Jeff sat on the edge of his Star Wars-covered bed, still breathing a bit heavily from the intense transformation. His hairy belly jiggled slightly with each breath, and his tighty whities rode a little high on his now-thick waist. He stared down at his hands—they were a bit rougher, knuckles darker with hair. He rubbed one palm with the other, marveling at the callused texture.
“Whoa,” he muttered, blinking slowly.
The words sounded different now—slightly deeper, a bit slower, with the sort of gravelly tone you'd expect from someone who probably didn't rush through anything. He scratched his growing beard without thinking and let out a long, low breath. The panic he’d felt earlier was fading. In its place, a warm, almost drowsy calm was spreading through him, like melting butter across a hot skillet.
Jeff scratched his belly under the frog T-shirt, stretching his arms out and letting out a long yawn. “Ain’t so bad,” he mumbled, leaning back on the bed and putting one leg up lazily. The jeans were loose enough that they drooped a little, showing off the waistband of his tighty whities. He didn’t care. He felt good.
His eyes wandered lazily over the room. The cement floor wasn’t cold anymore. The bedspread, the simple furnishings—somehow it all felt cozy. Familiar. He wriggled his toes absentmindedly and smiled.
The laid-back feeling deepened. His thoughts, once zippy and high-energy, slowed like syrup. He didn’t feel like checking his phone or hopping on Reddit or planning anything at all. He just... wanted to chill. Maybe grab a snack. Maybe watch a bit of TV. Maybe fix that dripping faucet in the kitchen—nah, later.
The Chronivac gave a soft chime from the desk. Jeff turned his head lazily toward it, lifting one brow. The screen now read:
“Psychological Sync in Progress — 50%”
That would explain it. His body was mostly done changing, but his mind was still catching up.
Jeff leaned forward, his weight shifting with a soft grunt, and stood up. His jeans sagged just enough to need a tug, but he didn’t zip them up—didn’t even notice. He shuffled over to the mirror above the desk. The man in the reflection was in his mid-20s, soft around the edges, with long curls, thick eyebrows, a full beard, and sleepy eyes. There was a smirk creeping onto his lips like he didn’t really have a care in the world.
“Guess this is me now,” he said slowly, then chuckled. “Kinda funny.”
He walked into the kitchen—his legs rubbing softly with each step, his belly giving a gentle bounce. The fridge had appeared now, plain white, humming quietly. He opened it and wasn’t even surprised to find it stocked with leftover pizza, soda, and three different brands of ranch dressing.
Jeff cracked open a soda and stood there barefoot, staring out the kitchen window, sipping slowly.
For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t worried about school, social media, expectations, or even why this had happened.
He belched quietly and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Damn... kinda nice bein’ this way.”
And then the Chronivac chimed again.
“Sync complete. Brain patterns at 50%. Subject now partially believes they have always been this person.”
Jeff scratched his belly again and muttered, “Wonder what shirt I’ll wear tomorrow…” completely forgetting that this had all started as a random experiment.
After all, he was just Jeff. Mid-twenties. Hairy. A bit soft in the middle. Big Star Wars fan. Liked his pizza cold and his life simple.
He had no idea he used to be someone else.
And that was just fine with him.