When Scott awoke from the ambiguously scientific procedure, he felt an array of sensations. Some were familiar, and reminded him of when he had surgery on his knee a few years ago. The sensation of waking from a deep, yet dreamless sleep... a dry mouth, and empty stomach, growling for food.
But other things preoccupied his mind. For one, his body felt a lightness that felt so wrong, so alien, it was unsettling. Even just how his body weight sunk into the mattress of the hospital bed was strange. As he opened his eyes, he noticed he didn't need his glasses or contacts to read the signage across the empty room. As he rose, he felt a spryness he hadn't had in years. If he didn't know who that spry, energetic feeling originally belonged to, he would be a bit more amused and honestly happy. But knowing it was because of bratty Luke Redmond... he was not happy. In fact, he much like one would feel when they were uncomfortably close to someone else physically, so as to become painfully aware of their physicality, their sweat, their breath, their odor.
He noticed a door to the side of the room that was slightly ajar. It was dark inside, but if he had to guess it was the bathroom. He threw his smaller legs over the edge and hopped down. It was a bit of a drop, considering he was a lot shorter in this body now. In fact, it was messing with his perception, adjusting his walking gait, and the way things no longer appeared as low as they did before. After an awkward few steps, he reached the bathroom and entered, fumbling for a light switch that he was now closer to level with than he rightfully should be.
Once the dim incandescent light turned on, he brought his eyes slowly up to the mirror. There, he saw the slighter profile of a boy in the hospital gown, and eventually he came to regard the soft face of Luke Redmond... or Scott Lorik's face, now, anyways. Watery blue eyes, a slightly upturned nose, and faint blond eyebrows, beneath tousled blond hair, short yet unkempt in a way that Scott would not abide in his own body. He reached his hands, big and clunky, waiting to be grown into, to feel his face. Faint wisps of peach fuzz and smooth, almost baby-like skin was all he felt. Testosterone was probably a minimal factor as of yet.
He felt dread, like a slimy ball dripping down his chest into his stomach. This was not him looking back, but the face of a punk brat who stole everything. And his life after this was still a mystery.
Behind Scott, the door to the hospital room opened.