Akabane stumbled from his bathroom, his body stiff like a zombie. "I am having one of those dreams where you think you are awake," he muttered, returning to his bed and pulling his sheets over his head. "That is all. I will go back to sleep, and when I wake up, everything will be normal… everything will be normal…"
About five minutes after Akabane had fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep, the super arrived at the door. He knocked, sound reverberating through the apartment. "Hey, I got a call that someone here screamed. Is everything okay? Hello?"
Getting no answer, the super knitted his brow in concern. They did not exactly live in the best of neighborhoods, and one of his fellow landlords had been sued for not coming to the screams of a girl who had been murdered in the building. The fellow super had lost well over ten million yen in that case, so Akabane's super was not taking any chances. He pulled the master key to the door off his belt and let himself in.
The turning on of the lights caused Akabane to sit upright in surprise, grabbing for his glasses. The super stared at Akabane; Akabane stared back in response. The super then threw his hands over his eyes, stammering in humiliation. "I-I-I am so sorry! Someone in this apartment screamed, and no one answered when I asked if everything was okay! I am sorry!" he shouted, bowing repeatedly out of humiliation.
Akabane looked down, and then let out an inhuman squeaking noise before crossing his arms over his newly-found massive chest, not knowing what else to do. It was okay, it was just a dream! Didn't being naked in dreams mean that one was afraid of showing their true self? He never showed his true self to anyone. Yes, it made perfect sense that he would dream about being naked. Why he was dreaming he was a naked woman, he had no idea.
The landlord bolted backwards out of the room, still apologizing so quickly that words blending into a bizarre hybrid of the words "I am so sorry" and came out as "Ismsmorry." He slammed the door shut so quickly that the plaster cracked. It was a good thing that this was a dream, or Akabane would have to talk to the super about how that distinctly would not be taken out of his security deposit.
Since it didn't seem like the dream was going to be ending any time soon, he crawled back out from under the sheets and did what most men would do upon finding themselves confronted with a chest that rivaled Hevn-san's… after getting over the initial shock that is. Namely, he poked them. Then, he lifted them up and let them go to see if they'd bounce like the video game girls did. He was vaguely disappointed when they didn't. What a rip-off. He tried smashing them together, then letting go to see what would happen. After that, he just returned to poking and curiously touching.
He was already bored. Boobs, it seemed, were not as fun when they were your own. Nothing to do but wait until he woke up, it seemed. He sighed. The dream had been shocking at first, then kind of arousing, but now it was just boring. "Time to wake up, Akabane-san," he said. Yes, he knew it was strange to address himself by his family name, and even stranger to address himself with the -san, but he had gotten so used to being called that, that he hardly even acknowledged Kuroudo as his first name anymore.
His cell phone lit up, ringing merrily. He looked over at it, raising an eyebrow. Who would be calling him in the middle of a dream? Figuring he had better play along, he picked it up.
"Are you having fun with my gift?" a female voice asked, surprising him.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"Don't you remember the fortune cookie you got at the bar last night? 'Be careful what you wish for?' You left it on the bar. You really should have picked up after yourself."
"That isn't the question I asked you," he said, getting angry. "Who is this?" He realized the question was stupid; whoever they were, it wasn't really them. It was just his mind's rendition of them.
"You male transporters don't realize how easy you have it compared to us women. We have to earn respect by working like slaves, and then our credit is handed to our male partners. Whereas a man like yourself can just strut into the room like a peacock and mindlessly kill a few pawns, and suddenly you are the greatest thing on this earth since butter in a tube!"
Akabane looked down at the phone, confused. "Butter in a tube was… universally recognized as a bad idea…"
"… Shut up. That wasn't the point. The point is, I hope you enjoy your new body. You'll find that being a woman in the transporting field isn't worth the price of one man's affection." With that, the line went dead. Akabane threw his phone down, frustrated.
"I want to wake up now," he complained, drawing his knees up to his chest as best he could with his chest in the way.
After it slowly became apparent that the horror was not just a dream, and that he was going to have to do something about it, Akabane decided to get dressed and head back to the bar. It was the most logical starting place to find the person responsible, make them change him back, and then use their guts for wall hangings.
That was when he discovered that his assailant was, so to speak, quite through. For he had not just traded something down there for something up there; his entire body had changed. His pants were too long, dripping at least three inches past his ankles. They were also too big around the waist and very, very tight around his hips. His feet were too small for his shoes, and his socks bunched up.
The pants, at least, could be fixed with a gaudy amount of safety pins around his waist and his ankles. His shirt, however… that was a different story. "Why do I only have skin tight clothing?" he asked himself out loud, frustrated. The shoulders and arms were so loose that they hung in bunches on him, but the chest was stretches to its absolute limits, showing skin between the buttons in some places. If only he wore bigger shirts, this wouldn't be a problem…
He put his coat over his clothes, only to find that it sagged horribly around his shoulders and was also inches too long for his new, curved legs. The waist no longer sat even with his navel. It didn't even help the button issue, as it was already open in the front. The only thing he could think of doing was safety-pinning his tie down to the front of his shirt and praying the buttons would hold. He dug out a pair of sandals. Still too big, but at least he wouldn't look like he was wearing clown shoes like he had with his regular dress boots.
Then came the issue of his hat, which was too large for his female head. The brim ended up landing even with his eyes, making it impossible to see out of. He tried stuffing it with washcloths, but then it just looked as though it were oddly hovering about on top of his head, due to the way it bounced around. Eventually, much to his chagrin, he had to abandon the hat and just hope that he didn't look too ridiculous walking around in obviously oversized clothing.
He peered both ways before leaving his apartment. He was very cautious as he locked up. However, as he reached the stairs, yet another problem became evident to him… yes, his breasts did bounce. Boy, did the bounce. He could actually feel them rubbing against the thin material of his dress shirt, becoming chaffed by the fabric on the inside of his coat.
What was he supposed to do, though? It wasn't as if he had any large-sized women's bras lying around his apartment, just in case he should wander across a need for them. As he continued down the stairs, trying to walk slowly and with posture, it became more and more apparent that he wasn't going to be able to get by without a change of clothing, especially support.
He wondered if it would be obvious if he walked with his arms crossed over his chest, like someone who was in a bad mood would. True, not many people actually walked around that way, but it would make him feel less self-conscious than he did without any support at all. He tried several positions for his arms, finally giving in that there was no position to hold them at that looked completely natural, only ones that looked less unnatural than others. He chose the best position he could and continued walking down the street, hoping his face wouldn't give away exactly how humiliated he felt.
Getting to the club, however, would require riding the subway. He had never paid attention to the No Groping signs before, but all of the suddenly they seemed surprisingly relevant. He glanced back and forth, eyes open for anyone who might have less than pure intentions at heart. Fortunately, it was after school and work for most people had started, and he could stay a good distance away from most people, if not an arm's worth away from everyone.
His keen hearing picked up on snickering coming from behind her. "That girl is so wearing a man's outfit," one snickered.
"Walk of shame, I guess," the other one snorted.
"With implants like those, she must be a real slut," the other one whispered.
Akabane retained his composure. They were insects, and not even ones that it would be particularly entertaining to crush. Take the high road, Akabane, he thought to himself. Take the high road.
He stepped off the train at the right stop only to find himself being halted by a security guard in a uniform. "I'm very sorry, but we got a warning of potential terrorist activity in this area. You'll have to pass through the metal detectors before we can let you go on."
Metal detectors, huh? No problem. Ceramic knives didn't show up on metal detectors, after all. Another added benefit of having changed his fighting style to suit battling with the Thunder Emperor, he guessed. It wasn't until after they were running the wand over him and it was going off, however, that he realized one vital fact… safety pins are distinctly made out of metal.
"Have you removed all spare change from your pockets?"
"I have," he explained, "but my clothes do not fit right and I have to hold them together with safety pins…"
The security officer shook his head. "Please, step over to the area with the white cloth hangings. They will be able to help you there."
"You are letting other people go through without stopping them!" he protested, pointing.
"We got a description of our perpetrator, and I am afraid you resemble the description. Now please, step willingly over to the tents or I can 'escort' you over there. Trust me; going of your free will is preferable."
He grumbled in protest, knowing he could slip easily through the lines with his abilities but not wanting to display them in public, before walking over to the tented area. "They said I had to come over here because metal on my clothes was setting off the metal detector," he said, finding himself reaching absently for the hat he wasn't wearing. He usually pulled on it when he was frustrated or irritated.
A woman stood up and gestured around to the other side of the tented off area. She picked up her wand. "I am really sorry about this, but you understand the need for public security, I'm sure," she said. "Please, remove your coat."
He did as told only after making a rather irritated face at her. "Hold up your arms," she said, running the metal wand over his chest. "Are you wearing an under wire bra?"
"I am not wearing any bra. The safety pins are setting it off."
"I am really sorry about this, but wearing clothes that are obviously too big for one's body and unseasonable coats are two of the signs we have to watch out for," she said, continuing to check to make sure every metal blip was actually a safety pin. After a few uncomfortable few minutes of her going over his clothes, it was determined that he was no threat beyond all the safety pins he was wearing. As he emerged from the tent, however, a man with a television camera immediately blocked his path.
"This has been a demonstration of the intrusive methods our government could use to search citizens with no other provocation than the way they are dressed. Please, tell our TV audience how you are feeling.
"You mean that I had to go through that humiliation just so that you could prove a political point?" he asked, surprisingly calm for what he was feeling inside.
"We are trying to make people more aware of the dangers of government control," the cameraman explained.
Akabane found his hands curled into fists. No, using knives on a man holding a camera was definitely not a good idea. He let his hands relax. "No comment," he said shortly, pushing the cameraman out of the way and brushing past him. The nerve of some people and what they would do just to make a political point!
He arrived at the bar in good time despite the hold up, only to discover that he had made too good of time. He had forgotten it was a weekend, and thus, the bar did not open for another two hours. At least that would give him time to find a place to buy some clothes that actually fit.
He wandered the area before settling on what looked like a store that was high-priced enough for his elaborate tastes, and yet still within his range. Mainly, he chose the store for the beautiful black corset-waist trench coat that was hanging in the window. He stepped cautiously inside, looking nervously around. "Hello?" he asked, seeing no clerks. That was unusual. Usually, a clerk was there to overly cheerily greet him the minute he entered a store.
Then, right at once, two women and a man appeared from the back. He recognized one of the women instantly. "You are the woman from the fake check point," he said angrily, pointing an accusing finger at her.
"So are you," the woman answered. She was still wearing her police uniform, but now that he was inside the store, he could tell that it was a fake uniform. He wished he'd noticed that back at the checkpoint and saved himself the trouble. "We were just talking about you and how bad I felt for you."
He snorted. "How bad you felt for me?"
"You've obviously got style, but nothing you are wearing fits" she said, waving a hand at him. "I was just telling the staff about how much I wanted to give you a make-over," she said, grinning and edging towards him.
Akabane suddenly felt extremely apprehensive and began backing away towards the door. "I think I had better shop elsewhere."
The girl grabbed his arm. "Don't go, cute girl. We aren't going to hurt you."
The other girl grabbed his other arm, their grip surprisingly tight. "Come on inside!"
His fingers twitched, ready to draw his blades, when his eyes glanced upward. Security cameras, hell. His hands fell limp. He made it a point never to use his blades on camera, lest a picture of his face end up associated with his ability to leave a trail of bodies all marked by the letter J.
The women tightened their grip even as he struggled against them, finding that his strength seemed to have drained from his body. This was not his day at all.