Trevor snorted. "Let's see how well you work, you dumb program." He typed in, as a joke:
40/male/6'4"/210
Then he hit the 'Begin' key. The green light on the CD drive blinked, the CD whirred, and then...everything stopped.
Trevor flicked the screen and hit Enter a couple of times. Nothing. "You froze?! THAT'S IT?" He was pissed. He'd wasted three hours on a piece of crap.
He got up and huffed into the kitchen to get a Coke. He didn't see the clock pop up on screen, or hear the annoying female voice that he had long since muted: "10 seconds until commencement."
Trevor opened up the fridge and grabbed a lukewarm can of soda.
"8 seconds..."
He popped the tab and got a glass.
"5 seconds..."
He poured his drink and put in ice.
"2 seconds..."
Then the phone rang. Trevor rolled his eyes again, for about the thousandth time today, and picked up the phone.
"Hello, Rollins...resi...dence..."
The voice he was hearing was unfamiliar. It sounded sort of like him, but it was a little deeper.
The person on the other line didn't notice. "Is Chris there?"
"You, uh..." Something was definitely happening. The voice was even deeper now. "You have the wrong number." In one swift movement he'd hung up the phone and looked down.
The floor was getting farther and farther away, and his legs and arms were growing bigger and hairier. He rubbed his face and felt the smooth skin grow rough with stubble and the wear and tear of life. His cotton T-shirt was ridiculously tight across his broadening chest and widening shoulders. His legs filled out, ripping his socks and tightening his shorts, which were now so short they could pass for boxer briefs. He looked at his hands, and as they enlarged, so did his feet. His crotch bulged out of his pants, twenty-five years of growth caught up with him, and then the changes stopped.
He had a whole different perspective on the room now at his new height, and he was finding it hard to keep his balance. He looked at his body. For a man of 40, he was pretty fit. He was hardly a muscle stud, he didn't even have a six-pack, but his stomach was impressively flat and his arms, shoulders, and chest relatively well built. He had big feet, too. He hoped the myth was true that sad that the size of your feet affects the size of your...then he figured he might as well check, and he pulled his shorts and boxers out, and looked down.
Yup, the myth was true.
But his face? Where could he see his face? He didn't have a firm grasp of his surroundings yet. He looked through some boxes and finally found a square little mirror, around eighteen inches high, lying on it's front. He shut his eyes, picked it up -- it was heavy, but with his new strength he could lift it -- and looked.
He blinked and did a double take. He looked exactly like his father.
For a child who has only known an abusive alchoholic as a parent, the resemblence was borderline traumatic. Trevor started to panic a little bit. He tried to calm down and get a better look at his face. He had to admit, it wasn't bad, and it didn't have the flaws and problems of his father that had been inflicted by cheap liquor. He wasn't bald, though the tips of his smooth auburn hair had receded a bit. He had a nice smile and the stubble and thick eyebrows accentuated his green eyes and button nose. He could certainly pass for handsome, and he could even see some of his fourteen-year-old self in his new adult face.
But this wasn't what he wanted. He was too old, a little past his prime. He ran back to the Chronivac.