Hi, my name is Amber Ambrose. If you read “Nordic Goddess Frigga” you would know that I was the son of Gene, a white supremacist cult leader. You would also know that at the age of 71, Frigga heard my statement that, if I were young again, I would go through transition to be a woman. She made me a beautiful 21-year-old blonde with blue eyes. But there was a twist. She placed me in the body of a black ops paramilitary assassin. It was everything that I could do to keep from killing people. Frigga was not happy with me when I settled into a comfortable life as a martial arts instructor.

“My name is Leslie. I’m a geneticist, and a good one. I had secretly worked for years on developing a virus that would swap every y chromosome in a male body with an x chromosome. Everyone in the genetics field had said that it was impossible, but that impossibility was what drove me to try and succeed. I had successfully made the gender swap with male rats. Then with several male chimpanzees, since they share 98.7% of their genetic material with humans. The transformations were complete, in that the males became fully female. The question was of whom to experiment with among humans.

My name was Yusuf. I had just celebrated my eighteenth birthday. Life for me as a Muslim young man was complicated by the fact that I felt like a girl inside. Islam worldwide did not look kindly on those who wanted to change their gender. I lived in the Muslim quarter of the old city of Jerusalem. There was an old place in the quarter that was called the pool of Bethesda. It was discovered in the late 1800s and had been an archaeological dig ever since.

My name was Alex. I was twenty-five years old and working on my doctorate in aerospace technology. While on campus, I met an exceptional young woman, Janice, who was also working on her doctorate. But she couldn’t tell me much about what she and her colleagues were intensely researching. All that I could gather was that it had to do with matters esoteric and mysterious. Janice’s charmingly good looks hid well her dizzying intellect. I felt that I was out of her league, and yet she took a keen interest in me, my work, and my life.

My name was Jimmy. I was the youngest of four boys. The oldest was a freshman in college. The next two boys were a freshman and a junior in high school. It was two or three weeks after my twelfth birthday that I began to have bouts of crying. I could not understand it. I would cry for no reason at all. After a week of this, I went to my mother. “Mom, I can’t imagine what is going on with me. I am crying over the smallest things. What is wrong with me?” She smiled. “Jimmy, you are probably going through puberty. Testosterone is making you moody. It's no big deal.” I went to my father.