Boris moved with a newfound awkwardness, each step measured and deliberate, as he and Jeff headed toward the bedroom's full-sized mirror. The transformation had altered not just his appearance but his very sense of existence. Reaching the mirror, Boris confronted his reflection, the reality of his new form staring back at him with unyielding clarity.
His eyes, still recognizable but now encased within the open visor of his combat helmet-like head, were wide with amazement and a tinge of disbelief. The plastic sheen of his face was unnervingly smooth, every detail captured but lacking the warmth of living flesh. Gently, he touched his molded cheek, the sound of his plastic fingers tapping against the hard surface echoing softly in the room.
Boris's gaze traveled downwards, taking in the wide expanse of his chest armor—a deep, glossy gray with those accentuating green highlights that gave the illusion of real functionality and power. His name, "Boris," marked clearly with the numbers beneath, felt foreign yet a part of his new identity. Hollow, echoing, yet somehow grandiose, his torso stood firm, a far cry from the once-breathing body he used to own.
His arms, once organic and versatile, now moved with the rigid grace of an action figure, each joint clicking slightly with motion, the plastic articulated fingers flexing in an unsettling mimicry of human dexterity. He held them out, the stark reality that these were no longer merely his arms, but extensions of his manufactured being settling into his consciousness.
Trying to ignore the emptiness within his chest, Boris instinctively adopted a pose: one that felt natural to his new condition, as if compelled by an unseen script—a hero ready for action, slightly crouched, one fist raised. The mirror reflected back the action figure he'd become, poised and strangely dynamic, yet vastly different in essence from mere moments before.
As Boris repeated some of the phrases, the ones fitting to his new form, they rolled off his tongue with ease. "Bring it on!" His voice, distorted and metallic, resonated with a confidence that was not entirely his own. The effort to speak otherwise remained a challenge, like finding words in a foreign language.
As Boris continued to explore his transformed body, he felt a small, unfamiliar protrusion on his back, right between his shoulders. He twisted slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of it in the mirror, but his limited mobility and the angle made it impossible.
"Jeff, there's something back there," Boris said, nodding towards the spot.
Jeff stepped forward, curiosity piqued. He reached over to Boris's back and felt around until his fingers closed around an object. With a gentle tug, he detached it from its place between Boris's shoulder blades.
Holding it up for Boris to see, Jeff's eyes widened with understanding and a hint of amusement. In his hands was what looked like a sleek, futuristic wireless game controller. Buttons and joysticks glistened under the room's light, with smooth contours designed to fit comfortably in a gamer's grip.
Jeff chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. "Uncle Boris, it seems like this... is your remote!" he announced, turning the controller over to inspect its features. Various buttons were labeled with tiny symbols, each hinting at functions Jeff could only imagine.
Boris stared at the controller, a mix of disbelief and curiosity on his face. "Are... are you saying I can be controlled with that thing?" he asked, his voice a blend of wonder and hesitance.
Boris's skepticism was apparent as he regarded the controller in Jeff's hands. "There's no way that thing can control me," he said, though a hint of intrigue laced his voice.
"Let's see," Jeff replied, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He turned on the controller, a small LED light flickering to life on its surface. Positioning his thumb over the analog stick, Jeff pushed it slightly forward.
To Boris's astonishment, his legs moved on their own accord. He felt the subtle pull, as if invisible strings guided him, and his feet began to shuffle forward at a slow, deliberate pace. Panic flickered in his eyes, but with it came an undeniable fascination at the reality of his new condition.
"Jeff!" Boris exclaimed, the words spilling out before he could stop them. "I wasn't... I didn't actually think it would work!"
Jeff, struggling to suppress a chuckle, watched as Boris moved under the remote's influence. "Believe it now, Uncle? It's just like being in a video game," Jeff mused, adjusting the stick slightly to see Boris's reaction as his walk wavered, reflecting the imprecise input.
Boris gave a lopsided grin, surprising even himself. Despite the oddity of being controlled, there was an unfamiliar sense of detachment from his actions, almost freeing in its own peculiar way. "Just, uh, be gentle with those controls, alright?" he added, a reluctant acceptance in his voice.
Boris stood there, his situation both surreal and unsettling. Though trying to communicate, the constraints of pre-programmed phrases imposed on his speech, shaping his words into generic hero-speak. "Ready for action!" he exclaimed, the automatic enthusiasm contrasting his apprehensive expression.
Jeff, however, seemed undeterred by his uncle's predicament, and with a notion for more mischief, he returned to the computer. "I think we can make this more fun," he mused aloud, a mischievous smirk lighting up his face. Boris couldn't help but feel a shiver of unease creep down his spine.
With purposeful clicks and keystrokes, Jeff adjusted the settings in the Chronivac software, his fingers a blur over the keyboard. Meanwhile, Boris watched with growing concern, unable to articulate more complex thoughts or objections beyond his new verbal limitations.
Before he could brace himself, Boris felt a strange sensation envelop him, causing the room around him to seem to expand. His perspective shifted dramatically as he rapidly dwindled in size, the world around him growing vast and imposing. In moments, he found himself shrunken down to a mere 20 centimeters in height.
The controller in Jeff's hand remained its original size, now looking comically oversized compared to Boris's miniaturized form. From his new vantage point on the floor, Boris looked up at Jeff, an expression of wide-eyed incredulity on his molded plastic face. "Reporting for duty!" came the automatic phrase, which, despite its bravado, seemed tinged with an overlay of vulnerability given the circumstances.
Jeff couldn't help but chuckle, the novelty of his uncle's new form and size bringing out a playful side of him. With the controller in hand, he gently nudged the analog stick, experimentally exploring the ways he could direct Boris's movements.
At once, Boris felt his legs spring into action, sprinting forward in response to the controller's command. The floorboards felt enormous beneath his tiny feet, the entire room looming around him like an expansive playground. "Charging ahead!" the automatic voice declared enthusiastically, though Boris's eyes held a mix of resignation and reluctant amusement.
Jeff, observing this, pushed the stick with more intent, directing Boris towards a small stack of books that resembled an imposing mountain at his scale. Boris moved with speed, his legs shifting seamlessly into a nimble run, almost instinctively launching himself up the makeshift obstacle with newfound agility.
As Boris ascended the makeshift parkour course his nephew had set for him, he deftly navigated the zig-zag path of pillows and books, occasionally leaping or twisting with remarkable precision—each motion a testament to the action figure engineering he embodied now. "Climbing to new heights!" he called aloud, the phrase resonating with a triumphant tone.
From his high vantage point on the topmost book, Boris gazed at his surroundings, the ordinary room now a sprawling expanse of towering furniture and oversized objects. He felt a strange blend of exhilaration and surrender; although he was not in control, the experience had taken on an almost adventurous quality beneath Jeff's influence.
Jeff's experimentation knew no bounds as he worked the analog stick with curiosity, guiding Boris with a slight miscalculation towards a nearby wall. Boris's arms flailed reflexively, an automatic response to the rapidly approaching surface.
"Ouw!" Boris exclaimed as he collided, his mechanical voice ringing with exaggerated distress. For a moment, he expected to feel something—a twinge of pain or, at the very least, some discomfort. But instead, he bounced harmlessly back, his sturdy plastic form absorbing the impact without so much as a scratch.
Boris stood for a moment in surprise, the resilience of his body sinking in. "Tough as nails!" he declared on reflex, the phrase rolling off automatically, yet tinged with a newfound confidence. Somehow, amidst the absurdity of being controlled, a small sense of pride blossomed; his new body might be smaller, but it was far from fragile.
Jeff, watching Boris unfazed by the slam, laughed softly. "Looks like you're built to last, Uncle," he observed with a grin, directing Boris again, but this time with a touch more care.
Even with the playful chaos, Boris couldn't deny the subtle satisfaction in knowing he could withstand such mishaps. The mix of action and adventure, despite its artificiality, seemed to echo the enduring nature of every classic action figure tale.