Scott watched as a grinning Kai pulled his pooled chinos back up his skinny little legs, clutching the once-stylish but now-silly slacks to his slender waist as he hopped onto the sofa beside Jackson.
“Hey, what a handsome little dude!” The blond-haired boy greeted his now similarly-sized co-contestant, big blue eyes widening as he realized that Kai was a couple inches taller than him. “Though maybe I shouldn’t say little, considering…”
“I was kind of a late bloomer.” Kai sheepishly explained. “Sucked at the time, but I guess this helps make up for it a bit.”
Scott’s focus was shattered by the jolt of panic that seized him upon realization that he, by comparison, had hit puberty faster than nearly every other boy in his cadet class. If Kai was a late bloomer, then did that mean he’d…?
“TWO DOWN, TWO TO GO!” Barrie gleefully declared, derailing Scott’s train of thought. “JACKSON AND KAI HAVE TAKEN TO BOYHOOD LIKE DUCKS TO WATER – WILL OUR RESIDENT REALITY STAR BE THE SAME, OR IS HE TOO MUCH OF A GRUMPY GUS TO ENJOY HIMSELF?”
“I’m not grumpy. I just expect a certain level of professionalism from…from…ohhhh…mmm…”
Ernesto trailed off as he too fell under the mysterious allure of the regressive technology, hard amber eyes softening and lips relaxing into a peaceful smile as his own descent in age began. Much as he wanted to keep his eyes on Kai, Scott couldn’t look away from the show even after having twice had a front row seat to the impossible spectacle of man becoming boy. The spy was awestruck as ever as Ernesto tumbled backwards through his twenties, hard-won muscles melting and sharp chin softening as he hit his teens and started shrinking.
“Jeez, this is…I feel so…wow…” Ernesto mumbled as he stared down at himself, so fascinated by the sight of his frame collapsing in on itself that he seemed oblivious to the three other guys in the room and the countless folks watching at home. He paused for but a moment when his once-formfitting jeans slipped from his dwindling waist, catching them before his audience could get more than a glimpse at the increasingly-billowy silk boxers that lay beneath. A rosy tinge came to his cheeks as the last bits of awkward teenage stubble disappeared, squirming and murmuring – in a pitch of increasing height – as the final remnants of his adult development were undone. That tinge bloomed into a full-body blush as the regression finished and Ernesto came back to himself, stunned into silence by the sight of his shrunken self swimming in his tailored shirt.
“Nice, you’re about my size!” Jackson called from the sofa.
“Which means you’re still a shrimp compared to me.” Kai snickered beside him.
“I’m not a shrimp compared to anybody.” Ernesto declared, blush only deepening when the pair on the sofa snickered at his high-pitched petulance. “Hmph. Laugh it up while you can, boys, we’ll see who goes home rich and who goes home in a stroller.”
“STILL A GRUMP, BUT A COMPETITOR TO THE LAST!” Barrie proclaimed as Ernesto slipped out of his sandals and marched over to the sofa, struggling to maintain his dignity while clutching his colossal clothing to his four and a half foot frame. “ANYONE CAN SEE THAT HE’LL BE A TOUGH ADVERSARY NO MATTER HIS AGE!”
“Ooh, you hear that Jackson?” Kai teased as Ernesto huffed himself into a seat beside the blonde boy. “Ernie there is a real toughie.”
“Is that true, dude?” Jackson giggled as poked at Ernesto, who was trying his best to ignore the childish provocations. “You gonna mess us up?”
“Just wait and see.” Ernesto sniffed. “As soon as the game starts for real, I’m gonnaaahahahahaaaaaa! Jaaaacksooooooon! Stooooopp!”
The boast became a squealed plea for mercy when Jackson made a dive for the boy’s bare foot and viciously tickled its delicate and extremely sensitive sole.
“Whoops! Sorry dude, did you not want me to do that?” Jackson’s laughter was cut short by an unimpressed Ernesto jerking his foot away and punching the cheerful boy in his bicep. Still, Jackson kept grinning even as he rubbed gingerly at the spot where he’d been struck. “Nice technique, bro, did you take boxing lessons?”
“…just a few before the season of Ring Generals that I was on,” Ernesto shrugged, mollified by the praise. “It’s no big deal.”
“Yooo, I remember watching that season.” Kai chimed in. “The judges did you dirty, brotha.”
“HEY! THERE’LL BE NO PROMOTION OF NON-NETWORK PROGRAMMING WHILE I’M AROUND!” Barrie butted in. “BESIDES, WE’VE STILL GOT ONE MORE TROUBLEMAKER TO DEAL WITH!”
Scott’s heart skipped a beat as the boys on the sofa turned their expectant eyes his way, realizing in the same moment that millions of eyes from all across the world were trained on the agent in anticipation of what was about to happen to him. And while Scott took pride in doing whatever was necessary to complete his missions, said missions were usually conducted stealthily in the dead of night. He was not built nor trained for the stage. He felt as though he were burning beneath the gigantic spotlight that had been placed on him, his churning anxiety only exacerbated by memories of his first childhood – by the realization that he was mere moments from reclaiming the weak, immature, untested form that lay beneath decades of exercise and training.
All of those concerns, however, suddenly seemed miles away. Scott felt as though he’d been enveloped from head to toe in a warm, heavy blanket – so heavy, in fact, that his legs were leaden as he adjusted his feet and regained his balance. Though his training had provided him with ways to counter this sort of induced state he found himself falling into, the very idea of fighting back disappeared beneath the relentless waves of relaxation that rolled over the woozy agent. Drained of the strength to do anything more than look down at himself, Scott realized that in however long it’d been since his regression started – time felt somewhat elastic in this moment – he’d already slipped from forty into his early thirties.
Part of Scott’s job was to be intimately familiar with his own body so as to best maintain it as a tool of the state. That knowledge was so ingrained that it cut right through his dissociative daze, Scott knowing instinctively that his form was at the prime he’d achieved a decade prior. He’d not a second to luxuriate in his peak, however, before the relentless transformation carried him into the years spent reaching that apex. Goosebumps rippled over his arms and legs as they were slowly stripped of the muscle they had swelled with just moments prior; as they were smoothed of the scars that came from the mistakes made in his early days as an agent. That time, too, was soon behind Scott – who was struck with dreamy, bittersweet nostalgia at returning to the body he’d occupied when he graduated from the academy.
At that point he was but a wisp of the man he’d eventually become, the litheness of his late teens contrasting with the power and presence he’d attain further on in adulthood. Scott gasped softly as he plunged into memories of his academy days, of his time in the institution that had been his childhood home and training ground. And as his body moved backwards in time, so too did his memories.
The pride of standing before the assembly as a graduate, feeling impossibly adult in his knowledge that he was about to go out and save the world as a spy for Uncle Sam. Thinking about how badly he wanted to get into the field and prove himself, prove that that the training hadn’t been a waste, prove that he was a man.
The frustration of sophomore year, when his development stalled and more naturally gifted athletes pulled ahead. Remembering how he first came to know his body and limits, how surging testosterone pushed him into fights with any student that looked at him the wrong way.
The curiosity of seventh grade, when he and his classmates were coming to know their bodies in different ways. Comparing sizes. Bragging about hair, about girls, about how far you can shoot. Whispers in cracking voices and snickering in the dark. Silly kids whipped into a frenzy by their first taste of adulthood.
The excitement of the first day, when Scott walked into the Academy wearing a perfectly-pressed uniform and a grin a mile wide. He swelled with pride at the thought that one day he’d be a super-cool secret agent, that he wasn’t a little kid anymore that everyone had to take care of. Scott was ten years old, thank you very much, and he was in training to be…to be…
Scott blinked as the warm weight withdrew, as he slowly returned to the current time and place. When his vision focused, Scott saw his slacks and briefs pooled around his feet…he saw skinny pale legs poking out from the bottom of his fluttering button-down shirt, the hem of which hung down to his knobby knees. He saw spindly arms swimming in oversized sleeves and little hands swallowed by cuffs – a child’s bare chest and a child’s soft belly. When Scott could finally raise his head and look at the screen – look at the image being blasted live across the globe in real time – he saw a startled boy with a smattering of freckles across his baby-smooth cheeks, a mop of auburn curls and a disarmingly bright pair of wide emerald eyes.
Scott was ten years old.