A brief flashback to what Jeff was doing for those several hours.
Jeff had considered making Pete something else entirely, but then his compassion, the thing that had him wanting to save Pete from the misery of being a broken wreck, prevailed.
No punishment - not a biker slave, not an old out of shape administrator, not a tit-heavy wife to the coach - the coach had a partner already.
Making him the statue in front of the school was interesting, but really, that was more something Jeff was thinking of as a temporary vacation for himself sometime.
No way would he make him a sumo wrestler. He'd have to end up in Japan, and besides, if he got into the heavyweights, he'd lose that hot body that Jeff had admired.
Making him the center for the town's pro football team would just displace the current center, and with the way the machine had worked so far, that could be no better than what happened to Pete - which seemed to be suspicious, as if the machine had already known he would turn Tyler into the quarterback.
So he considered. One of the options was for a retroactive change, something that happened in the past, that resulted in a different present.
Pete Ryan was always pretty good looking, except that he'd had horrible acne that left his face scarred up, and a badly broken nose from an earlier motorcycle accident...
The earlier motorcycle accident had been when he was thirteen. The Chronivac had a history ... and an edit button. The first thing he did was to replace 'chronic acne' with 'single brief instance of mild acne, corrected by changing facial soap.' Broken nose? He changed it to 'broken arm' and added 'following physical therapy, Pete began weight training with great success.'
That, and a few changes to Pete's profile. His body type, originally a combination of 'sprinter' and 'thrower' was what made him a good quarterback, but he had an unfortunate 'rate of decay' on the muscle growth setting.
Jeff shook his head, amazed at the detail and precision this program could use to manipulate its subjects. He set the 'rate of decay', initially 85, requiring constant training and careful diet to nearly zero, and Chronivac popped up a warning: "This setting can cause unexpected and sometimes fatal side effects" so he backed it up to 10, then to 15, and the warning went away. He had to bump up 'flexibility' which had automatically adjusted, and clicked 'override' to make it stay upwards, and then added a few caveats to the free-form text box. He changed the text description for body type to 'lanky, sleek, ripped muscle' and watched the wireframe image change, and then added to the history, 'Pete began modeling at age fourteen' and a few other parameters changed. He selected 'Physique Contest' as Pete's new favorite sport.
Jeff made one more change. He noticed that Pete's endowment was average, and he decided that if he was going to be a model, he should be able to do it without wearing a sock in his pants, so he changed it to 'almost too much' and his libido level to 'highly distracting but controllable in public' and his sexual orientation to 'bisexual with mild preference for males'. He added 'immune to STDs' and 'only fertile by mutual consent' to the flavor text boxes on the 'sexuality' menu. That should keep him from having bad side effects from this particular generous gift.
When he selected 'review changes', the new Pete was shown. Jeff pressed 'apply changes, immediate' and when the Chronivac message said "Change Completed" he went to bed where Tyler was waiting.
Pete woke up from a nightmare. Ever since that stupid motorcycle accident when he was thirteen, he'd had terrible dreams about motorcycle accidents, and this one had been very strange. He had been a quarterback in the dream -- he didn't play football, not that he disliked it, but it was too easy to get serious injuries and the schedule would have kept him from his modeling gigs, and he was easily putting away enough money to pay for his college. He needed that, because his folks, while doing well enough, were not the sort of wealthy that could pay for what college was costing now.
He shook his head at the fading dream, and knocked on the door to the bathroom he shared with his younger sister. She wasn't in there - she would have yelled "STAY OUT PERVO" like she always did. So he went in, locked the door on her side so she wouldn't come in, and took a fast shower and shave. He wasn't a hairy guy, and he trimmed his pubes and pits, and took a cosmetic puff and spritzed a light puff of body spray on it, then wiped it on the back of his neck, the cleft between his pecs, down his cobblestone abs, and then wiped it into his pits and crotch. His sister hated it when he used her cosmetic puffs, but then she stole, er, borrowed, the makeup he sometimes had to wear to his modeling gigs, so it was all fair. He assessed his body. His calves were slightly smaller than he wanted them to be, his waist was so tight and narrow it made his shoulders look twice as broad as they were, and the pattern of veins under the skin around his lower abs, along his thighs, across his biceps - a little bit TOO ripped right now, he was preparing for a physiques contest next month and he needed to keep bulking -- as if he ever got fat any more -- but he needed another five pounds at least before doing his pre-contest diet. He was down to a single week for that, because he kept everything tight, but if he wasn't the amazing muscle-gain kid, he knew he'd be thinking about drugs or something desperate. He flexed. Perfect. Well. Nearly.
The sight and scent was triggering his erection, and he grabbed it at the base with his left hand, wrapping his right hand directly above, and the thumb-length of it protruding above his grip, the head starting to peek out of his foreskin. It wasn't quite hard, yet. He heard a car outside - his Mom was leaving, it must be later than he had thought - so he let go, and thought about his sister, and it went limp again, so he was able to slide on his boxer-briefs. They were a sleek micro-fiber cotton/spandex blend, and a brand that he had actually modeled for. He grinned -- perfect teeth, slightly predatory canines for that bit of danger, loosely toweled blond hair falling in slight disarray to just above his shoulders. His jade-green eyes - that's what the photographer called them - gleamed as he posed for the mirror. A knock came on the door. He yelled "Stay out, pervo, I'm almost done," and his sister yelled something back but he didn't care. He unlocked her side and she rushed in as he was going to his own bedroom.
"Eww, you exhibitionist," she said. "Why are you always in your underwear?"
"Why are you always looking?" he retorted, and closed the door behind him. He pulled on a pair of black leather jeans, because they made the teachers uncomfortable, and threw some clean training gear into his duffel bag, and a couple changes of underwear, and pulled on a dark brown long-sleeved microfiber ArmorGear shirt, the kind that fit slightly tighter than skin with the shine that made him look like he'd been oiled rather than dressed.
His Mom was already gone to work, his Dad was downstairs in his office, so he grabbed the breakfast smoothie his Mom made him from his training diet, and yelled that he was leaving.
Pete figured he could stop by Jeff's place - Tyler usually slept over after a game because they had to fuck after every game - and if he got there early enough he might be able to talk them into making a Pete Sandwich. He loved being fucked by one of the two while fucking the other, it was the best thing about football. Well. Football players. It was the best thing about these particular football players.