"GAME OVER."
The bright red letters flashed across the 60-inch screen, accompanied by the digitized sound of a mech exploding into scrap metal.
"Argh! Are you kidding me?! I can't kill this boss, it's actually rigged!"
My best friend, Nate, threw his head back against the couch cushions, groaning at the ceiling. He looked like he was in physical pain.
"You can't maneuver your mech and hit the weak spots at the same time! It's impossible!"
Nate had been trying—and failing—to pass the first stage of this boss for nearly forty-five minutes. He had been obsessed with this niche mech game for the last week, raving about the 'deep customization' and immersive gameplay.' Whenever I came over, this was all he was doing.
"Dude," I said, taking a sip of my soda and shaking my head. "You really suck at this game. Like, impressively bad."
He whipped his head toward me, mouth open, ready to spout some crap about hit-boxes. But then, he paused. He looked at the 'Retry?' screen, then back at me, and his shoulders slumped.
"Haa... You're right actually. I can't deny it." He sighed, rubbing his temples. "So far I've just been power-leveling by doing side quests to brute force my way through. But this boss? It's a total pain in the ass."
He sat there for a moment, defeated. Then, a strange, mischievous spark returned to his eyes. He sat up straight and grabbed the controller with renewed vigor.
"But~" he drawled, a grin spreading across his face. "That's not why I play this game."
I raised an eyebrow. "You just spent an hour raging at a robot. Why else would you play it?"
"Check it out. You need to see the real gameplay now."
He navigated the menu, exiting the boss fight and loading into the main hub area.
The screen changed. We were now in a high-tech, futuristic hangar. The graphics were surprisingly good—like, triple-A studio good. Steam hissed from pipes, sparks flew from welding drones, and the lighting was ray-traced to perfection.
"What am I looking at?" I asked, leaning forward.
Nate didn't answer. He just showed me a stupid, knowing grin and walked his character—a pilot in a futuristic bodysuit—over to an NPC standing by a workbench.
It was another pilot. A female pilot. And she was wearing a bodysuit that looked like it had been spray-painted onto her skin. The physics on her... assets... as she turned to greet the player were unrealistic, to say the least.
Nate mashed the 'A' button, skipping through lines of dialogue about engine repairs and coolant leaks faster than I could read them.
"Okay, so wha—"
The screen cut to black for a loading transition.
"Dude! Come on, man, what are you—"
My sentence died in my throat.
The cutscene loaded. It wasn't a repair scene. It wasn't a mission briefing.
It was a full-blown, high-definition sex scene.
I sat there, frozen, completely caught off guard. The camera angles were cinematic. The animation was fluid. The sound design was... wet. I didn't expect a game with such complex combat mechanics to be a straight-up adult game.
"Haha! I got you!" Nate laughed, pointing a finger at my shocked face. "Look at you! You're blushing!"
"I am not!" I stammered, quickly averting my eyes as the on-screen action got more intense. "I just... I wasn't expecting that! I thought this was like, Armored Core or something!"
"You haven't seen anything yet," Nate said, watching the screen with the eye of a connoisseur. "The guy who made this is insane. A total madman. He wanted to make his dream mecha game, but he also has a... specific vision. He made it so you can basically romance—and by romance, I mean this—pretty much every female character in the game. Pilots, mechanics, enemy commanders... everyone."
He unpaused the game. The scene continued. And damn, it was long. It was incredibly detailed. It was... surprisingly high budget.
But it was also weirdly awkward to watch with your bro on a Tuesday afternoon.
I reached out and physically covered the screen with my arm.
"Okay! Okay, that's enough! I get it!" I shouted over the sound effects coming from the speakers. "Let's do something else. I don't want to sit here watching a porn game with you. This is weird."
Nate paused the game again, chuckling as he finally saved his progress and turned off the console.
"Yeah, yeah. I had my laugh," he said, stretching his arms over his head. "I needed a break from that boss anyway."
He stood up and grabbed his hoodie.
"Let's go grab some snacks from the convenience store. I need a slushie. We can come back and watch that new anime or something."
"Agreed," I said, standing up a little too quickly. "Anything is better than two guys sitting in the dark playing adult video games."
"Speak for yourself," Nate muttered under his breath as we walked out.
The automatic doors of the convenience store slid open with a cheerful electronic chime, and we stepped out into the cool night air. The plastic bags in our hands rustled, heavy with soda, chips, and cheap candy.
We stopped at the edge of the curb, waiting for the pedestrian signal to change. The street was mostly quiet, bathed in the orange glow of the streetlights.
"Man, seriously though," Nate said, tearing open a bag of gummy bears and popping one into his mouth. "I wish I was the main character in that game. Imagine it. You get to enjoy all those sexy girls as much as you want."
He chewed thoughtfully, then sighed.
"That pilot character I showed you? She's my absolute favorite. God, I wish I was actually there. I would just..." He dropped his shopping bag to one hand and made vigorous, squeezing motions with both hands in the empty air. "Just grab those melons and never let go. Honk honk!"
I groaned, looking around to see if anyone was watching.
"Dude, stop groping the air," I hissed, feeling the second-hand embarrassment wash over me. "We are in public. And honestly, you can just jerk off to normal porn. I don't get the appeal of mixing it with a mech shooter. Although..." I paused, conceding a point. "The combat gameplay did look surprisingly fun. The dash mechanics seemed smooth."
Nate turned to me, placing a hand on my shoulder with a solemn expression.
"See? That's what I don't get. How can you focus on the robots when there are pixel-perfect tits bouncing around the screen?" He shook his head, as if I were the crazy one. "But that's exactly why we'd be the perfect duo in that world."
"What are you talking about?"
"Think about it," Nate grinned. "If we got isekai'd there, you could pilot the mech. You could kill all the impossible bosses and do the grinding for me. And while you're saving the world..." He winked. "I'll stay at the base and fuck the waifus. It's a win-win."
I brushed his hand off my shoulder with a chuckle. The guy was a total idiot whose brain had been melted by hentai games. But he was still my best friend. And honestly, the thought of being in a game world together—even a stupid one—didn't sound so bad.
"Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming, pervert," I said.
Chirp-chirp. Chirp-chirp.
The crosswalk signal changed. The little red man turned into a walking green man.
"Hey, light's green. Let's go," Nate said.
He stepped off the curb, eyes glued to his bag of gummies as he fished for another one.
"I think I'm gonna buy the DLC pack when we get ba—"
He never finished the sentence.
I heard it before I saw it. The screech of tires. The roar of a diesel engine pushed to its limit.
I looked to the left. Twin beams of blinding white light were barreling toward us, moving way too fast for a city street. A truck. It had swerved out of its lane and was careening directly at the crosswalk.
Nate didn't see it. He was already two steps into the road.
"Nate! Watch out!"
I didn't think. I just moved.
I dropped my bags and lunged forward, slamming my shoulder into Nate's back to shove him out of the path of the metal beast.
But I wasn't fast enough.
The world turned into a blinding wall of white light. Then came the sound of breaking glass and crunching bone.
I didn't feel pain. I didn't feel the impact. I just felt... an abrupt, violent disconnect.
The streetlights, Nate's shout, the cool night air—it all vanished in an instant.
I succumbed into darkness.
I didn't dream. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. Just a violent, crushing impact, and then... nothing.
Until suddenly, there was air.
"Aah!"
I sat bolt upright, a scream tearing through my throat. My chest heaved, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I frantically patted my torso, expecting to feel broken ribs, torn flesh, or the cold grill of a truck.
But there was no blood. No pain.
"I... I'm alive..."
I froze.
The voice that came out of my mouth wasn't mine. It wasn't the cracked, average baritone of a twenty-something gamer. It was smooth, melodic, and undeniably feminine.
I brought a hand to my throat. It was slender, soft, and completely lacking an Adam's apple.
"Ahem. Ahem." I tried to clear my throat, to find my real voice. "What is going on? Why do I sound... like a woman?"
My hands trembled as I moved them up to my face. My fingers traced high, elegant cheekbones, a small nose, and full, plush lips. Nothing felt familiar. It was like touching a stranger's face in the dark.
I slowly lowered my gaze, dreading what I would find.
I was sitting in a massive king-size bed, the silk sheets tangled around my legs. I was wearing a sheer, expensive-looking black nightgown. And spilling out of the top of it were...
"Holy..."
Breasts. Massive, heavy, pale breasts. They were right there, sitting on my chest like they had always belonged there.
"All this... this doesn't make any sense," I whispered, my head spinning. "Haha... I must be dreaming. That truck hit me. I'm in a coma, or I'm tripping on meds."
My head felt fuzzy, a strange fog clouding my thoughts. I needed to verify reality.
I reached up with both hands and cupped them.
Squish.
They were heavy. Warm. Soft. And when I squeezed them, a jolt of electric sensitivity shot through my nerves, making me gasp.
"Yep... they are real."
My face flushed.
"Fuck, did I die? I remember pushing Nate. I remember the headlights. But how did I end up... like this?"
I needed to see. I needed to know who—or what—I had become.
I spotted a full-length antique mirror standing in the corner of the lavish bedroom. I took a deep breath, kicked the silk sheets away, and swung my legs over the edge of the bed.
I stood up, my balance momentarily thrown off by the new weight on my chest, and walked to the mirror.
I stared.
Staring back at me was a stranger. A beautiful, mature woman who radiated authority. She had fair, porcelain skin and a voluptuous, hourglass figure that looked like it was sculpted by an artist who had never seen a real woman—only idealized anime characters.
Her hair was a sharp, asymmetrical bob, the color of raven feathers, framing a face dominated by piercing, deep purple eyes.
I raised a hand. The reflection raised a hand.
I touched my cheek. She touched hers.
"So pretty..."
I breathed the word out, staring wide-eyed at the stranger in the glass.
I leaned in closer, inspecting the flawless skin and the sharp, dangerous eyes. It was surreal.
I looked into those deep purple eyes in the mirror, and for a second, I felt like they were judging me.
My eyes traveled down, past the silk hem of the nightgown, to a pair of legs that seemed to go on for miles. They were smooth, hairless, and perfectly toned.
I turned my back to the mirror, glancing over my shoulder.
I had an ass that defied gravity. It was plump, perfectly shaped, and swayed slightly even when I just shifted my weight.
Damn. I really turned into a hot woman, huh?
A sudden, intrusive thought hit me. I was a guy. A guy who had never been with a girl. It was for scientific purposes, really. I just wanted to see what it looked like in real life, not on a pixelated screen or in a heavily airbrushed magazine.
My hand drifted downward, trembling slightly. Just a peek. Just to check the plumbing.
"YES!!! OH MY GOD, YES!"
A guttural, masculine scream tore through the silence of the house.
I jumped, nearly tripping over my own feet. My hand flew from my hem to my chest in a defensive posture.
"What the..."
It sounded like a guy. It was coming from down the hallway.
My heart sank. If I was the "Mom" in this scenario... was that my son? Was I about to walk in on a rebellious teenager? Or worse, a husband?
I can't face anyone right now, I thought, panic rising. I don't know who I am. I don't know their names. If I walk out there, they'll know something is wrong.
But the screaming didn't stop. It wasn't a scream of pain, I realized. It was a scream of... triumph?
Curiosity warred with fear. I had to know.
I tiptoed to the bedroom door and cracked it open. The hallway was lavish, decorated with expensive paintings and plush carpets. The shouting was coming from a door at the far end.
I took a deep breath, trying to walk gracefully, but my center of gravity was all wrong. I felt top-heavy. I wobbled down the hall, clutching the wall for support, until I reached the source of the noise.
I pressed my ear against the polished wood.
"YES! It actually happened! I can't believe I am Jason right now!"
Jason? Who is Jason?
"Oh man, this is so sweet," the voice continued, breathless with excitement. "I can't wait to meet all my waifus. Just look at me! I am like a perfectly carved statue. A man created in the perfect image of a hero!"
There was a pause, and then the sound of an elastic waistband snapping.
"Oh... and let's check the equipment... BINGO! We have liftoff! That is definitely a main character weapon!"
My brow furrowed. This guy was talking nonsense. He sounded like...
Wait.
"Oh man," the voice sighed, sounding suddenly wistful. "I wish Chris was here to see this. I heard him yell right before the impact... I hope he is fine. I wonder what happened to him?"
My eyes went wide.
Chris. That was my name.
"Y-You... Nate?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
I didn't wait. I grabbed the handle and threw the door open.
Inside, a young man was standing in front of a mirror. He was tall, with spiky dark hair, blue eyes, and the kind of generic handsome face you see on every RPG box art. He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, which he was currently holding open to admire the contents.
He froze. He looked at me in the doorway—a voluptuous woman in a sheer nightgown—and his face went pale. He quickly pulled his boxers up and covered his chest.
"Hey! Uh..." he stammered, his voice cracking. "Knock first! How do you... wait, how do you know that name?"
I stared at him. It was him. The posture, the stupid expression, the lack of shame until caught.
I pointed a manicured finger at my own chest.
"It's me, you dumbass! It's Chris!"
Nate blinked. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my chest for a second before snapping back to my face.
"W-Wait... are you serious? Chris? No way..."
"Yes way!" I yelled, stepping into the room. "I woke up like this five minutes ago! I have boobs, Nate! Giant ones!"
A slow, wide grin spread across his face. He dropped his hands to his sides, completely forgetting he was half-naked.
"Dude! You're alive!"
"Barely!" I shot back, though I couldn't help the wave of relief washing over me. "I jumped after you to save your sorry ass from that truck, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in a lingerie commercial!"
Nate slapped his forehead, then let out a loud, barking laugh.
"Dude, it happened. It actually happened."
"What happened?" I demanded, crossing my arms. "Start making sense."
"My wish," Nate said, spreading his arms wide as if presenting the room to me. "Remember what I said at the crosswalk? 'I wish we were in the game.' That truck was the catalyst! It was Truck-kun! We got isekai'd, bro!"
I stared at him. "You cannot be serious."
"I am dead serious! Look at me!" He pointed at his face. "I'm not Nate anymore. I'm Jason Thorne. The protagonist of Mecha-Hearts. I recognize this room! This is the starter house!"
He walked up to me, circling me with a critical eye.
"And if I'm Jason... and you're in that room down the hall..." He stopped in front of me, a look of dawning realization—and horror—on his face. "Oh my god. You're Sylvia."
"Sylvia?"
"My mom," Nate said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Well, Jason's mom. You're Dr. Sylvia Thorne. You're the Chief Medical Officer at the base. You're the 'support character' who runs the infirmary and heals the pilots."
Silence hung heavy in the room.
"I..." I looked down at my hands, then back at my best friend. "I am your mother?"
"Technically," Nate said, scratching the back of his head. "But dude... you're hot. Like, top-tier MILF hot."
"Shut up!" I snapped, though my face burned.
"I guess we have to accept it," Nate shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. "We are in the game world now. I'm the Hero. And you..." He smirked. "You're the mommy."
"Okay, haha, very funny," I deadpanned, crossing my arms over my chest—a sensation that felt incredibly weird because my forearms were now resting on a soft, heavy shelf of cleavage. "But seriously, Nate. What do we do now? I don't know the game. I don't know the world. Do we just... live like this? Forever?"
Nate answered without a pause, his blue eyes shining with manic determination.
"Yep. That's the plan. I am planning to live my dream life here. I'm going to pilot my mech, save the galaxy, and build the ultimate harem."
He paused, his expression softening just a fraction as he looked at me.
"And hey... I know it will be hard for you. Becoming a woman all of a sudden, losing your... you know. But we're in this together, aren't we? You're my best friend, Chris. Whether you're a dude or my mom, I need you watching my back."
I let out a long, shuddering sigh.
He was right. There was no point in panicking. We were roadkill back on Earth. We had died. This was a magic second chance, even if it was a weird, gender-bending one. It would be stupid to waste it feeling sorry for myself.
"Okay," I said, rubbing my forehead with long, manicured fingers. "Let's do our best. We figure out this world, and we survive."
"Great! That's the spirit!" Nate grinned, clapping his hands together.
Grrrrroooowl.
A loud, demanding sound erupted from his stomach.
"Now, I'm starving," he said, flashing me a stupid, expectant smile. "Can you go downstairs and cook some breakfast for us? I'm thinking pancakes. Maybe some bacon."
My eyebrow twitched.
"Excuse me?" I stepped closer, looming over him. "Why do I have to cook for you? I am not actually your mom. Make it yourself."
"I can't," Nate replied breezily. "I have zero Cooking skill. If I try to boil water, the game logic will probably make the kitchen explode."
He pointed a finger at me.
"But you... You're Sylvia now. You are the mom. I promise you, you'll do it effortlessly. Your body knows how to cook even if your brain doesn't."
I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper.
"Besides... we have to keep our mother-son relationship believable. If the NPCs suspect we're 'possessors,' it could end badly. You need to act the part, Mom. For our survival."
I stared at him. It sounded like bullshit. It sounded like he just wanted a sandwich. But I also wanted to eat something.
Dammit.
"Fine," I gritted out through clenched teeth. "I'll make breakfast. But only because I'm hungry too."
"Thanks, Mom! You're the best!" Nate cheered, turning back to the mirror to flex his biceps.
I turned on my heel and marched out of the room, my nightgown swooshing around my legs.
As I walked down the hallway, a sense of dread settled in my gut. Cooking was one thing. But what was he going to ask me to do next?
Do his laundry? Clean his room? Scold him for leaving the toilet seat up?
"Hah, no way!" I whispered to the empty corridor. "I draw the line there."
...No way, right?