I don’t know what I expected from a BodyMat, but this wasn’t it.

The word “trendy” did not begin to cover it. The entry room was all chrome and glass, with holographic displays showing beautiful and fashionable people, posing and smiling. The receptionist could have been one of them, except I couldn’t see through her.

She scanned the coupon. “Mr. Olsen, I see that you registered online. Ready to get started?”

I nodded. I would have spoken, but for some reason the nervous lump in my throat just wouldn’t go away. Mutely, I followed her out of the palace of glass into the back of the building.

As soon as we walked through the doors, the modern fashions gave way to sumptuous wood paneling and thick carpets. Potted palms and concealed lights lent an air of subdued wealth. Well, corporeal conversions were expensive, the domain of the wealthy and well-connected. Or they were corporate-sponsored, a way for 5th Avenue boutiques to ensure that everyone who worked there had a bright friendly smile and a deceptively low BMI.

My company — it still felt odd to think of it as mine — was sort of both. A wealthy company with an image to uphold. Well, it was the price of getting ahead in corporate America, and I had to admit, I was looking forward to it, in a way. If the media could be believed, conversions just made you a more attractive version of yourself. I was reasonably tall and moderately good-looking, and if my midsection was a bit thicker than it had been in high school, it had never hurt anyone. I’d be glad to lose it, though.

The receptionist knocked on a thick, wooden door, which was quickly opened by a trim, professional looking woman in her forties. “I’m Wanda,” she said, shaking my hand with a firm grip. She wore a tailored suit and her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, but her eyes were friendly. “Thanks, Tish. I’ll see to him from here.”

The room had a massive desk with a chair in front of it, but Wanda indicated a table with two smaller chairs in one corner of the room. “Mr. Olsen... can I call you Chris?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.” She flashed a smile. “Chris, I’ll be your case worker for the conversion. I understand from your file that this is your first?” I nodded. “Fine, fine. We work with a lot of first timers. In fact, about half of our clients go through a single conversion, and they’re set for life. They just want to get rid of a beer gut, or fix their eyesight, or get in better shape, or that sort of thing. And then we have the frequent fliers.” She chuckled, as if she had just told a joke. “They’re never quite satisfied, always making little adjustments. But I specialize in our corporate contracts.”

She opened a manila folder, and I caught the eNext logo at the top of a document. “Many of our corporate customers have very specific requirements for their employees. They have a particular image that they want to maintain. But we also acknowledge that a client’s body is tied very deeply to their sense of self. My job is to help you find a conversion that splits the difference, as it were. I want to you to be able to find a self that you’re comfortable with, inside the boundaries of the job. Understand so far?”

I nodded. During my interview, they had not really gone into detail about what sort of requirements there would be. It occurred to me, far too late, that I should have asked.

She began to tap down the document with a pen. “Now, for this particular contract, you have the option to return to your current form at the end of the employment for no additional charge. You are not required to do so, however, and may elect to remain in the new form. You have a period of three months after the end of the employment to decide, after which any future conversions would not be covered under your contract. In addition, if you are offered full time employment with the company, you may elect to remain in your new form, or may use the second conversion to make any adjustments you wish, within the terms of your full-term employee agreement. Initial here.”

I took the pen and did so. That part had come up in the interview, though it was presented as a perk. In fact, full-time employees were encouraged to update their forms every three years or less, with massive discounts.

“Excellent. Now, wardrobe. Your employer has purchased a wardrobe package at the Silver tier. Your own clothes will be stored until the end of the contract, or until you advise us that you have elected to remain in your new form. At that time, anything that is not specifically tagged as sentimental will be sold or repurposed. The new wardrobe will come with a professionally curated set of recommended outfits, in case they’re not familiar. Initial here.”

I hesitated. “So I won’t be wearing my own clothes?”

Wanda smiled, kindly but with a touch of humor. “No, Chris. In this case, your work clothing is part of an approved list given to us by your employer. Your casual clothes will be chosen by BodyMat professionals, although during our interview portion, I will get an idea of the sorts of things you enjoy doing, to make sure that you are outfitted correctly.”

Mentally I shrugged. It wasn’t as if I was much of a clothes horse anyway. I initialed where indicated.

Wanda turned over the sheet to reveal another underneath it. “This section contains waivers and other agreements required by the company. We’ll review them one at a time, you can initial, and then sign at the bottom. First off, your conversion will contain six months of built-in birth control, to ensure that you are infertile during the time of the internship. If you elect to keep the form, the infertility will wear off naturally, and if you return to your own form, you will regain fertility right away.”

I initialed. No problem there. I was definitely not ready for kids.

“Here, you are waiving indemnity to eNext and its affiliates for any medical or psychological repercussions of the corporeal conversion. In the event that you require reconversion to your base form, your employment will be immediately terminated.”

I initialed. CYA, but it seemed pretty standard.

The contract continued. Some of it made sense, like allowing the company to use me in photos, film, or other promotional materials. My new job would be working the electronics convention circuit, so I would be part of that very promotion. Others made less sense. Why could I not use Instagram during the internship? I never had, so it was no real loss, but it made little sense. I also had to inactivate my existing Facebook account, and if I wanted to use social media, create a new one. Maybe that was just an image thing.

My only real hesitation came when I found that I would be assigned a completely new identity, I would get a new drivers license, new social security number, even a passport. Wanda assured me that it was completely standard, and that way, my old identity would be waiting for me, completely untouched, on the other side. “Blame the government. That’s mainly a federal law thing.” Finally I agreed.

“I believe we’re there,” said Wanda. “Just sign here, and we’ll move on to the intake process.”

I signed and dated. Wanda whisked away the papers and filed them in a desk drawer. She returned with a tablet. “Now then, these questions will help me learn a bit more about you. We will use the data to create a recommended conversion form and wardrobe. It looks like this plan will also put together some personal effects for your apartment. Oh, and I think there is some personal hygiene training that will be available in the subliminal layer, so that will help. Ready?”

The questions started. I talked about my favorite foods, then drinks, to a high level of detail. We talked about exercise, and I shared my experiences on the track team, but also that I had not run recreationally in a few years. We talked about books and movies and music, about dancing and singing and whether I played an instrument. We talked about what chores I liked (cooking) and which I hated (cleaning toilets), how often I typically showered. We talked about how I usually acted at parties, whether I liked talking to large groups or small groups best, whether crowds energized or exhausted me.

Wanda seemed to know if I was holding something back, and she would probe until she found out what she wanted. The questions came so quickly that I would answer before thinking, but since that seemed to please her best, and got us moving on to the next question sooner, I didn’t mind. I guess I was never very hesitant to talk about myself, come to think of it, and there was no subject I knew better. Nearly an hour had passed before Wanda tapped her tablet screen and announced, “Okay, I think we’re done. Now it’s time to get you into a conversion chamber. You’ll be able to select a form from a few options provided for you, and we want to give you a chance to do that in private.”

I followed her out of the office. We passed no one as we walked down the carpeted hall, into an area that finally felt like a clinic. Everything was still clean and stylish, but it had the smell of a place where surfaces were sterilized regularly. We paused in front of a door.

“There is your conversion chamber. The process can take a while, and we have to monitor you as it goes on. Your meals will be provided, and there is a bed if you get tired. The wall screen is a touch screen, and voice activated. You can access entertainment programs, conversion status, pretty much anything you want. The bathroom has plenty of mirrors, if you want to see better how you’re getting on. If you need anything, just hit the call button, and I’ll be happy to help.”

My heart leapt. This was actually happening. Wanda extended her hand, and I shook it. “See you on the other side, Chris.” She waited until I walked through the door, and then shut and locked it behind me.

I was in what appeared to be a hotel room. There was no window; in its place was a large screen that covered nearly an entire wall. A comfortable chair was placed in front of it, and behind that, a queen-sized bed with full view of the screen. A door near the bed was likely a way to the bathroom.

The word “Welcome” was emblazoned across the screen. I approached, and the words faded, and were replaced. “Here are your personally curated conversion options! Swipe to see more.”

My eyes widened. I swiped once, again, six more times. When I got to the end of the list, I swiped the other direction. I had to be missing something, I had to. A button somewhere, an option like on a video game character create screen. But there was nothing. I jammed my finger on the “Help” button so hard that pain shot up to my wrist.

“Yes, Chris? Anything wrong?”

It was Wanda. “I think this is someone else’s room. All the choices. Well, they’re women.”

She looked down at her papers. “No, that seems right. That was the primary requirement from your employer. A few size restrictions, nothing unusual.” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t know?”

“NO!”

Wanda flushed. “I’m so sorry! In the past our clients have always known... this has never happened before. Let me make some calls. Just sit tight!”

And she disappeared, leaving only a row of photos of the women that they wanted to turn me into.