You get to practice, having nearly filled your water bottle with brownish-black dip spit. You take your dip out, because your coach is very strict about not allowing dipping during practice. You leave the bottle next to your locker when you change and forget to put it inside.
While you're outside, Timmy, the freshman longshot who only made it onto the team because the coach is his uncle's best friend, walks by your locker. Timmy isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. He thinks your bottle of spit is Coke or iced tea or god knows what, and picks it up and takes a big swig. He quickly realizes his mistake and spits the spit all over the place.
But what Timmy didn't know was that some of the Chronivac's residual power was stored in the dip spit. He goes to a stall to puke his guts out, and when he gets out he walks to the mirror to splash some water on his face.
When he looks up, he sees a strange reflection. The face looking back isn't the same pimply, pale-faced kid he was used to. It was more angular and covered with dark stubble. It was also quickly bulging out at the lower lip.
"What the fuck...", he tried to say, but the words came out deep and mumbled. He realized quickly a huge lipper had formed in his mouth. The rest of his changes followed quickly, more quickly than yours had. His upper body and legs exploded with muscle, and he began to take on studly proportions. In minutes, Timmy, the unwanted towel boy had become Tim, the star third basemen.
His mind reset just as quickly. Tim was done practicing, he had decided. He gathered his (now larger) gear and headed out of the clubhouse to walk home, spitting brown gobs along the sidewalk all the way.