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Bertha Dreessen admired her reflection in the smudged surface of the control panel, adjusting her auburn ponytail for the tenth time that morning. Long, sleek, and impossibly shiny, it cascaded down her back like molten copper. She smirked, tightening her company-issued lab coat around her slim waist and smoothing the charcoal-gray sheath dress underneath.
The dress barely hit mid-thigh?"just short enough to keep things interesting?"but the coat was a total buzzkill. The higher-ups insisted on it for “professionalism.” Professionalism? Please. That was something women without legs for days, a face that could stop traffic, and hair straight out of a shampoo commercial had to worry about.
Eighteen for all of six months, Bertha had ditched high school the second it got boring. Landing a gig at The Changegrounds: Free Trial?"a dingy suburban offshoot of the real deal?"was the best thing that ever happened to her.
The real Changegrounds, a sleek, high-end facility downtown, charged a fortune for reality-warping transformations. Here? The first taste was free, a lure for future paying customers. The machines, powered by some weird crystal shards, could do anything?"fix looks, rewrite personalities, even tweak memories.
Not that Bertha understood how it worked. Science wasn’t her thing, but sales were. And if she could work the clients and the machine while looking good? That was all that mattered.
The sharp beep of the front door dragged her from her reverie. With a sigh, she stood, adjusted the lab coat just enough to tease a hint of décolletage, and strutted into the lobby.
Her knee-high boots, scuffed but still sexy, clicked against the linoleum as she flashed her most inviting smile.
“Welcome to The Changegrounds: Free Trial,” she purred.
Clipboard in hand, she scanned the names. Her gaze flicked to the man first.
“Dennis and Nicolle Taylor, here for a free treatment for Nicolle, and possibly interested in membership?”
Dennis Taylor, a round, slow-moving man stuffed into a pink polo, grinned nervously. Not the type to drag his wife here out of quiet resentment?"if anything, he seemed impervious to sex appeal.
“Uh, yeah. A friend of my wife's was raving about this place, so we figured why not.”
Bertha barely listened, already turning to Nicolle.
And wow. She had to fight the urge to gag.
Nicolle Taylor was a walking fashion disaster. A hideous floral blouse clashed violently with leopard-print leggings that clung for dear life. Bangles jingled obnoxiously with every movement, and massive flamingo earrings swayed from her ears like wind chimes in a hurricane. Her talon-like nails gleamed neon purple, and her sandy blonde hair sat in a haphazard bun, stray strands sticking out like antennae.
Worst of all? The clogs. Chunky, plastic, and a truly violent shade of lime green.
God, does she not own a mirror?
“This place is so cute!” Nicolle shrieked, her voice bouncing off the walls. “When my girlfriend told me about it, I was like, ‘Oh my gosh, babe, we have to check it out!’ You guys can do, like, anything, right?”
Bertha’s smile tightened as she guided them down the dim hallway. Nicolle chattered the whole way, her voice grating, her clogs clomping. Dennis trailed behind, sweating slightly. Bertha’s boots, at least, made a proper, authoritative click.
Once Nicolle was inside the Alteration Room, Bertha shut the door with a satisfied hiss.
Across the hall in the Command Room, she leaned against the outdated console, bringing the system online with a few taps. The real Changegrounds had fancy tablets. Here? They made do with relics.
She glanced at Nicolle’s profile on the screen: 41 years old, in sales, mother to a 17-year-old daughter, Judy. Married to Dennis for 18 years. Divorced once. Blah, blah, blah.
Bertha smirked. Of course, Nicolle was a mom. Women like her always thought they were “quirky” when they were just embarrassing. Poor Judy.
Dennis shifted awkwardly. “So, uh… how does this work, exactly?”
Bertha, milking the moment, cleared her throat. “Simple. The chamber changes whatever you want. Looks, personality, memories?"you name it.” She flashed a slow, practiced smile. “You’ve got ten changes as part of the trial. We can do them all at once or spread them out. What are you thinking for Nicolle?”
Dennis hesitated, eyes darting to his wife, who was absentmindedly fiddling with her flamingo earrings. “I mean… she’s beautiful the way she is…” He rubbed the back of his neck.
Bertha rolled her eyes. Men were so predictable. That meant she had to be unpredictable, and she already had an idea in mind.
“Let’s start small,” she suggested, already typing. “How about… she never took any crap from anyone? Like a total Karen. And maybe she looks a little better.”
Before Dennis could respond, she pressed execute.
The chamber shimmered.
Nicolle froze as a faint ripple passed over her. When it faded, she looked… different.
Her floral blouse had morphed into a tailored white blazer, fitted to her now toned and curvier frame. The leggings had vanished, replaced with tight dark-wash jeans and sleek nude pumps. Her chunky clogs were gone, thank God.
Her nails were now a glossy French tip?"still long, but elegant. Her earrings had shrunk into simple, expensive-looking gold studs. A thick, pristine pearl necklace now sat at her throat, its expensive sheen catching the dim light of the room. Chunky gold bracelets jangled from her wrist, but instead of looking cheap and chaotic, they now exuded a sort of powerful self-righteousness.
Her makeup had also sharpened dramatically. Gone was the haphazard drugstore glitter; in its place, a flawless, matte foundation, precisely contoured cheekbones, and piercingly dark brows. The finishing touch was a bold, perfectly applied red lip, the kind that demanded attention and silence all at once. And her hair? A chic, angled platinum bob.
But the real transformation? The *attitude*.
The moment the change settled, Nicolle squared her shoulders, her lips pursing in an expression of instant, entitled disapproval.
She crossed her arms, scrutinizing Bertha with a slow up-and-down glance.
“Okay, honey,” she said, a newer, more severe voice dripping with the kind of condescension that came with always assuming you were the most important person in the room. It carried despite the fact she remained in the chamber. “Let’s be real. How long is this gonna take? Because I *do* have things to do today.”
Dennis’s face paled. “Oh… wow.”
Bertha, ignoring Nicolle, barely hid her grin.
“Meet your Karenified wife,” she said smoothly. “And, yeah, she’s *always* been like this. Reality’s adjusted. She’s never had *any* tolerance for incompetence, or however she would say it. If you left now, the world would adjust too?"friends, coworkers, and Judy included. You, of course, will remember the difference.”
She winked. “Lucky you. Now can we change her again, before she demands to talk to my manager?”
Dennis stared at Nicolle, his mouth opening slightly as if to say something… but then closing again.
The dress barely hit mid-thigh?"just short enough to keep things interesting?"but the coat was a total buzzkill. The higher-ups insisted on it for “professionalism.” Professionalism? Please. That was something women without legs for days, a face that could stop traffic, and hair straight out of a shampoo commercial had to worry about.
Eighteen for all of six months, Bertha had ditched high school the second it got boring. Landing a gig at The Changegrounds: Free Trial?"a dingy suburban offshoot of the real deal?"was the best thing that ever happened to her.
The real Changegrounds, a sleek, high-end facility downtown, charged a fortune for reality-warping transformations. Here? The first taste was free, a lure for future paying customers. The machines, powered by some weird crystal shards, could do anything?"fix looks, rewrite personalities, even tweak memories.
Not that Bertha understood how it worked. Science wasn’t her thing, but sales were. And if she could work the clients and the machine while looking good? That was all that mattered.
The sharp beep of the front door dragged her from her reverie. With a sigh, she stood, adjusted the lab coat just enough to tease a hint of décolletage, and strutted into the lobby.
Her knee-high boots, scuffed but still sexy, clicked against the linoleum as she flashed her most inviting smile.
“Welcome to The Changegrounds: Free Trial,” she purred.
Clipboard in hand, she scanned the names. Her gaze flicked to the man first.
“Dennis and Nicolle Taylor, here for a free treatment for Nicolle, and possibly interested in membership?”
Dennis Taylor, a round, slow-moving man stuffed into a pink polo, grinned nervously. Not the type to drag his wife here out of quiet resentment?"if anything, he seemed impervious to sex appeal.
“Uh, yeah. A friend of my wife's was raving about this place, so we figured why not.”
Bertha barely listened, already turning to Nicolle.
And wow. She had to fight the urge to gag.
Nicolle Taylor was a walking fashion disaster. A hideous floral blouse clashed violently with leopard-print leggings that clung for dear life. Bangles jingled obnoxiously with every movement, and massive flamingo earrings swayed from her ears like wind chimes in a hurricane. Her talon-like nails gleamed neon purple, and her sandy blonde hair sat in a haphazard bun, stray strands sticking out like antennae.
Worst of all? The clogs. Chunky, plastic, and a truly violent shade of lime green.
God, does she not own a mirror?
“This place is so cute!” Nicolle shrieked, her voice bouncing off the walls. “When my girlfriend told me about it, I was like, ‘Oh my gosh, babe, we have to check it out!’ You guys can do, like, anything, right?”
Bertha’s smile tightened as she guided them down the dim hallway. Nicolle chattered the whole way, her voice grating, her clogs clomping. Dennis trailed behind, sweating slightly. Bertha’s boots, at least, made a proper, authoritative click.
Once Nicolle was inside the Alteration Room, Bertha shut the door with a satisfied hiss.
Across the hall in the Command Room, she leaned against the outdated console, bringing the system online with a few taps. The real Changegrounds had fancy tablets. Here? They made do with relics.
She glanced at Nicolle’s profile on the screen: 41 years old, in sales, mother to a 17-year-old daughter, Judy. Married to Dennis for 18 years. Divorced once. Blah, blah, blah.
Bertha smirked. Of course, Nicolle was a mom. Women like her always thought they were “quirky” when they were just embarrassing. Poor Judy.
Dennis shifted awkwardly. “So, uh… how does this work, exactly?”
Bertha, milking the moment, cleared her throat. “Simple. The chamber changes whatever you want. Looks, personality, memories?"you name it.” She flashed a slow, practiced smile. “You’ve got ten changes as part of the trial. We can do them all at once or spread them out. What are you thinking for Nicolle?”
Dennis hesitated, eyes darting to his wife, who was absentmindedly fiddling with her flamingo earrings. “I mean… she’s beautiful the way she is…” He rubbed the back of his neck.
Bertha rolled her eyes. Men were so predictable. That meant she had to be unpredictable, and she already had an idea in mind.
“Let’s start small,” she suggested, already typing. “How about… she never took any crap from anyone? Like a total Karen. And maybe she looks a little better.”
Before Dennis could respond, she pressed execute.
The chamber shimmered.
Nicolle froze as a faint ripple passed over her. When it faded, she looked… different.
Her floral blouse had morphed into a tailored white blazer, fitted to her now toned and curvier frame. The leggings had vanished, replaced with tight dark-wash jeans and sleek nude pumps. Her chunky clogs were gone, thank God.
Her nails were now a glossy French tip?"still long, but elegant. Her earrings had shrunk into simple, expensive-looking gold studs. A thick, pristine pearl necklace now sat at her throat, its expensive sheen catching the dim light of the room. Chunky gold bracelets jangled from her wrist, but instead of looking cheap and chaotic, they now exuded a sort of powerful self-righteousness.
Her makeup had also sharpened dramatically. Gone was the haphazard drugstore glitter; in its place, a flawless, matte foundation, precisely contoured cheekbones, and piercingly dark brows. The finishing touch was a bold, perfectly applied red lip, the kind that demanded attention and silence all at once. And her hair? A chic, angled platinum bob.
But the real transformation? The *attitude*.
The moment the change settled, Nicolle squared her shoulders, her lips pursing in an expression of instant, entitled disapproval.
She crossed her arms, scrutinizing Bertha with a slow up-and-down glance.
“Okay, honey,” she said, a newer, more severe voice dripping with the kind of condescension that came with always assuming you were the most important person in the room. It carried despite the fact she remained in the chamber. “Let’s be real. How long is this gonna take? Because I *do* have things to do today.”
Dennis’s face paled. “Oh… wow.”
Bertha, ignoring Nicolle, barely hid her grin.
“Meet your Karenified wife,” she said smoothly. “And, yeah, she’s *always* been like this. Reality’s adjusted. She’s never had *any* tolerance for incompetence, or however she would say it. If you left now, the world would adjust too?"friends, coworkers, and Judy included. You, of course, will remember the difference.”
She winked. “Lucky you. Now can we change her again, before she demands to talk to my manager?”
Dennis stared at Nicolle, his mouth opening slightly as if to say something… but then closing again.
What do you do?
Create your own Path!