Jeffie, squirming in Macy's lap, was visibly distressed. His chubby arms flailed and he grunted incoherently, doing his best to communicate the urgency in his mind. Though he couldn't form words beyond infantile babble, the panic in his eyes said enough.
"Easy, Jeffie," Macy said, trying to keep him steady with one hand while using the other to operate the mouse. "I'm fixing it, okay? Just chill."
But Jeffie wasn't convinced. His tiny fingers reached again and again for the mouse, trying to grab it from her hand. "Gah! Nuh—ch-chay!" he stammered, bouncing in her lap.
"Ugh, you're going to spill your juice!" Macy huffed as she tried to push the mouse cursor toward the awareness toggle in the program. The juice box, now tipped, dribbled onto the edge of the desk. She yanked it away and tried to refocus.
Jeffie lunged again.
Macy jerked the mouse in surprise—and accidentally clicked on something she hadn’t meant to.
"Wait—no no no!" she exclaimed.
A prompt flashed briefly on the screen: "Global Override: Awareness OFF – All Subjects."
Macy’s breath caught. The world seemed to slow as she watched the notification blink and vanish.
She looked down at Jeffie, now suddenly calmer... or rather, confused.
"Oh no," she whispered.
Then the screen went blank. A pulse of light rippled through the house.
When Macy blinked next, her thoughts were… different. She was an 18-year-old high school senior, taking weekend babysitting jobs to help save up for college. And today, she was watching little Jeffie, a fussy but adorable baby with messy blond hair and big, expressive eyes.
“Ohhh, who’s got a pouty face?” she cooed playfully, scooping him up. Jeffie, now a toddler in body and mind, babbled nonsense and flailed his little arms, struggling to make his feelings known—but he couldn’t speak clearly. His words came out as soft, garbled sounds, not nearly intelligible enough for someone to understand.
He let out a frustrated squeal as his limbs flopped in Macy’s arms. His emotions came fast now—he was confused, annoyed, and growing rapidly upset. With his bladder control shot, he whimpered at the sudden discomfort as he soaked his diaper.
“Oh sweetie, did you make a mess?” Macy said with a giggle, pressing her nose against his and wrinkling it. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you all cleaned up. You’re lucky you’re cute.”
In the eyes of the world now—including Macy—Jeff had always been baby Jeffie. He wasn’t a high schooler who’d played with a dangerous device; he was just a fussy infant with big emotions, a weak grip, and a dependency on naps and juice boxes.
As she changed him, humming a lighthearted tune, Macy chatted idly, “I swear you’re the cutest baby I’ve ever babysat. I hope your mom leaves you with me more often.” She finished the change and lifted him back into her arms.
Jeffie only let out a loud babble, cheeks red, limbs flailing in protest—but none of it made sense to Macy anymore. To her, he was just a baby being a baby.
The day was just beginning.