You back out of the house you had turned into a trash pit. You hadn't even aimed at the house. Just shooting Tommy with the ray gun was enough to slob-ify all of his possessions. You glance over at him, snoring away on his porch, his stubble unshaven, his body bloated, his torso covered in hair. You know you have to test that gun out some more.
You run back to Jack's house, stumbling a bit as you're still a little drunk. You almost run into Jack himself as you make your way up the stairs.
He grabs you by the arm, not unkindly. "Woah, woah. Slow your roll, guy. Where's the fire?"
Though, tall and muscular, if a little lanky, Jack was probably the friendliest guy you knew, though also the smelliest.
You try to think of some excuse. You know you can't tell him about the slob-ifier. Not yet, anyway.
"I, ah, There's a box of old comics upstairs. Would you mind if I were to take them home? And read them?"
Jack scratches his stubble and considers this for a moment. "Comic books? They might be worth somethin'..." He looks at you and grins, showing off his yellowed teeth. "Alright, fine with me. You have fun with your 'comic books'."
There was something odd about the way he said "comic books" to you. Could he know about the... No. He couldn't have. Could he?
Jack lets you go and gives you a pat on the shoulder. "Hey, were you just at Tommy's house?"
You stop again. "Yes..."
He gives you a half smirk. "I thought I heard that fat ass mowing his yard. The guy hasn't touched that weed pit in months."
You shrug. "If by mowing you mean cut a five foot path then give up, then yes, he's mowing."
He laughs and waves you off. You dart up the stairs. Even Jack thinks Tommy has changed. Maybe, since you were the one who used the gun, you were the only one to remember the old reality.
In the attic, you set aside the box with the ray gun and its attachments. You glance at the other boxes. After a moment's consideration, you grab a bolder of the so titled "Slovenly Ale" and a bag of the strange powder. You place them in the box with the ray gun. You scrounge around the attic before eventually finding some old newspapers and, thankfully, some actual old comic books depicting a character called "Sludge". You cover the Ale, the powder, and the gun with its attachments with the newspapers, then throw the comics on top. You close the lid as best you can and carry it downstairs. As you reach the bottom you feign heaviness, is if the box was full of comics.
Jack glances at you, a weird grin on his face. "Are you going to carry that all the way home. It looks pretty heavy."
You try to tone down the heaviness a little. "No, I got it."
He motions with his head at the door. "No, let me give you a ride. I insist."
"Uhm, aren't you drunk?"
He grabs his keys from underneath an old pizza box, and twirls them around his finger. "Oh, come on. I drive just fine when I'm drunk. Hop in."
Against you better judgement, your sitting in the grimy passenger seat of Jack's junker with the box on your lap. Before you can buckle your seat belt, you're thrown against the door as Jack sets the car into motion. You squeeze your eyes shut as you hurtle down the streets, begging you don't hit anything. Not nearly enough, you're at home.
"See, what did I tell ya?" Jack leans back in his seat, a smirk on his bleary face. "I drive just fine when I've had a little."
A little shaken, you open the door and stumble out with your box. There's a very distinct clink as the bottle of Ale slides up against the ray gun. You glance at Jack to see if he noticed. He smiles his strange smile at you. "Have fun with those 'comic books'."
You close the door and he speeds off down the road, his engine revving the whole way.
With a sigh of relief, you take the box into your apartment. Inside, your roommate Alex is peering out the window, glaring at the shrinking form of Jack's car.
He glances over at you, his eyes magnified by the thick lenses of his glasses. He brushes the strands of dark hair that are resting on his forehead away. "Who the hell was that?"
You shrug, placing the box on the table. "A friend of mine. Don't worry, he's harmless."
You open the box and pull away the comics and newspaper, revealing your spoils from Jack's attic. Alex peers in over your shoulder, curious about your find.
The contents are in good condition, the bottle of Ale is not leaking, neither is the bag of powder. You reach in and delicately pull out the slob-ifier.
Alex looks at each of the contents curiously. "Where did you get these?" He pulls out the bag of powder. "Are you... Are you trafficking drugs?"
You can't help but laugh. You were also a little drunk, still. "Alex, it's fine. This is some stuff I found in his attic."
He looks at you, concerned. "Does he know you have it?"
You smirk and shake your head. "No." You then recalled his odd smiles. "I don't think so. Maybe?"
Alex puts the powder back in the box and pulls out one of the ray gun attachments. "What is this stuff, anyway?"
You smirk. "Do you want to find out?"