The hands wrapped around the twisted golden sculpture are secure, self-assured. But the palms, palms full of tiny little sweat glands that are immune to false displays of confidence, grow slippery. I force myself to move my body, to let go of the object in my hand or to throw it into the crowd of people. Willing my hands to do anything brazen or stupid to show that this body is still mine, but of course, nothing happens. I feel his hold on me, like a heavy, suffocating blanket, and I know, like always, that he is the one in control.

My face- domineered by him alone- stretches into a smile. Our head turns slowly, from side to side, appraising the audience who are all here for one person and one person only: Me. Standing in their expensive fabrics and glasses filled with gold flaked champagne, they are every bit as pulled together and proper as one would expect a guest in this place to be. A place where being wealthy and affluent were the only guest list requirements.

I feel his consciousness bump against mine, stretching and expanding to web across my body and seize my vocal cords.

“Thank you all for being here tonight- really. Seeing all of you here to support me is….,” He trails, his voice growing thick with emotion.

“…is truly more than I deserve.”

‘It is more than you deserve, because you deserve none of this. All the hard work that got you here was my research, my mistakes’, I think. But if he hears my thoughts, he ignores them and continues with his act.

He raises the trophy to his lips and kisses it softly. For a second, I think I can feel the coolness of the metal, as though a phantom sensation from my lips. But the feeling is faint and passes quickly.

The trophy itself is a stupid looking thing, a gold and glass double helix, but what it represents is far more esteemed than its cheesy appearance. As though aware of the weight of the title I now hold, he runs his thumb absentmindedly over the letters at its base: Greatest Scientific Breakthrough of the Decade.

“This award not only represents a new chapter in the field of science, but perhaps a new chapter for humankind as a whole. The countless years of research, trials, and petitions for ethical bypasses has truly been challenging. But with my amazing team supporting me throughout all of this, I’m proud to say that we are finally ready to release our product to the public.”

No

No

NO

I want to scream, to rip him apart and kick him out of my body, but I can’t. There’s nothing I can do but listen to this monstrous man claim ownership of the work I had spent the entirety of my life perfecting. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until it was too late, that I had discovered what I had done. By then, my work was quite literally out of my hands, or perhaps it was still my hands, but out of my control.

“I’m honored to say that all of you, the elite- the top 1% of our population- will be the first to experience our invention, right here, right now,” he exclaimed, his voice growing in volume. The room immediately erupted in cheers, glasses clinking and sparkling white teeth catching the light.

He- I- gestured to the back of the room and everyone quickly turned their heads to see what was happening.

Eight beds were being rolled in by figures in white lab coats, wheels clicking on the smooth marble tiles. The newcomers pushing the carts- my own research students- smiled at the crowd as they wheeled in the beds and the machines, their faces giddy with pride.

The room immediately buzzed with curiosity as the guests turned to one another, whispering excitedly at the prospect of being front row witnesses to one of the key moments in human history.

Once the eight beds were lined up, all eight comatose patients on full display, he cleared his (my) throat again. Heads whipped back to face the podium again, their beady eyes glittering with fascination.

“I would like to introduce you all to my amazing team, the ones in white, not the…er…dead looking ones,” he joked. As expected, the crowd ate up his words greedily, laughing and chortling at his grim joke.

“The ones in the beds are actually our eight comatose patients. At the moment, while their bodies are in perfect health, they are considered brain dead, which means that their bodies are no longer under their control.”

He paused, waiting for the crowd to catch up with his words.

‘Remind you of yourself?’, he probed, the silent question meant only for me to hear. A bloom of anger filled me at his words, and I felt that anger ebb and flow, filling our dual owned body.

My left hand, the one still clutched around the trophy twitched, but he quickly covered it up by squeezing the sculpture tighter.

Was that me? Was I the one who had moved the muscles in that hand?

Before I could ponder the thought any longer, he cleared his throat and spoke again:

“In technical terms, we have been referring to these individuals as Ports, a readily available body for people like you- Hosts- to inhabit. What we have been working on in our lab for the past two decades, is a rather complicated process simply coined as Relocation of Conscious Experience.”

His eyes skimmed the crowd. I felt myself forcing our gaze to focus longer on my teammates standing in front of the audience. I willed them, any one of them, to see through him, to understand that the words coming out of my mouth were not my own.

In my time as team leader, I had voiced my fears about our project, mentioning repeatedly that this was an invention I never wanted to introduce to the public. They had to know that whatever was going on tonight was something I would never do. The words coming from my mouth belonged to Hamish Driesell, my former mentor. A man who had always been a key supporter of this radical and unethical scientific project, intending it to be used for practices I had aways condoned. But of course, with my body and my vocal cords forming the words, there was no way for them to know the truth. That none of this was my idea. Even this award in my hand, did not truly belong to me.

“Tonight, I will be asking eight of you to be the first volunteers to participate in this lucrative experience. We will be temporarily transferring your conscious experience into these brain-dead individuals. For approximately fifteen hours, will have the chance to inhabit a healthier, younger, more attractive body. In those hours you, in this new body of yours, will be free to go wherever you please and do whatever you please”. He said that last part with a wink and a cheeky grin, inciting another round of giggles.

“So, who are my lucky eight?” He roared, jumping down from the low stage to stand amongst the crowd. Immediately hands shot in the air and the room rattled with animation and anticipation.

It seemed he was too high on excitement, examining the crowd for worthy volunteers, to pay attention to his left hand.

The hand that had finally dropped the trophy, sending it rolling across the red carpet.