“So… let me get this straight…”
Under his elephant trunk, Matt was pushing back in his desk chair, bemused at his computer screen.
“You want me to pick a random creature, anything I can think of...”
“Mmmhmm.”
“...because you can literally turn me into that creature, or whatever I want, or… whatever I…”
“Yep.”
“...using this Chronivac app that you just happen to have.”
“It’s epic, man. That idiot who works at the cafe… I made him part-donkey!”
“Wh-- uh… Mike? Mike’s alway--”
“No, Ian. I did that.”
“Did what?”
“I… made him a donkey dude with the Chronivac.”
“... I don't get it.”
“He was never a donkey until today. And the machine makes you *think* he's always been that way.”
“… come on. I’m not an idiot!”
“Well, smarty? Pick something and I'll prove you wrong!”
Ian stifled nervous laughter as he took off his glasses and cleaned them with his shirt. “Uh... Dunno, man. It’s not like... If you've proven anything to me, it's that you’ve got a crazy imagination.”
“Then it should be easy to choose, right?”
“...”
“You could just sit there while I try something on you. I did that with Chris earlier and it didn’t work. But then it worked on Mike, so I've definitely got it down. You just gotta choose what it is you want to be or have or change, and I'll enter it in.”
“What do you mean, tried something on Chris? Where’s he right now?”
“At class. Come on, Ian…”
“Dude… if this is real, show me. Use it on yourself.”
“What, are you afraid?"
"...No?"
"Are you chicke-”
...
A lightbulb went off in Matt’s head. A frightening lightbulb.
“Matt--”
He turned back to the computer and typed away, searching for the species.
“What are you--"
But Ian was momentarily stunned when the app properly scanned him in. Wide-eyed, he looked at the screen and saw a bunch of data, including details about... his weight, height, and exact age??
"Holy shit, what the fuck was that?"
"You've been scanned." Matt selected the entirety of his body and set his body to 50% chicken - well, rooster, to be precise.
Ian tried to budge in. “Don't you fucking dare scare me like that again!”
“But that's what you -- dude, stop bump -- fuck off!”
“No!”
“Dude--”
**Check emitter and confirm status. Y/N.**
Matt kept fighting Ian off as his eyes darted around the room. Where did he put the emitter? It should have been here in the room… his elephant trunk fell into his lap. In that brief moment of lapse, Ian pushed Matt aside but stopped when he read the message.
“What's that mean?”
“There’s… an emitter thing that goes with the software. We don't need it but…”
Ian pressed N.
“What the hell, dude? You don't know how it--”
**Check emitter bypassed. Accept defaults? Y/N**
Ian pressed N again without reading the text, hoping that doing so would allow him to cancel out. Matt angrily tried to push him back.
“Stop! Move over!”
"How does it know all that shit about me!!?"
"You don't -- the Chronivac's too--"
The Chronivac paused for a couple seconds, then:
**EmitterLock enabled. Default settings must be accepted. OK?**
"Too advanced for my brain? The brain that helped you pass--"
Matt pushed Ian out of the way enough to gain control of his keyboard. Ian frantically bit his nails. “ The Chronivac is too illogical. You can't just say no to everything, that's not going to work! Sigh... Now.” He let some steam out through his trunk, slightly miffed at Ian’s defiance. What's more, he’d not seen this message earlier. "If this doesn't work, then by all means, you've earned a turn. Promise."
“But I'm not... you haven't explained anything to me. What does this program actually do?? How can it just scan me?!?”
Matt didn't hear him; he was too focused on the dialog's message. “So if we can only say yes, maybe I’ll be able to find the emitter. It sucks 'cause I don't know what the default settings are...”
“Come on, man!”
“Why does it matter? I thought you didn't believe this thing worked. Why are you now scared of it?”
“…”
And while Ian sat there trying to think up an answer to the question, Matt reached for the mouse and clicked OK. He was expecting additional options to appear, but instead the screen went black, and then the process unexpectedly started.
Ian swallowed hard.
“Calm down, it'll only be for a little while!”
"What do you..."
At least, that's what Matt was thinking. The transformation process was indicating that something was happening. But as time on the clock was ticking by, and the timer was counting down, nothing was happening to his good pal.
“Feeling anything?”
“No… am I supposed to be?”
“God damn it!” Matt hit his desk with his fist, and the keyboard rattled. “It's so fucking random!”
Ian sat up. He was smirking devilishly.
“... I knew you were lying.”
----
Lecture was nearly over. Trent could only stay awake long enough to jot down the most important details his professor said. Forget retaining any knowledge.
And it felt like the room was getting hotter. Or was it the humidity?
Or maybe it had something to do with that wretched radio device Chris forgot. It was giving off some heat from inside his school bag. He pulled it out - and yes, it was a bit warm; not intolerably so. But it was probably because it was still “on”.
An itching feeling across his body didn't help matters, so he decided to switch the device off - but the switch was stuck! It physically wouldn't move. Maybe the device had to be unlocked first?
“Lock” > N.
He tried flipping the switch again. Nothing.
“This thing is a piece of shit,” Trent thought. Maybe that's what he’d do after class: take it back to Chris, and… go buy some corn snacks? Yeah... something, anything other than school stuff would be great.
Even so, he was becoming increasingly sweaty. He sighed again; it hurt a bit to breathe, too, like his jaw was locking up. Damned heat! He knew how much that messed with… his routine. He didn't want to… skip combing. Was it called combing, or?
… why was everything in front of his face getting blurry? And his shoes weren’t fitting right. Why…
“The A.C. must be... broken.” Trent thought about going for a swim in the university gym, just as the bell rang.
Trent got up from his chair, making sure to shake off any feathers from his clothes, and waddled to the side doors with his books. He couldn't help but let out a cluck or two; people didn't seem to mind or care, as long as it wasn't disruptive. The shoes under the table were tossed into the trash; guess that experiment failed.
“Oh, DUH. Preening. I'll work on that… after we find Chris.”