The clock read 2:47 AM.
Leo stood in the center of what used to be a landfill masquerading as a bedroom, now transformed through seven hours of brutal labor. Fifteen contractor bags lined the wall like casualties from a war zone, stuffed with fast food containers, energy drink cans, and things he'd rather not think about.
The floor had emerged from its prison of filth—stained, yes, but finally visible. Naked floorboards with questionable dark patches that told stories he wanted no part of.
He tilted his head back, sweat rolling down his neck and pooling in the soft folds of his chest. His borrowed body ached in places he didn't know could hurt. The mattress lay stripped and exposed, a historical record of bodily fluids in yellowish-brown stains.
"You're getting burned tomorrow," he told it, voice low and rough. "Can't set you on fire tonight or the whole family thinks I'm having a mental breakdown."
Lofi hip hop beats pulsed softly from the TV's YouTube app. The music felt absurdly peaceful against the carnage around him.
A mountain of laundry sat in the corner, at least eight hampers' worth. He'd sorted it between "might be salvageable" and "biological hazard." The salvageable pile was disappointingly small.
Leo wiped his forehead with his forearm, smearing sweat across his face instead of clearing it. His lungs burned from the mix of cleaning chemicals and exertion. Every muscle screamed, unused to anything more strenuous than lifting a controller or a pizza slice.
But the pain felt good. It felt real. He'd earned it.
"Break time," he muttered. "Water."
His legs wobbled as he headed for the bedroom door. He'd discovered muscles this body had never used before, each one now filing complaints to management.
This house was massive—a palace compared to the apartment he'd grown up in with his mom. Past tense. That life was gone now.
Leo moved through the darkness with growing confidence. He'd spent enough time exploring while Evelyn was helping Chloe with some school project earlier. The layout was starting to make sense: his sad little first-floor room connected to a hallway that led past a half-bath and into the kitchen. The real bedrooms were upstairs, where the actual family lived.
The marble floor of the kitchen felt blissfully cool against his bare feet. Moonlight spilled through massive windows, illuminating the space with pale blue light. He opened the refrigerator and squinted against the sudden brightness.
A row of glass water bottles stood at attention on the top shelf. VOSS. The kind of water his old self would have laughed at people for buying. He grabbed one anyway, twisted the cap, and tilted his head back.
The water hit his throat like liquid salvation. He drank half the bottle in one desperate pull, then pressed the cold glass against his forehead. His heartbeat pounded steadily in his ears.
That sound would never get old.
He leaned against the counter, savoring the quiet. The old Leo—the real Leo whose body he now occupied—must have rarely left his room at night. The Fitzgerald family probably didn't even know he existed between midnight and morning.
His hand moved to the pocket of his sweatpants where he'd stashed the phone he'd found on the nightstand. It was time for some reconnaissance.
The phone unlocked with a simple swipe. No password. Idiot.
He tapped the internet browser icon. The screen brightened, loading the last page visited—
Immediately, the kitchen's perfect silence shattered under an assault of high-pitched, exaggerated moaning. Female voices, professionally performed, squealing in manufactured ecstasy.
A hentai video now blasting at full volume through the phone's speakers.
Leo fumbled for the volume buttons, his fingers pressing frantically until blessed silence returned.
"At least close the fucking tab, you amateur," he hissed under his breath.
He glanced around the dark kitchen, listening for any sign that the noise had woken someone. Nothing. He let out a long, disgusted sigh.
It wasn't the content that bothered him. He wasn't a prude. His old gym had been full of guys trading videos and bragging about conquests. It was the sloppiness that disgusted him.
Who leaves porn open on their browser? The same kind of slob who lives in filth and eats himself to death.
The old Leo had been a disaster in every conceivable way.
He closed the tab and opened a fresh one. The empty search bar glowed in the dark kitchen. He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Finally, he typed: Brandon Mendoza
His real name. His actual name.
The results loaded quickly. A real estate agent in Ohio with a cheesy professional headshot. A high school principal in Texas posing with students at graduation. Various social media accounts belonging to strangers.
Nothing about him. No trace of the eighteen years he'd lived.
He refined the search: Brandon Mendoza boxing
Again, nothing meaningful. A few articles about local Toughman contests. A high school wrestling match from 2012. A boxing gym in Tucson with a trainer named Brandon.
No National Junior Champion. No Golden Gloves finalist. Not a single mention of the career that had defined his existence until a heart defect stole it away.
He tried more specific terms: Brandon Mendoza junior welterweight champion 2019
Nothing.
A cold dread began spreading through his chest—worse than the fear of a heart attack. At least that had been familiar.
In a last, desperate attempt, he typed his mother's name: Maria Mendoza nurse Chicago
Various results appeared. He clicked on an image search and scanned the faces. A woman in Florida wearing scrubs smiled tiredly at the camera. A LinkedIn profile showed another woman in a hospital administration role. A Facebook page displayed yet another stranger posing with her children.
None of them were his mother.
He stared at the glowing screen, his breath coming faster now. The water bottle slipped from his hand and rolled across the counter.
I don't just have a new body. I'm in a world where I never existed.
The implications crashed into him like a counterpunch he never saw coming.
So what the hell am I?
"Leo?"
He nearly dropped the phone. A female voice, soft but clear, cut through his existential crisis.
Leo looked up to find Chloe standing in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
Chloe was wearing an oversized t-shirt that barely reached mid-thigh. The fabric was thin, worn soft from countless washes, and in the pale moonlight Leo could see two distinct points pressing against the cotton where the cool air had done its work.
Of course. Because this night wasn't complicated enough already.
She padded closer on bare feet, her honey-blonde hair a mess of sleep tangles. The shirt rode up slightly with each step, revealing more of her toned legs.
When she turned and bent down to grab a protein bar from the cabinet, Leo caught a glimpse of baby blue underwear stretched tight across what could only be described as an ass built by years of volleyball.
God really does have a sense of humor.
"What are you doing up?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep.
Leo quickly pocketed the phone, grateful she hadn't arrived thirty seconds earlier during the hentai incident.
"Getting water," he said simply, holding up the half-empty bottle as evidence.
Chloe yawned. "Me too. Practice killed me today."
She moved past him to the refrigerator, seemingly unbothered by his presence. This was new. From what he'd gathered, the Fitzgerald women typically maintained maximum distance from Leo at all times.
"You're up late," she observed, grabbing her own water bottle. "Usually we don't see you, like, ever."
"Been cleaning my room."
She paused, the bottle halfway to her lips. "Seriously? The door's been closed all day. Mom said you were sick."
"I was. Now I'm better."
She took a long drink, studying him over the bottle's edge. Her eyes widened slightly.
"Whoa," she said. "You look different."
Leo raised an eyebrow. "Different how?"
"I don't know. Just... different." She gestured vaguely at him. "Your face, maybe? Or the way you're standing?"
Leo remained silent. He hadn't considered how obvious the change might be to someone who'd known the old Leo. Different soul, different posture, different presence entirely.
"You should clean your room more often," she concluded with another yawn. "It's working for you."
He couldn't tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic. Either way, it was probably the longest conversation they'd ever had.
"Thanks for the advice," he replied dryly.
She giggled, the sound unexpectedly girlish. "So weird. You're actually talking back. Usually you just, like, stare at the floor and mumble."
"New day, new me."
"Apparently." She moved toward the door, then paused. "Hey, um, this is random, but would you want to watch a movie with us tomorrow night? Mom's making Noel and Victoria do family time since Dad's away again."
Leo blinked in surprise. Was this a trap?
"You've never invited me before," he said carefully.
Chloe shrugged, the motion causing her shirt to slip slightly off one shoulder. "I always thought you didn't want to. You never came when Mom asked."
Interesting. So Evelyn had tried to include him, at least sometimes.
"Sure," he said. "I'll be there."
"Cool." She smiled, surprisingly genuine. "Night, Leo."
"Night."
She disappeared down the hallway, leaving Leo alone with his thoughts again. The phone felt heavy in his pocket, a portal to a world that didn't remember him.
He needed to know more about this body's former occupant. About the real Leo Sterling. About how he ended up in this mansion with a family that treated him like furniture.
But that research would have to wait. He had work to finish.
Back in his room, Leo surveyed what remained of the cleanup job. The mountain of laundry mocked him.
"Tomorrow," he promised it. "After I figure out how to exorcise your stink."
He checked the time again: 3:21 AM.
He should sleep, but his mind wouldn't stop racing. The search results had confirmed his worst fears. His old life—the championships, the broken heart, his mother—it was all gone. Or it had never existed at all.
Instead of answers, he only had more questions.
Why this body? Why this family? Why now?
Was the real Leo Sterling dead, or was his consciousness floating somewhere, waiting to reclaim what had been stolen?
Leo moved to the window and pulled back the curtains. They came away with a cloud of dust that made him cough. Outside, the manicured grounds of the estate stretched into darkness. A swimming pool gleamed silver under the moonlight.
This wasn't just a new body. This was a new life. A second chance.
And in the morning, he'd start claiming it properly.
He turned away from the window and looked at the stripped mattress. No way he was sleeping on that biohazard tonight. The floor would have to do.
He grabbed one of the cleaner blankets from the salvageable pile and spread it on a section of floor he'd scrubbed twice. Then he lay down, his oversized body protesting every movement.
Staring at the ceiling, Leo listened to his heart beating steadily in his chest. Strong. Reliable. Not a time bomb waiting to explode.
"Okay, universe," he whispered. "You gave me a shit body but a working heart. Fair trade. Now watch what I do with it."