Noah sat cross-legged on the creaky office chair, the Chronivac software still open. The cursor blinked on the “Scan Target” screen.
Through the windowed door, he could see James finishing up some shelf-stocking—always early, always energetic, but somehow... off-brand. James was a good guy, no doubt. Charming, funny, and had retail charisma. But he didn’t get it, not really. Not the lived nuance of dysphoria, the delicate balancing act of pronouns, the little victories when a customer finally gets called “sir” by a stranger.
James tried. But trying sometimes wasn’t enough in a space that demanded safety and depth.
Noah sighed. “If he’s going to be here,” he whispered, “he needs to feel it. Be part of it. Live it. Not just sell the right binder size.”
He reached for the emitter and clicked [Scan Target].
Target Acquired: James Sullivan
Age: 27
Gender: Cis Male
Sexuality: Straight
Species: Human
Height: 6'0"
Role: Salesperson
Alignment: Supportive Ally
Known History: Retail background; recruited for sales skill; no trans experience.
Noah hesitated at the first checkbox. Adjusting James’s gender identity felt... intrusive. Not ethical. But enhancing empathy? Adjusting memory to include a transmasculine experience—not necessarily his entire life, but enough to truly understand?
That felt... right. Like brand stewardship.
He ticked:
Adjust Emotional Sensitivity Toward Gender Dysphoria
Insert Lived Experience / Altered Memory (Partial: as closeted transmasc, transitioned at 23)
Modify Internal Language Awareness
Rebalance Confidence vs. Listening Ratio
Enhance Empathy, Dial Down Sales Instinct
James wouldn’t forget who he was. He’d just remember having been someone else too. Enough to relate, not just ally.
SAVE?
[YES] [NO]
Noah clicked YES.
A low hum emanated from the emitter. Outside, James paused near the fitting rooms, rubbing his temples as if struck by a sudden headache. He looked up, dazed.
“Weird... got the strangest déjà vu,” he murmured.
Noah stepped cautiously from the office. “You okay?”
James blinked, his expression softening into something profoundly new as his gaze met Noah’s. “Yeah. I was just thinking... I used to hate public bathrooms. Felt like walking into a battle zone every time. You remember that?”
Noah’s brow furrowed. “No, I don’t think you ever mentioned…”
But James was already smiling, a quiet, introspective curve of his lips. “Right. Guess I didn’t. I used to bind with tape every morning in college. God, I’d forgotten how rough those mornings were.” He shook his head slightly, a flicker of shared pain and resilience in his eyes. “But—hey—I’m here now. That counts, right?”
Noah’s chest tightened. “Yeah, James. It really does.”
“Good,” James said, pushing himself up. “Speaking of, I’ve gotta hit the restroom.” He walked towards the back, his stride confident but no longer carrying that oblivious salesman's bounce.
Noah heard the bathroom door click shut, then moments later, the distinct sound of someone sitting down rather than standing at the toilet, followed by the steady stream of urine hitting water. It was a small, private action, but one deeply associated with the lived experience Noah had just implanted.
James emerged a minute later, his voice clear and matter-of-fact as he walked back towards the shop floor: “Hey Noah, let me know if you want to reorder those compression shorts. Kai mentioned the new ones ride up less on folks with chest scars.”
Noah stood frozen, stunned not just by the seamless integration of the memory implant, but by the effortless alignment. James was still James—energetic, helpful—but now his presence resonated with profound understanding, down to the most ingrained habits. It fit the space perfectly now: supportive, authentic, and strong, like a perfectly adjusted binder—snug, essential, and invisible only until its crucial support was deeply felt.