"Who the fuck are you?!"
Rick, sent upstairs by his wife to get his son for dinner, stared at the unfamiliar man sitting near-naked on his couch. Brendon, for his part, jumped up in shock, and unfamiliar with the balance of his new body, fell straight over onto the ground.
"Get out of my house!"
"But Rick, I'm..." Brendon pleaded to no avail before he felt himself grabbed and pulled along. He struggled, and despite the fact that he felt more strength than usual flowing through unfamiliar limbs, he was unable to break free from his stepfather's suddenly iron grip. He watched with horror as his mother shrank back in fear as he was pulled through the hall, and he found himself deposited outside the front door as it slammed behind him.
"Who was that?" Rick asked himself. "Why would he be inside our house? Wait... it couldn't have been... the mist. Brend.. oh who cares if it was! Nah, it couldn't have worked like that anyway..."
Meanwhile, outside, "What the hell is going on?!" echoed around the street. Brendon examined himself, feeling his body, running his hands along his pecs and abs, noting his new height and getting somewhat aroused by his new muscular form, not to mention by the long cock to match the surfer's long body, before the situation suddenly slammed home. He was trapped outside in the rapidly darkening cold night with nothing but a pair of shorts on, and though he was now a handsome surfie, he was nobody. No-one knew him.