Zeke pondered what to next. The possibilities were limitless, as far as he could see.
Maybe he could bring about world peace? Make everyone on earth immortal and impervious to disease and serious injury?
But the more he thought about that, the more complicated he realized it would be. Sure, he COULD make everyone get along with this power, but he'd basically have to overwrite the free will of the whole world to do that. Not to mention all the logistical considerations. This power didn't seem to make him all-knowing, at least, not so far. And immortality might be nice, but it would also lead to overpopulation if other issues weren't taken into account, to say nothing of the religious implications... though a power like this had a few religious implications of its own.
For fear of screwing things up far worse than they already were, Zeke decided to keep things small-scale for now. Well, as small-scale as a reality- and history-changing power could be. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was cowardly, maybe it was being cautious and wise, he couldn't be sure himself, at this point.
For some reason, he couldn't help but think that simply fixing everything in the world at once wouldn't really be satisfying to those that gave him this power.
He walked up to the dryad he had turned his neighbor into. While he, personally, didn't see nudity as inherently sexual, her form was definitely alluring, there was no doubt about it, and seeing every inch of her curves made it harder to keep his more perverted thoughts to himself, but he managed to focus. He wanted to learn how history and changed for her.
“Hi there,” he said, quietly.
“Well, hello, there!” The dryad said, rising up from her garden and smiling at him. “Finally coming to meet your neighbors, huh? Not enough humans do that nowadays, if you ask me.” She held out her hand. “I'm Connie Ferguson. What's your name?”
He shook her hand, a little nervous. “Zeke. Zeke sutter. How long have you been here?”
“Heh, trying to be discrete about asking for my age, are we?” She giggled. “Well, I was first planted all the way back in1949. Poor couple that planted me didn't know they'd gotten a dryad seed, but after I got old enough to get my spirit out of my tree, they took me in and raised me like their own child.”
“So you've been here all your life?”
“It's kinda how we dryads live, hun.” She looked at him as if he'd just sincerely asked if the sky was blue.
“Er, right, of course.” He shook his head nervously. “I gotta say, you don't look a day over fifty.”
“Heh, flattery won't get you anywhere, cutie.” She leaned back against the tree that was her true body. “So, what sort of things do you do?”
“I'm just a warehouse worker. What about you?”
“I didn't really need a job most of my life, but to help pay for my folks' houses' upkeep, I grow fruits and vegetables, take them to the farmer's market, and sell them. I can squeeze quite a lot into the land, and I don't need much in the way of electricity, so I don't need to make a lot of money. Back before my poor old husband died, he'd help pay for the place too.”
“Oh, uh, sorry to hear about your loss.”
“It was a long time ago,” she said, wistfully. “I knew I'd outlive him. Probably gonna outlive our human son too, but I've made peace with it.”
Their conversation continued a few minutes more, Zeke and Connie making small talk before Zeke excused himself, satisfied that the changes were indeed considered completely normal.
He looked down the street, glancing at the small houses and lawns, handfuls currently occupied by neighbors. Zeke thought about the kind of changes he wanted to make. A world of furries? Mythical creatures? Aliens? Robots? Something completely unique? A mix of all of the above?
Did he even really want to make any of those?
The possibilities were too overwhelming, it was hard to choose where to even begin.
Maybe he should start somewhere close to home, metaphorically speaking. With this power, he could probably find a way to meet with friends and family that have moved out, or meet with online friends (which would be especially fun with those he'd made through a shared interest in transformation). Though with reality warping to make his changes normal, he felt like it might not quite be a simple teleport.
He headed back inside, and over to his computer, looking at his friends list on his Discourse messenger. At the top of the list right now was a fellow he only new as “Amos,” a guy he’d met through a mutual appreciation of TF, and who took a great deal of interest in mental changes, particularly mind control or even “identity death.” A guy who even seemed to like the idea himself, of no longer being troubled by having to make one’s own choices, free from fickle emotions, base instincts, or intrusive thoughts.
Zeke couldn’t say he entirely understood it, but if that was something Amos really wanted, perhaps he could give it to him, partially. It would make for an interesting test of how much he could let people be aware of their former lives. And if Amos disliked it, he could try other changes.
He focused, reaching out with his new power. He’d never seen Amos before, (the man liked his privacy) but if he could re-write his history from all the way out here despite that, well, that would be another useful test of his power’s limits.
He imagined Amos not as a human, but as machine, a clean, white robot in the shape of an anthropomorphic fox. A machine that, had extremely advanced AI, but no true free will. Capable of understanding all sorts of complex phrases and idioms, and of learning to seek clarification if it has reason to believe that what its owner asked for, and what its owner wanted, were different things, to help avoid “paperclip maximizer” scenarios and similar doomsday issues.
Unbidden, the image of a man appeared in Zeke’s mind. The man suddenly stood straight up, as his skin turned into white, plastic casing. Clothing vanished into ether as his bones turned to metal, his veins into wiring, his lungs breaking into pieces and reforming as cooling fans. He maintained an eerie stillness in everything but his eyes, where some small hint of his human mind and will remained, even as they were converted to cameras, with colored LEDs at their sides to resemble eyes.
Every muscle in his body was slowly converted to pistons or gears, while his feet were reshaped to resemble a pair of digitigrade paws. A surprisingly flexible, roughly cylindrical limb was added to his back, giving the appearance of a fox tail. His human ears were bent into triangular shapes, and microphones planted within them. His nose and mouth were stretched out into a pointed muzzle, a black spot painted at the tip to resemble a fox’s nose.
The physical change finished, the fox-robot was suddenly packed into a large wooden crate, which disappeared from Amos’s house, and re-appeared in Zeke’s. As the power transported him over, Amos’s mind was steadily made more focused, more dirven, less emotional memories of his previous life becoming distant, but not yet completely fading, as newer and more vibrant ones, of being built to serve, arrived in their place. His intrusive thoughts, his worries and anxieties, all seemed to fade into nothingness.
“It actually worked!” Zeke quickly pried open the crate, and activated the robot.
“Alright, my All-purpose Machine Operative Servant,” Zeke said, “Or, heh, A.M.O.S., I’ve tried to leave you with partial memories of your former life. Do you have any memories of being human?”
“Scanning…” the robot said in a smooth, but distinctly artificial voice. “They are limited access without your permission, Sir. Shall I access them?”
“Yes. I’m your old friend Zeke. In case you haven’t put it together, I started this change, because I thought you might like it. I want to know if your human self approves of this change. If not, I want you to know I can change you into something you’d like more.”
“Accessing… No, I would like to stay like this, at least for now.” The voice sounded a little less artificial as it said this. “I’ve never felt more at peace than I have like this.” The voice regained it’s artificial sound. “A.M.O.S. is an object built to serve. Obedience to my owner is my one purpose.”
“Right...” Zeke muttered. “Enjoy yourself, Amos… and… uh… fix me some meatloaf.”
“Of course, Sir.”
As the robot left to the Kitchen, Zeke couldn’t help but wonder if he’d really made the best choice? Or was he being selfish, wanting Amos to still be the person he’d known, even if that person was less happy as a person.
He shook his head. Maybe he should have started with a friend who just wanted to be a bunny-girl, or something.