The Infinity Device
Chapter Four
Elmo:
So the door opened and there was this Japanese girl or something, knocking on the door. She came out of nowhere! I think it even surprised Uncle Rogers. He had this glint in his eye when it happened and, of course, he got the beam on her and that was that.
I was pretty interested in what was about to happen. I thought Asians were super interesting. Ninjas and Samurai! Stuff like that. Maybe we could make this girl into a ninja, how cool would that be?
Uncle Rogers turned to me. “Why don’t you take a turn with this one?” he said smiling. Uncle Rogers was the best. Filled with pride, I set my Switch down carefully on the carpet and got up. Ideas raced through my heads — I could make her fat! Give her a topknot!
But then I hesitated. I had to do the right thing with Uncle Rogers around. He had given me another speech on the way here, just like the other times, stuff that went over my head. “Calibrations are sensitive and prone to rapid deconstruction…” “… Just a week or two until phase three…” “… the last thing we need is a reality burn that ends the known universe…” What was he talking about, exactly?
I stepped forward and looked bashfully at the one Uncle Rogers had been experimenting on. Man, she was beautiful. Her face was kind of weird, but she had these… breasts… that were the most amazing things I had seen in my entire life. I wonder what they felt like, breasts.
Although, I suppose she was feeling a little self-conscious, because Uncle Rogers had turned her into a prude. Maybe she felt her top was a little showy now, because she didn’t have any of the forward fronting poise she had when we came in. None of that posture stuff: she was sitting there, curved in discomfort, her hands on her lap, looking away, face pointed down in embarrassment, her breasts heaving slightly.
She wasn’t looking at me! Emboldened, I looked at her breasts again. They were like superhero breasts from my comics. And dropped on them was this star necklace, lifted up by her breasts so that the chain had some slack. “Lumps,” I thought reverently.
And I was never very good at clothing or anything, but I was impressed by how well she fit into her shirt. It was white and pink, and it fit her perfectly, really flattered her shape. She had blue shorts on below, with a white cinch that was neatly tied together. And she was really strong looking — again, almost like a superhero. Like Captain Marvel or something, only brown haired. And her ponytail fell down her chest, brown and sleek.
And on her feet were these black heels. Something I had suggested and uncle had gone along with! He had made her love them, which was great. I wore heels myself sometimes. Not that I’d ever say that to anyone — although, lately, my feet hadn’t been fitting into the ones I had anymore — had they gotten fatter? — but I still kept them in a shoebox under some old clothes in my closet.
But of course, Annika wore them so comfortably , like she had been born in them. She was wearing them even inside the apartment! These long, slender heels, wearing them naturally, presenting her feet, like they were presents to be admired. And she almost had really nice feet, too—cute and fresh looking—but her toes were all squished together and calloused. Actually, her toes were pretty awful to look at. Was that a… ballerina thing?
Girls were sometimes terribly interesting. Sometimes — not that I’d admit it to anyone — even more so than Zelda.
Uncle Rogers was watching me, and I knew we didn’t have much time, because we were running low on reality juice or whatever it was that ran the Infinity Device. Time to show him I was a responsible shaper of reality!
I looked at the new girl, and she was looked very Asian. Maybe she wasn’t Japanese, I couldn’t tell. But in any case, she was exotic enough, with a soft, round face. Short, too, with large, thick-rimmed glasses that looked foreign. Her hair was carelessly bobbed up and I couldn’t really see her figure, her clothes were so baggy. She had gray sweatpants on, and a huge, older-brother-style sweater with Hollister written across the front in big block letters.
Not at all like Annika. I liked that about her, her clothes. That was something I could fix. (Although I wished I could fix Annika’s toes. She’d be so happy!)
I saw the Asian girl’s eyes dart around. She was hampered by the beam.
“What’s going on?” she said with an accent. “Annika, what’s… —”
“You wear tight clothes!” I said, rushing my words nervously. Changing reality was fun in theory, but every time I got there I always felt so nervous. It was like the time Uncle Rogers had let me back the car out of the driveway.
“What?!” she said, caught off guard. Then she stiffened as reality started—um, wefting? I didn’t really understand all the words my uncle used. But he nodded approvingly, and I felt happy. Watching reality change was really something else. Probably like watching the Aurora Borealis or something. As she shook, her eyes got a little unfocused, with a far-away look. And then she started changing.
“You wear tight clothes!” I said again.
“I… I….” She said, and then she shuddered violently and said something under her breath in a foreign language. Chinese? I had no idea. She squirmed a little.
“You wear tight clothes! All the time.”
“I wear…”
She put a hand to her head. She looked pretty confused.
“You wear tight clothes all the time!”
“I wear tight clothes… all the time…” she said. And she seemed surprised by the words coming out of her mouth. Well, she probably was surprised. Even Rogers didn’t know why people were always compelled to repeat things when in the Infinity Device’s scope.
“You wear tight clothes!” I squeaked, “all the time!”
“I… oh, I … wear… ooh, tight…” I guess she didn’t know that resisting didn’t work. But she’d realize soon. Her sweater was already shrinking slightly.
“You wear tight clothes all the time!”
“I wear… I wear…” she panted and brushed a bit of black hair out of her eyes. Her eyes darted around the room. They were large, with pretty irises, but seemed larger in her glasses.
“You wear tight clothes! All the time!”
“I… … I wear … tight clothes… all the time.” She said stutteringly. I could see the expressions flit across her face. They were interesting to watch! I couldn’t follow them well, but she lowered her eyes briefly, and then widened in surprised. I wondered what was going on inside her head. It’d be interesting to know.
The sweater had almost finished hugging in. But the sweatpants were doing something too. They were turning into jeans or something.
“You wear tight clothes, all the time!”
“I… wear… tight clothes… ah, … ah…” she was trying to resist, but you could see her resistance hit the high point and then slide down pretty quickly. “… all the time,” she finished quietly.
She wasn’t as pliable as the other girl. You could feel it. Uncle Rogers had said the other girl was unusual, and he had been right. This one was like a shower that didn’t have a lot of water.
“You always wear tight clothes,” I told her.
“I… always?... oh...” her face had more strange expressions flit across it. What was going on in her head? Was she thinking how she found baggy clothes gross now? Or how she couldn’t imagine wearing them anymore? Uncle Rogers said the machine sometimes found unexpected ways to enforce a change. Her sweater was hugging her pretty tightly, and you could see the lovely swell of her butt now in her pants—not large, but definitely something that stuck out a little!
“You always wear tight clothes.”
“I… … I always wear tight clothes,” she said, distressed. Her lips parted, and you could see her teeth beneath. They were nice.
“You only wear tight clothes…”
“I… I… Something in Chinese or something only… wear… tight clothes.”
Then the machine whirred a little and she slumped slightly, and I knew the statement was now true. Reality had finished changing. Now it wasn’t just true right now—like, the clothes now on her body—but also in her general life and stuff. I was relieved that it had worked. I wondered if she could wear a coat now. That made me a little concerned. It got cold here!
But boy, did she look different now! Her sweater was tiny. It looked like something that would fit a kid. It was cut off at her midriff and totally conformed to her body. The brand Hollister was now bending over these two small breasts, which were discretely visible, pressed desperately against the sweater in smooth, svelte mounds. They hadn’t been there before. Or, rather, you couldn’t see them before. It gave the illusion that they were being created. It was like an illusion of her feminizing. Of becoming a woman, young and exotic, suddenly vulnerable and shown off to the eye. I liked it.
And underneath the sweater, which was visible where the sweater cut off at the waist, you could see the stretchy, tight black shirt that now hugged her. And her pants too, jeans that were squeezing her legs, and you could see the light flare of her hips, the round of her rear. Her calves had this peculiar swell, very full or something.
She looked like a totally different person. The clothes made her look more confident or something, like she was a model. I wondered why you didn’t see more people wearing things like this. Especially when they had a really nice tiny waist like she did. Wasn’t that good?
And speaking of that, how did the organs fit inside a body that tiny? Ew, scrunched up organs. I watched her belly go up and down, quickly as she breathed her new changes.
And then she moaned. It was kind of a strange sound, like her old self was leaving her. She looked uncomfortable in her clothes, like she wasn’t used to the tightness. She gave a tug on her new undershirt, disbelieving, and it stretched out a little, and it thwacked back down softly when she released it, made her do a little jump. It was kind of funny.
She was different now. Slender, lissome. And not just now, I thought. But forever. Boy, did that make me happy. She would be happy too. She looked totally different. Better, I thought.
Uncle Rogers gave me a friendly nod.
“Very deft,” he said approvingly, and I couldn’t say anything, I was so pleased. Still, I wished I could do something novel to her. Could I make her into a superhero or a supervillain or something like that? The possibilities!
Rogers stepped forward and gave her some commands about not resisting anything. Shyly, I took another glance at Annika and looked at her boobs under her soft shirt and I saw she was watching everything carefully.
I didn’t like that bright look in her eyes. She was cunning, or something. Rebellious. Too intelligent, especially for how one sometimes things of girls with large chests.
Roger suddenly froze and got a concerned look on his face as something occurred to him. He turned to the other girl.
“Annika, is Anastasia home?” he asked. Suspicion crept into his voice.