The room was tense as the two figures who both believed they were Jeff Hodges stood near the glowing Chronivac. The real Jeff, now back in his teenage form after the timer expired, was exasperated. He tried to reason with the man who wore his face but refused to acknowledge he was really Mike, his father, especially now he thinks the real jeff had used that machine to make him look like him.
“Dad—” Jeff started, but the other Jeff cut him off.
“Stop calling me that! I’m not your dad! I’m Jeff! You’re the impostor! And you’re trying to steal my life!”
Jeff groaned, his patience thinning. “Listen, I know this is confusing, but you’re the one who messed with the settings. You used the Chronivac and accidentally overwrote your memories. That’s why you think you’re me! Just let me fix it!”
But Mike, fully convinced he was the only true Jeff, refused to listen. “I’ve never even *seen* this thing before today. Nice try, faker! You’re not tricking me. I don’t know how you managed to look just like me, but it’s not going to work.”
Jeff took a step forward, hoping to physically take control of the situation. “Dad, I mean—ugh, fine—‘Jeff,’ just get out of the way. I’ll fix everything, and you’ll remember who you really are!”
The faux-Jeff panicked, his survival instincts kicking in. If this “imposter” knew how to use the machine, he couldn’t let him near it. Without thinking, he lashed out, swinging his fist hard and catching the real Jeff on the back of the head, with the real jeff more going for the program than protecting him self.
The teenager staggered, his vision blurring before collapsing onto the floor, unconscious. Mike, his adrenaline spiking, hovered over the fallen boy, panting. “Not so smart now, are you, you fake?”
He looked at the Chronivac, its interface still open. The program practically begged for input. Mike grinned. He had an idea. “If he’s so desperate to be me and take over my life, let’s see how he likes being... someone else entirely.”
Mike scrolled through the settings with a mixture of curiosity and spite. He found a profile editor and chuckled. “If I’m Jeff—and I *am*—then this faker needs a new identity. Someone harmless, someone who won’t keep trying to steal my life.” His fingers danced across the keyboard.
“Blond... eight years old... cute enough to make the cops buy whatever story I tell them. No one’s gonna believe he’s me now.” He hit "Apply," and the machine hummed ominously.
In a flash of light, the unconscious Jeff’s body began to shift. His limbs grew shorter and slimmer, his face rounding out into the soft, angelic features of a young boy. His dark hair lightened to a sunny blond, and his clothes morphed into a small, colorful outfit fit for a child.
Mike folded his arms, looking at the transformed boy with smug satisfaction. “There. Now you’re not Jeff. You’re just some random kid. Maybe a ‘Mark’ or a ‘Timmy.’ Definitely not me.”
When the boy remained unconscious, Mike felt a twinge of unease. He poked at the small shoulder. “Hey. Wake up, kid.” No response.
“Well, that’s just perfect, i guess” he muttered. Not wanting the boy to wake up and cause more problems, Mike hatched another plan then. He grabbed his phone and dialed the police.
“Yeah, hi,” he said, feigning distress. “Some kid just showed up on my doorstep. I think he passed out or something. No idea who he is or where he came from, but can someone come pick him up? He looks about eight years old. Blond hair, blue eyes. Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll wait.”
He hung up and glanced at the small boy. “Problem solved,” he muttered. “No more imposters. and this little ass will get what he deserves”
Minutes later, red and blue lights flashed outside. Mike opened the door, explaining to the officer that he’d found the boy collapsed on his porch. “I don’t know who he is,” he lied, shaking his head. “Poor kid. Probably lost or something.”
The officer knelt beside the boy, who was starting to stir but was still groggy. “We’ll take him to the station and see if we can track down his family,” the officer assured him.
As they carried the boy to the patrol car, Mike felt an odd mix of triumph and unease. “Good riddance,” he mumbled, closing the door.
Back upstairs, Mike stared at the Chronivac. “No one’s messing with my life again,” he muttered, opening the settings menu. He activated the password lock, typing in something only he would remember. Satisfied, he shut the machine down.
“I’m Jeff,” he said to himself, looking into the mirror and smiling. “And no one’s taking that away from me.” but he did wonder where was his dad he has not called or anything hopping that fake person has not done anyhting bad to him, but sighing knowing there is no reason is worrying too night knowing he sometimes work long night and goes to bed with knowing he still has school tomorrow and wanting this night to be done with.