Dr. Kelly leaned back, steepling her fingers. “Now, for the details. The experimental drug is a small capsule. Swallow it, and in about ten minutes, your body biochemically primes itself for… let’s call it adaptive transformation. We were inspired by, well, pop culture—think ‘henshin’ heroes. The difference is, it’s not just a suit; your entire body and brain are restructured. Robust, fully embodied—whether that’s synthetic or organic, depends on the chosen transformation.”
Mike’s lips parted. “Are you saying we… shape-shift? Like, actually change bodies?”
“In every sense. But strictly speaking, you don’t control the transformation directly. We haven’t figured out a way to trigger it with a word or gesture. The only reliable activation trigger… is a specific behavior.”
The room’s ambient noise seemed to drop. Joe leaned in, his brow furrowed. “What kind of behavior?”
“Frankly, we had to fall back on involuntary neurologic states. At this point, the only effective trigger is… masturbation. Completion, specifically. It’s, well, something everyone can do, and it produces a neural cascade that’s robust and repeatable enough to anchor the transformation process.”
Mike blinked. “You’re serious.”
Dr. Kelly nodded, voice calm. “Perfectly. It is what it is. A few other triggers are under study, but they’re much less consistent. The engineers jokingly dubbed it the ‘jerk and henshin’ protocol.”
Joe choked out a laugh, half-nervous, half-delighted. “Oh my god. That’s insane. But also kind of brilliant.”
Dr. Kelly’s lips curled in a faint smile. “Better than nothing. The pill remains inert until you’re ready to… initiate. Once triggered, the transformation is extremely fast and physically intense. Please understand: it’s not a costume or cosmetic change. And for some forms, your neurology will change as well—sometimes substantially.”
She slid a folder across the desk. Inside were digital renderings—some gleaming and mechanical, contours of metal and composite polymers, limbs jointed with soft blue plasma or segmented like insect bodies. Others were organic: hyperrealistic animal-humans, scales and fur, feathers and claws, muscleized frames unlike anything in the textbook.
Joe’s eyes widened, scanning from a feline hulk covered in obsidian-black fur, to something like a siren made of shifting blue glass, to a towering, chrome-plated robot with luminescent eyes beneath a translucent helmet.
“These are… possible?” he breathed.
“They’re the templates we’ve tested—successfully, mostly. Some are purely synthetic. When robotic, your mind is run as a digital process—on dedicated hardware built for neural emulation. The transfer is seamless, but the subjective experience can be dramatically different from your human default. Most organic templates are largely familiar—think anthropomorphic mammals, birds, and so on. We let the engineering team have some fun with the design files.”
Mike examined one labeled ‘Canine U1’: “Is this… I mean… no way this is safe.”
Dr. Kelly nodded. “Extensive battery-backed systems. We keep you monitored at all times in case you get stuck. That’s another point—triggering back to human form isn’t always straightforward. For some animal or robot forms, we’ve established alternative triggers. A few are still mysteries. The transformation *can* usually be reverted, but not always on your schedule.”
Mike looked uncertain. He glanced sideways at Joe. “Wait. If I get stuck as… like, this robot thing…?”
Dr. Kelly gestured reassuringly. “Our longest participant stayed as a quadruped wolf-canine for three days, then returned with no ill effects. For full-robot forms, the experience feels digital—like you’re running on a mainframe. We can always retrieve you. But I emphasize: We’re still figuring out the triggers for some—‘forced restarts,’ so to speak. And there have been… accidental activations.”
Joe’s eyebrows shot up. “Unintentional?”
“It happens,” Dr. Kelly said with an apologetic shrug. “Arousal, especially in sleep, can trigger a transformation. One volunteer unexpectedly became a hummingbird at three a.m. and spent the next hour zipping around the containment chamber.”
Joe grinned, clearly thrilled. “That’s nuts. Mike, you have to try this! Just imagine—turning into a cyborg death machine whenever you—” He broke off, laughing.
Mike exhaled in disbelief. “I mean, yeah, I can see the appeal, but… What do people do while transformed? Am I just… running around as a dog, or sitting in a cage, or—?”
Dr. Kelly’s eyes glinted with scientific interest. “We’re interested in users’ adaptation. How do you experience the form? Does your perception shift? We’ll guide you through supervised tasks, and, if you’re comfortable, unstructured activity. Transformation back requires you to perform the necessary trigger associated with the form—which will be discreetly briefed to you.”
Joe’s smile widened. “So you’re paying us two hundred grand to jerk off and become super robots or animal people?”
“And collect invaluable data in the process,” Dr. Kelly replied, smiling. “It is… unusual science. But you’ll be closely monitored, and well-compensated. I assure you.”
Mike shook his head, fighting a grin. “You can’t make this stuff up. Joe, are we actually considering this?”
Joe laughed, nerves and excitement mingling. “For that kind of money? Hell, I’d do it ten times over. Even if I get stuck as a robot dog with rocket paws. You up for it, Mike?”
Mike looked again at the folder of possible new selves—feeling a tremor of both nervousness and wild, impossible curiosity. The capsules, sealed in glossy blue glass, gleamed expectantly atop the desk between them.