...A man, A young black man. A young black man packing quite a lot of muscle. Given his age, you doubted it was an all natural process that had achieved this body. You tried your best not to look down. But the glances you did give him, or rather yourself, down there, indicated that it was quite sizeable.
"What happened to MY body?" You asked. "Well, that body died almost a month ago, in your accident. Prepping your brain for this surgery is not easy work, you know. Then we had to wait for a useable body to put you into. But I believe you were cremated. What was left of you anyway."
"I'm... dead?" You asked. "In a way, yes. But as you can see in the mirror in-front of you... You're quite alive. And if I may say so myself - quite the body to be in. If all of this goes well I might get myself a body just like that" He said, half jokingly. But he was probably serious.
"I'm Dr. Michaels by the way. I'll be guiding you through what happens now. And we got quite a bit to cover." He explained. "We'll start by unstrapping you and getting you something to wear." He told you. "I bet you're cold and this is all a bit much. But all will be explained" He finished, with a smug look on his face.
Soon enough you were dressed and back in bed. Dr. Michaels told you about what was going on. That this was a secret lab, run by powerful and rich people in well connected positions in the top of government. He also told you that you'd be taking over the life of your new body. People couldn't know about what was going on. As long as you did what you were told - you'd be paid well "through a made up insurance" he called it. If you tried to tell anyone, they'd most likely think you were insane. And they'd make sure to put you into psychiatric care, to cover up. A man going on about a secret lab where they put people into new bodies being admitted to a ward? Stranger things had happened. You'd then get to live out the rest of your life in there. Trying to contact people from your former life would mean the same.
He told you about your new body. He was 24. He had been in the army. When he got home he had been unemployed, but a steady stream of unexplained income, and his physique, implied he was most likely dealing PEDs. The brain aneurysm at his young age and hormone levels more or less confirmed he was taking them.
He also told you that in this particular case, your body's death was well known in his community - so instead of trying to have you take over his existing life you'd be getting a whole new identity. But he reminded you of what would happen if you tried to tell anyone.
He told you your new name was going to be Martin Johnson. Mark was apparently "too white". Whatever that meant. You had been black for all of 30 minutes and you were already treated differently because of your skin? You'd move to Los Angeles, because apparently they thought your kind of body would fit in well on the beaches there. These people were probably putting you into positions they'd put themselves in. That's the feeling you got at least. But you didn't want any of this. You wanted to be you.
But, you really had no choice but to accept all this. Your old life was gone. After a week of keeping you in the lab to run tests, they were ready to send you 'home'.