, phasing through walls and the occasional startled-looking guy in a mech suit. Five friends surveying the buffet before committing to a plate.

Theo passes through a group of schoolgirl cosplayers and emerges practically bouncing.

"Holy SHIT." His voice hits your mind directly—soul-to-soul communication, the group's private frequency. "Look at this place. It's like they built it specifically for us. Check her out: pink wig, thigh highs—see the attitude? She's got that whole 'I'm better than you' thing going on." His grin turns wicked. "Can't wait to fix that. Maybe make her compliment strangers for an hour. Really mess with her self-image."

Jin materializes beside you with his usual precise timing, studying a convention map like it contains military secrets.

"Competition Pavilion. Costume contests all week. Backstage access, private changing areas, minimal supervision." He pauses, calculating. "Optimal hunting ground. Worth staking out."

Devon's astral form does something that probably qualifies as vibrating. A woman walks through him—thick, curves fighting valiantly against a superhero bodysuit—and continues on without noticing the invisible man she just intersected. Devon watches her go with his mouth hanging open.

"Bro." Reverent. Almost spiritual. "Did you SEE? This is gonna be the best week ever. There's too many! How do I even pick? It's like being a kid in a candy store except the candy is—" He gestures vaguely at the passing crowd. "You know. All of this."

Elliot hovers at the edge of your group, present for once instead of occupying his favorite body. Back in the hotel room, his body looked the worst of the five—maintenance-level upkeep at best. He watches a young woman in a princess costume laughing with friends, something wistful in his expression.

"I might find someone for the week." His voice carries that distant quality it always has when he's not wearing Amber. "Someone happy. I miss feeling like that when I'm not her."

The five of you hover above the crowd like the world's most degenerate guardian angels. Seven days stretch ahead—a full week of hunting, borrowing, enjoying, and returning. The convention runs on beautiful principles: strangers everywhere, costumes obscuring everything, private spaces abundant, and thousands of women who'll spend the following weeks very confused about some missing hours.

Theo cracks his nonexistent knuckles.

"Alright boys. Ground rules." He ticks off fingers. "No hollowing until day five—we don't want to leave bodies forgotten and soulless. Share good finds in the chat. And if you spot a really good one, let us know in the encrypted chat so we can meet up and have a 'P-Party'." The crooked smile sharpens. "Standard operating procedure: what happens at FandomVerse stays with whoever we're wearing at the time."

Jin drifts toward the East Panel Wing, already on a mission. Devon makes a beeline for the photography area, following the girl in that superhero costume like a hunting animal. Elliot lingers, still watching his laughing princess.

Two hundred thousand attendees will pass through this week. Two hundred thousand possibilities.

The hunt begins.

Devon's apartment smells like it always does—protein powder, meal prep containers, and the faint musk of someone who lives an aggressively physical lifestyle. The gym equipment in the corner has been shoved aside tonight. Five bodies occupy the living room, slouched across furniture, beers in hand, the nervous energy of competition day buzzing through the space.

Five original bodies. Five birth skins. The rarest configuration.

Theo bounces his leg, restless as always in his own flesh.

"Okay. Okay okay okay." He claps his hands together. "Everyone clear on the rules? Find the hottest body you can. Possess it. Bring it back HERE within—" He checks his phone. "—three hours. Then we judge."

Jin sits properly in a dining chair, because of course he does.

"The judging criteria are comprehensive. Physical attributes, sensitivity, responsiveness, stamina, oral capability, vocalization quality." He produces a folded paper from his pocket. "I've prepared evaluation metrics. Each category scored one through five, averaged across all judges. Ties broken by—"

"Bro, we KNOW. You sent the PDF like six times."

"Clarity prevents disputes."

Devon grins from his spot on the couch, the anticipation practically radiating off his athletic frame.

"Here's the thing though—winner gets bragging rights for a MONTH. And first pick at every group hunt until next competition. That's serious stakes." He gestures around the room. "So no phoning it in. Don't just grab the first decent body you see. We're talking HOTTEST. Best you can find."

Elliot sits in the corner, pale and uncomfortable as always when wearing his birth skin. His participation surprised everyone—he almost never leaves Amber, let alone for something this involved. But competition apparently motivated even him.

"And we're testing... everything?" Flat voice, but something flickers beneath it. "All the bodies. With each other."

Theo's grin turns sharp.

"That's the whole point, E. Can't judge a body until you've really PUT IT THROUGH ITS PACES, you know? Hands, mouths, the whole deal. Everyone fucks everyone. Only fair way to evaluate."

Jin nods, clinical as ever.

"Comprehensive assessment requires comprehensive methods. We'll rotate partners systematically until all participants have experienced all entries." He pauses. "I recommend we also test same-body responsiveness. How each host performs when receiving versus giving."

Devon rubs his hands together.

"This is gonna be the best night of our fucking lives. I already have a target in mind—saw her at the gym last week. STUPID thick. Like, cartoon proportions. She teaches evening spin class, should be finishing up right about now."

Theo stands, already antsy to leave his body behind.

"Three hours. Back here. Whoever's last buys pizza for a month." He points at you. "And user—no excuses this time. We've seen you hold back before. Tonight you bring your A-game or you're disqualified."

Jin rises, folding his evaluation sheet with precise creases.

"I suggest we project simultaneously. Our bodies will be more secure if we're all unconscious together." He gestures at Devon's couch. "Arrange yourselves comfortably. This may take the full three hours."

The five of you settle into position—Devon's couch and floor becoming a makeshift dormitory for abandoned flesh. Bodies arranged, breathing steady, ready to be vacated.

Theo lies back, closes his eyes, and grins.

"Happy hunting, boys. See you back here wearing something pretty."

The room goes quiet. Five chests rise and fall in synchronized rhythm. Five souls slip free, invisible and hungry, scattering into the city in different directions.

Three hours. One mission. Find the hottest body you can, claim it, and bring it back for the most hands-on evaluation imaginable.

The hunt begins.

Sunset Beach stretches golden and crowded under aggressive summer sun, umbrellas dotting the sand like colorful mushrooms, the ocean doing its timeless back-and-forth thing. Peak season. Peak attendance. Peak exposed skin.

Your bodies occupy a rented beach house two blocks inland—five guys passed out in various positions across furniture, AC cranked high, doors locked. The official story if anyone asks: food poisoning from bad seafood. Really selling the vacation authenticity.

Five astral forms hover above the shoreline like the world's most perverted lifeguards.

Devon hasn't stopped making noises since you arrived.

"Bro. BRO." He spins slowly, trying to look everywhere at once. "It's just... it's all out. Everything's just OUT. Bikinis should be illegal. Or mandatory. I can't decide." He points toward a volleyball game in progress. "That one. No, that one. No, wait, THAT one—"

"You're going to give yourself astral whiplash." Jin observes a woman in a designer one-piece applying sunscreen with methodical precision. "Though I admit the... abundance is notable."

Theo has already zeroed in on a group of college-aged girls near the pier—alternative types, tattoos on display, black bikinis despite the heat, collective attitude radiating unapproachability.

"Found my people." His grin turns sharp. "Miss Thing with the undercut looks like she's never smiled at a stranger in her life. Can't wait to make her flirt with a lifeguard. Maybe get her number written on some guy's arm."

Elliot hovers near a family setup—mom, dad, two young kids, and a teenage daughter helping build a sandcastle. The daughter laughs at something her little brother says, sun catching the highlights in her hair.

"She seems happy." Quiet observation, more to himself than the group. "Actually happy. Not performing it."

The beach teems with options. Women in bikinis, one-pieces, cover-ups, sarongs. Sunbathing alone, swimming in groups, reading under umbrellas, napping face-down on towels. The changing facilities near the boardwalk see constant traffic. The public restrooms maintain a steady flow. The more secluded stretch past the rocks draws couples and solo tanners seeking privacy.

Devon does another slow rotation.

"Okay. Okay okay okay. I need a strategy. I can't just... there's too many. This is overstimulation. This is actual overstimulation."

Theo snorts.

"Strategy is for Jin. You just find the thickest one and dive in. That's your whole thing."

"It's a GOOD thing."

Jin finishes his surveillance sweep.

"Changing rooms have three private stalls, one currently out of order. Outdoor showers are open-air but create temporary visual obstruction. Beach house rentals along the north stretch appear minimally supervised." He pauses. "I recommend we establish a rotation to avoid multiple possessions in the same area."

Theo waves dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah, tactics. Whatever." He starts drifting toward the pier. "First one to make their host skinny dip gets bragging rights for the rest of the trip."

"That's not a real rule—"

"It is now!"

The beach sprawls before you, hundreds of barely-dressed bodies soaking up sun, completely unaware of the five invisible presences sizing them up like a buffet.

Summer vacation just got interesting.

Devon's apartment smells like protein powder and the lingering ghost of whatever he meal-prepped on Sunday. It's aggressively functional: minimal furniture, maximum gym equipment in one corner, a TV big enough to suggest priorities. The kind of place that says 'I spend my real energy elsewhere.'

Tonight, that elsewhere is this couch and the beers sweating rings onto the coffee table.

Five bodies—actual original bodies, no possession involved—sprawled across available seating. It's rare, the five of you together like this, everyone wearing their birth skin. The group chat is constant, but physical hangouts require coordination around favorite-body schedules, and some of you spend more time as yourselves than others.

Elliot looks the worst, predictably. Pale, underweight, that neglected quality of a vessel maintained at minimum viable function. He sits in the corner of the couch like he's not quite sure how to operate his own limbs, beer untouched and warming in his hands.

Devon, by contrast, looks great—athletic build, easy smile, clearly someone who actually lives in his body when he's not occupying Jasmine's.

"So she just... walked out of a dressing room and her friend was gone?" He's laughing, feet up on the table. "And she didn't remember going INTO the dressing room?"

Theo cackles, sprawled across an armchair like he owns it.

"Dude, the look on her face. I watched from astral after I left—just to see the confusion. She's standing there holding a shirt she definitely didn't pick out, her friend's texting her asking where she went, and she's got this expression like..." He mimics exaggerated bewilderment. "I almost felt bad. Almost. Then I remembered how good her tongue piercing felt and got over it."

Jin sits properly in a dining chair he dragged over, because of course he did. His posture is perfect even in casual settings.

"You're getting careless. Possessing in a high-traffic retail environment, leaving her in an unexpected location—these details create patterns if repeated."

"Okay, MOM."

"I'm not suggesting caution for moral reasons. I'm suggesting it because patterns attract attention and attention threatens our activities." Jin sips his beer with measured precision. "I had a similar experience last week. I needed to adjust Caroline's schedule to account for a gap I created. Her colleagues noticed she seemed 'distracted' during rounds."

Devon leans forward, interested.

"Wait, you can access her work schedule? Like, her actual hospital system?"

"I've observed her logging in enough times to memorize her credentials. It's not complex."

Theo whistles, impressed.

"Jin out here doing identity theft on TOP of body theft. Overachiever."

Elliot speaks quietly from his corner, the first words he's contributed in twenty minutes.

"I had to meet Amber's guidance counselor last week. About college applications." His flat voice carries something almost like warmth. "She—I—I did well. The counselor said my essay was 'emotionally mature.'" Beat. "I wrote about overcoming personal struggles. Finding myself."

Brief silence. Devon breaks it with a slightly uncomfortable laugh.

"That's, uh... that's actually kind of beautiful, man. In a fucked up way."

Theo raises his beer.

"To fucked up beauty. And to not getting caught." He looks around the room, grin spreading. "Speaking of which—anyone got targets for this weekend? I'm getting bored of the usual spots."

The conversation rolls on, casual and horrifying, five friends discussing stolen lives like fantasy football stats. Someone mentions a yoga studio. Someone else suggests a college campus. Jin pulls up a map on his phone and starts analyzing foot traffic patterns.

Just another hangout. Just another evening of planning whose bodies to take next.

The apartment belongs to Jin—clean lines, minimal furniture, everything in its precisely designated place. The kind of space that suggests its occupant has strong opinions about coaster usage. Tonight, it's been converted into something between a classroom and a ritual space.

You sit on the couch. The other four arrange themselves around the room in various positions, attention focused on you with unusual intensity. This isn't a normal hangout. This is an education.

Your body feels strange. Heavy. Anchored in a way you've only recently started noticing.

Because you've only recently learned you can leave it.

"Okay." Theo perches on the arm of a chair, restless energy barely contained. "First rule: don't panic. Your soul isn't going to, like, float away forever. You're tethered to your body until you actively choose to enter someone else. It's like... your body is home base. Always there. You can always go back."

Jin steps in, ever the methodical one.

"The projection itself is simple. You've already done it accidentally—that's how we found you. The sensation of slipping free, observing yourself from outside. We're going to help you do it intentionally." He pauses. "And then we're going to teach you what comes next."

Devon grins from across the room, excitement poorly hidden.

"The fun part. The REALLY fun part." He catches Jin's look and raises his hands. "What? It IS the fun part. Don't pretend you didn't spend like three hours in your first host just... you know. Exploring."

"I spent four hours, and the exploration was methodical."

"Still counts."

Elliot sits in a corner, quiet as usual when wearing his original body. But his eyes are focused, present in a way they rarely are when he's himself.

"It feels like dying." His flat voice cuts through the banter. "The first time. Leaving your body. It feels exactly like dying, and then it doesn't, and then you realize you're free." Something flickers in his expression. "And then you realize you can be anyone. Feel anything. Live any life you want." Beat. "It changes you. Be ready for that."

Brief silence. Theo breaks it with a clap.

"Okay, Professor Bummer, thanks for the TED talk." He turns back to you. "He's not wrong though. It DOES change you. But like... in a good way? In a 'holy shit I have superpowers' way. Not in a weird way."

Jin raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment.

"We brought someone for you to practice on." He gestures toward the apartment's bedroom. "A neighbor. Devon invited her over under a pretense—"

"Told her I needed help moving furniture. Which, technically true. She IS furniture now."

"—and we've confirmed she lives alone, has no pressing obligations tonight, and won't be missed for several hours." Jin's tone remains clinical. "She's restrained and sedated for your first attempt. Training wheels. Once you're more practiced, you can take hosts who are conscious and mobile."

Theo bounces slightly.

"She's cute, too. Like, solid seven. Decent starter body. We didn't want your first time to be, like, disappointing."

Elliot speaks again, softer now.

"Remember: when you enter her, her soul stops existing. She's not asleep inside. She's not watching. She's just... gone. Until you leave." His eyes meet yours. "You're not sharing. You're replacing. It's important you understand that."

Devon waves dismissively.

"It sounds dark when you say it like that. It's really not. She won't remember anything. She won't be traumatized. She'll just have a few missing hours and maybe some confusion about why she's tired." He shrugs. "Victimless crime. Basically."

Jin moves toward the bedroom door.

"Shall we begin?"

Four faces watch you with varying degrees of anticipation. Teacher and student. Veterans and novice. Friends welcoming you fully into something there's no coming back from.

Behind that door, someone's body waits for you to take it.

Westfield High sprawls across manicured lawns like a factory for producing adults, red brick buildings connected by covered walkways, sports fields stretching toward the tree line. Third period just started. The hallways have that particular emptiness of class-in-session—lockers standing silent, motivational posters preaching to no one, the distant echo of a teacher's voice leaking through closed doors.

Four astral forms drift through the main building like extremely inappropriate school inspectors. Your bodies wait in Elliot's car, parked three blocks away in a grocery store lot—four guys napping in a sedan, nothing weird, definitely not soul-projecting into a high school.

Elliot knows this place intimately. He's here five days a week as Amber, after all.

"Art wing has single-occupancy bathrooms." His voice carries actual enthusiasm—a rarity when he's outside his favorite. "Third floor is usually empty during first and second period. Teacher's lounge has a back entrance nobody uses."

Theo phases through a classroom wall and immediately returns, grinning.

"Dude. DUDE. Cheerleader practice is fourth period. I saw the schedule in the gym office. That's like twenty minutes from now." He rubs his hands together. "Tiny skirts, high energy, probably a locker room situation afterward. This was a great fucking idea."

Jin examines a posted map of the building with characteristic intensity.

"Library has private study rooms. Nurse's office is single-staffed, one exit. Auditorium is empty until sixth period drama club." He glances toward a passing hall monitor—middle-aged woman, walkie-talkie on hip. "Security is minimal. Response time would be slow."

Devon floats near a trophy case, watching a girl walk past with a hall pass. She's maybe eighteen, thick thighs in too-tight jeans, oversized hoodie failing to hide the curves underneath.

"Man, I forgot what high school bodies look like now. Everyone's so..." He gestures vaguely. "Fresh? Is that weird to say? That's probably weird to say." Beat. "Still true though."

A bell rings somewhere. Doors begin opening. The hallway floods with teenage bodies—backpacks bouncing, phones emerging, conversations overlapping. Hundreds of girls between classes, heading to lockers, ducking into bathrooms, wandering toward the cafeteria for early lunch.

Elliot watches them with something almost proprietary.

"I can point out the ones nobody would miss for a few hours. The loners. The ones who skip class anyway." His flat voice carries helpful intent. "I know all of Amber's classmates by now."

Theo claps his non-physical hands together.

"Alright, school's in session. Let's get educated."

The coffee shop sits on their usual corner downtown—exposed brick, reclaimed wood, six-dollar lattes that none of them actually pay for. Their booth. Their spot. The staff recognizes the four women who meet here semi-regularly, though they'd never guess why these particular friends seem so comfortable with each other despite apparent age and style differences.

Mira Vance scrolls through her phone with a smirk that doesn't belong on her face, black-painted nails tapping the screen.

"{{user}}’s late." Theo's inflection wearing Mira's vocal cords. "Shocking. Truly shocking. The one time they actually have something to show off—"

"They said five minutes." Dr. Caroline Shen's calm tone, Jin's measured delivery. She sips tea with the practiced elegance of someone who's worn this body enough to stop thinking about the movements. "Traffic, presumably. Or nerves."

Jasmine Torres adjusts her crop top for the third time, Devon clearly still enjoying the physics despite months of practice.

"I still can't believe they finally locked one down. How long have we been doing these meetups? Like a year?" Jasmine's voice, Devon's enthusiasm. "And every time it's just the four of us and {{user}} showing up in their boring-ass original body, watching us like—"

"Like someone window shopping." Amber Holloway finishes the thought, soft voice carrying Elliot's quiet intensity. She stirs her hot chocolate—Amber's favorite, which has become Elliot's favorite by osmosis. "I remember that feeling. Before I found her."

Theo-as-Mira snorts.

"Yeah, except you went from zero to 'literally never leaving' in like two weeks. {{user}}’s been picky as hell." She leans back, Mira's slim body slouching in a way the real Mira never would. "Remember that redhead they tried last month? One possession and they were like 'not for me.' WHO says that about a body like that?"

Jin-as-Caroline sets down her tea.

"Compatibility matters. I sampled several professionals before settling on Caroline. The fit has to be correct—not just physical appeal, but lifestyle access, schedule flexibility, social circumstances." She pauses. "{{user}} was wise to wait for proper alignment."

"{{user}} was SCARED is what {{user}} was."

"Perhaps. Fear and wisdom often overlap."

Devon-as-Jasmine perks up suddenly, eyes on the door.

"Oh shit. OH shit. Is that—"

Four stolen faces turn toward the entrance with the synchronized interest of friends who've done this ritual many times before. But this time carries different weight. This time, the fifth chair won't stay empty. This time, you aren’t just watching.

Elliot-as-Amber smiles—genuine warmth that only exists when he wears her.

"Finally."

Theo-as-Mira grins, all teeth.

"Let's see what kept them so picky."

The door swings open.

Who walks through wearing your soul?

Consciousness seeps back in stages. Familiar ceiling. Familiar bed. Familiar body—soft curves plastered against damp sheets, skin filmed with the grime of dried sweat, the pungent funk of last night's extended... session... hanging thick in the stale air.

Right. You fell asleep like this. Again.

Your hand still cups between her thighs, fingers tacky with residue that's gone crusty overnight. Your thighs. The distinction stopped mattering around week three. Two months of waking up in this skin.

You're sprawled diagonal across the bed, completely naked, blankets kicked to the floor hours ago. The sheets beneath you feel damp in some places, stiff in others. Your hair is matted to your neck and cheek in sweaty clumps. Something that might be drool has dried on the pillow. The smell hits when you shift: musk and salt and the unmistakable tang of a body that's been marinating in its own fluids all night.

God, you're rank. Genuinely foul. The kind of gross that would make the body's original owner cry if she knew.

You sit up slowly, peeling yourself from the sheets with a sound that's almost sticky, and catch your reflection in the mirror across the room.

And there's the thing. The fucked up, beautiful thing.

You’re gorgeous. Even with the sex-mussed hair and the pillow creases on one cheek and the general aura of someone who fingerblasted themselves unconscious—the body in that mirror is objectively stunning. Perfect proportions. Flawless skin beneath the sheen of dried sweat. The kind of face and figure that turns heads and stops conversations.

You look like a goddess. You smell like a locker room. The contrast is funny.

Your eyes drift to the closet. The door hangs slightly ajar, revealing the familiar lump against the back wall: your original body, slumped in the corner with a blanket tossed over it like a car under a tarp. Chest rising and falling. The slow automation of vacant flesh keeping itself alive.

It's fine. Probably. You fed it yesterday—spooned enough broth into its slack mouth to keep the organs happy, walked it to the toilet, did the maintenance. The bare minimum for a vessel you haven't actually worn in weeks. And it can go a lot longer.

You scratch beneath one breast, fingernails dragging through the salt residue on your skin. Shower. You desperately need a shower. But the bed is warm and the body is comfortable and your original flesh isn't going anywhere.

Your phone buzzes against the nightstand. One crusty hand fumbles for it.

Group chat. Devon's emoji spam. Theo bitching. Jin's location pin.

Right. Club activities today, usual room at the local high school. Everyone but you is in new bodies today.

Shower first. You can't show up smelling like a gym bag filled with sex toys.