Blue Boxer's transformation was slow. Intimate. Thorough.
He gasped, and his voice cracked as it shifted pitch. His skin prickled and flushed warm, like it was shrinking into itself. He stumbled, boots suddenly clunky, heavy. His muscles deflated like balloons with pinholes. His biceps shrank down into soft little arms. His broad chest narrowed, pecs flattening, abs smoothing out. His shoulders caved in slightly, his stance wobbling as he lost inches of height by the second.
Blue Boxer’s combat boots slipped loose, laces untied. His belt slid down past his hips, clinking to the ground. His gloves now looked like oven mitts on his dainty hands.
“Wha—what’s happenin’—!?” he managed, voice now unmistakably boyish.
A wave of panic hit as he looked down—his grown-up, sculpted body was vanishing before his eyes. Body hair? Gone. Beard stubble? Smooth as a baby’s cheek. Height? He felt like he was being dunked lower and lower into the world.
“Uh-oh,” Sheriff Yee Haw grinned. “Looks like someone’s skippin’ arm day for the next decade.”
“Sh-shut up!” Boxer squeaked, trying to pull up his falling pants.
He was now no more than a barefoot 10-year-old, buried inside a heap of tactical gear and adult boxer attire. His domino mask now too big, sliding down over his eyes. He yanked at the gloves but couldn’t even ball a proper fist.
“Dang it!” he whined, wobbling on the ground like a kid in his dad’s clothes. “You messed with the wrong hero!”
“Ohhh ho ho, I do love when they squeak tough,” Sheriff Yee Haw cackled, spinning his revolver again. “Let’s fix that look, junior.”
Z-ZAP!
With a poof, his high-tech uniform disintegrated into sparkles, replaced with classic buckaroo garb: rough denim overalls, no shirt underneath, a red handkerchief tied around his neck, and bare feet caked in instant dust.
“NOOO!” he wailed, tugging at the strap on his overalls. “Where’s my suit?!”
“You don’t need no fancy tights, li’l partner,” Yee Haw cooed mockingly. “You look just precious like that. Yeehaw couture, baby!”
“I am NOT precious!”
“Aww, sure you are. Look at ya—barefoot in the rail yard, all hollerin’ and red-faced. Ain’tcha just the cutest lil’ outlaw this side of the Mississippi?”
Blue Boxer stomped his tiny foot. “I swear when I get back to normal I’m gonna—”
Z-ZAP!
One more bolt to the face.
He froze mid-rant.
Then blinked.
“Ah—ah reckon y’all better quit zap-zappin’ me, mister!” he barked, his hands on his hips.
He blinked again. “Wait, wait… ah meant tuh say… dang it! Dadgum it!”
Sheriff Yee Haw leaned in, grinning ear to ear. “Aw, that’s precious, sugarcube. I done rewired yer tongue! You talk like a good ol’ prairie boy now.”
“Ah do not! Ah mean—I don’t! I don’t—uh—cotton to none o’ this nonsense!”
His hands flew to his mouth. His face turned pink.
“Aw shoot,” the boy whimpered.
“Yeah,” the Sheriff chuckled. “Ain’t nothin’ left of that snooty playboy voice, is there? Just good ol’ ranch speak and front porch sass.”
Blue Boxer spun around in a flustered circle, little feet slapping on the dusty pavement. “This ain’t happenin’! Ah’m the Blue Boxer! Protector o’ Grit City! Ah don’t ride no ponies an’ pick dandelions nohow!”
The Sheriff just watched, arms crossed, belly bouncing with laughter.
But something started to shift in Blue Boxer’s mind. Each time he spoke in that ridiculous cowboy accent, it got… easier. Comfortable. Even fun. He found himself glancing up at Sheriff Yee Haw with less anger and more curiosity.
“Ah mean… y’ain’t so bad, fer a big ol’ rascal,” he muttered, toeing the ground bashfully. “Y’sure got a shiny belt buckle.”
“Aww, shucks,” Yee Haw grinned, ruffling his blond mop. “You’re a sweet lil’ whippersnapper once ya get past the growlin’.”
“Stop it…” Boxer mumbled, turning red. “Ah ain’t—yer not mah—ah mean…”
His little face twisted in concentration, but the fight was leaving him.
“D-dang it… Ah’m likin’ this too much…”
Sheriff Yee Haw scooped the boy up under one arm like a sack of flour. “Well saddle me sideways, we got us a convert! C’mon, Deputy Blue, let’s ride! Got a corral full’a other fellers need a lil’ regressive justice.”
“Nooo!” the tiny Blue Boxer laughed and kicked his bare feet. “Put me down, ya ornery cowpoke!” But Boxer's muscles weren't what they used to be, and Sheriff Yee Haw slung him over his shoulder like a bag of flour.
The villain whooped and hollered. "I've got big plans for my new little buckaroo!"