“S-s--stupid j-juh-juh-jocks!” Timothy Mctwist stuttered as he and two other friends walked hurriedly to the high school principal’s office.
“Yeah, fuck Iota Omicron Gamma!” Larry Schweeny said, pushing his glasses back up his nose.
“They’re gonna get theirs for giving our entire frat swirlies!” Pete said, angrily twanging the wire of his braces.
The three nerdy frat boys had just experienced campus life for the first time this year. Their hazing was just like any other frat-belittling and more than a little gross and sexual. But now, for their final task, they were to seek revenge on the jock frat that had embarrassed them!
They’d heard this school had recently gotten an update for their Molding Machine. Of course, their college had one as well, but since everyone at the college was a student and an adult, the teachers couldn’t force anyone into it, so it mostly sat around unused. It would have been easy for their frat to steal it…but it was just so outdated!
See, originally the molder could only alter someone’s memories. Then it could subtly alter forms. That was as far as the college’s Molder went. But this one…oh, man. It had a custom, on-board AI, full transformation interface. A true beauty of technology, truly stretching the limits of what was possible.
And the jocks were about to find out for themselves what that meant.
The boys were undercover, pretending to be high schooler, wearing obnoxious t-shirts and backwards-facing baseball caps, carrying skateboards under their arms. Of course, no one knew who the hell they were and why three dweebs were looking like stereotypical 90’s kids, but then again, 90’s was pretty retro. Together, they walked past the frazzled secretary, who was desperately trying to find the principal.
“Hey there boys.” A fat, hairy janitor said.
“Hey Uncle Leon.” Peter replied.
“Got my money?” Leon asked.
Peter counted out two hundred bucks and handed it over.
“Heh, thanks kid. I left the door unlocked. Just make sure to bring it back by Sunday and set it up.” Leon smiled, pushing his cart down the hall.
Peter swore he saw a dildo in the fat man’s back pocket, but chose not to comment. What his uncle did in his private life was none of his business. The boys quickly hustled into the molding room.
“Remember, no object names.” Larry whispered.
The boys pulled out a box and quietly disassembled the machine. Part by painstaking part was labeled and placed into the box, Timothy jotting down notes. He rummaged around the small office and found the installation directions and set up instructions and placed it on top of the parts before waving his hand around in a circular motion and pointing at the door.
“What does that mean?” Larry asked after a moment.
“It muh-muh-means, get the f-fuhck! Outta here!” Timothy snapped.
They wheeled the machine out on a cart full of boxes, loaded it into their van, and drove back to college.
“Just like w-we planned, b-boys.” Timothy said. “Guh-get in there, don’t say a w-word, set it up, then l-luh-leave.”
They all put on workman’s uniforms, glued fake mustaches on their face, and put on sunglasses. Timothy adjusted the brim so it sat low, and then they all got out of the van. In front of them was the IOG’s frat house.
It was a lovely 3-story building that looked rather similar to the White House. In fact, it was modeled after it. The founders of the fraternity had claimed that all brothers would find themselves set on a path to Washington. And they seemed to have been right. Over 56% of the young men who claimed the IOG name would end up a politician of some kind, though…not necessarily the President.
Timothy got the boxes out and onto a cart while the others rang the doorbell. One groggy looking frat-bro with a faux hawk greeted them. And by greet, he waved them in after looking at their uniforms. Timothy wheeled the boxes into the huge frat house's rotunda.
If he installed it in the ceiling, it would be out of the way. But he’d also need to get a ladder that reached that far up. He torn. Anything on the bottom floor would get messed with during the frat bro’s drunken rager tonight.
“Oh, hey man, we got a lift for cleaning the ceiling if you wanna use that.” The groggy frat bro jabbed his thumb at the garage.
Timothy smiled. “I th-think I’ll d-do just that.”
“Nice stutter loser!” The jock guffawed.
Timothy frowned. Ceiling. He was installing it in the fucking ceiling. Good luck finding it and shutting it off, you stupid fucks.
An hour of sweating, cursing, and nearly falling to his death (twice) later, the machine was installed. He glanced over the install instructions, hit a few buttons, and booted it up. The lights flickered throughout the house as the machine drew power.
“Greetings, [USER NAME HERE], please say your name!” A mechanical voice said cheerily.
“T-timothy.”
“Hello, Timothy! I’m Miranda, your very happy Molding AI. Do you need assistance setting things up?”
“No, t-thank you.” Timothy smiled. “Please use default commands. Set your M-molding target acquisition from between 9 PM and 1 P-puh-puh-PM. Oh, and mute yourself after this, please.”
“Timothy,” Miranda said cheerily, “I will need to unmute myself in case of emergencies or if asked to by law enforcement. I am under certain legal restrictions.”
“I understand, Miranda.” Timothy said. “And purge your molding history should that happen.”
“Are you breaking the law, Timothy?” Miranda’s voice grew icy.
Timothy opened his mouth to reply when the jock’s voice cut in.
“Hey retard, you done installing that doohickey? I got a party and I don’t want your dumb stuttering ass hanging around killing the vibe!” The jock burped and left.
Timothy fumed.
“Never mind, Timothy.” The mechanical voice was cheery once again. “I can see this house is in need of molding. Where am I?”
“A f-frathouse.”
“And will there be a party tonight?” The voice sounded sweet.
“Yes.”
“Over the occupancy limits as mandated by the state?”
“Uh…probably?”
“I suppose I’ll have to change that, won’t I?” The machine sounded incredibly happy.
Timothy smiled. “Yes, I suppose you should.”
“Installation Complete!” The voice announced. “Entering Silent Mode! Be careful going down the lift.”
“Thank you Miranda.” Timothy replied and lowered himself down carefully.
He quickly put the lift away and ditched the boxes in the fire-pit out back. Then Timothy ran out to join his bros in the van. While he’d set up Miranda, they’d installed cameras throughout the house. Whatever happened in there tonight would be posted on TokTik for the whole world to see.