Our TG Captionpage 4
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Here’s the rewritten version with your requested changes:
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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, smoothing out the sleeves of her precisely tailored lab coat. The higher-ups insisted on it for “professionalism,” but she’d made it work. She had paired it with a fitted ivory blouse tucked into high-waisted, wide-leg trousers in a deep emerald shade?"elegant, fashion-forward, and expensive-looking, even if she wasn’t spending downtown money. The ensemble was completed by gold hoops, a sleek watch, and the most deliciously impractical pair of pumps. *If she had to be the face of The Changegrounds: Free Trial, she was going to do it in style*.
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 had 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 her lab coat to maintain the perfect silhouette, and strode into the lobby, heels clicking smartly against the linoleum.
“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 heels, at least, made a proper, authoritative *click*.
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. “Let’s start small,” she suggested, already typing. She had a naughty idea. “How about… she makes money a *different* way?” 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.
The floral blouse and leopard-print leggings were gone. In their place? A skintight, pink minidress with a plunging neckline and glittery platform heels that screamed “buy me a drink.” Her jewelry had tripled?"dangly, oversized gold hoops, a fake diamond choker, and a gaudy cocktail ring on each manicured finger. Her hair, teased within an inch of its life, spilled over her shoulders in crunchy, artificial curls. Her makeup thickened?"lips glossier, lashes longer, eyes smokier.
Her expression changed too, an exaggerated pout replacing her previous enthusiasm. She leaned into her hip, one acrylic-tipped finger idly tracing the chain of her new purse?"a tiny, rhinestone-encrusted clutch.
Memories rewrote themselves. She had never been a saleswoman. She had never been married to Dennis. Instead, she had been a small-town girl who figured things out on the streets before working her way up in the escort world. She had met Dennis once?"a client, briefly, nothing serious?"and they had a kid together, but they weren’t anything now. They never had been. Just a one-night thing that led to co-parenting. She still knew him, but not as a husband, not as someone she had ever committed to.
Yet, to Nicolle, nothing had changed. She adjusted her dress, seemingly unconcerned, checking her reflection in the chamber’s mirrored wall with a critical eye. “Damn,” she mused, twisting slightly. “Shoulda worn the red one.”
Dennis stared, mouth agape, horror dawning slow and painful. “What… what just happened?”
Bertha leaned in, her lab coat slipping just enough to be distracting. “Oh, totally. And she always has. Reality’s adjusted. She’s never been your wife. She’s Nicolle, a cheap escort. And, technically, she never wasn’t.” She popped her lips. “Friends, coworkers, and Judy included. They’ll all remember the new her. You, of course, will remember the difference.” She winked. “Lucky you.”
Dennis looked like he might faint.
Nicolle, oblivious, checked her phone. “Hey, babe, I gotta run soon. Got a late-night client. You’re still good to pick up Judy later, yeah?”
Dennis just stared.
Bertha grinned.
---
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, smoothing out the sleeves of her precisely tailored lab coat. The higher-ups insisted on it for “professionalism,” but she’d made it work. She had paired it with a fitted ivory blouse tucked into high-waisted, wide-leg trousers in a deep emerald shade?"elegant, fashion-forward, and expensive-looking, even if she wasn’t spending downtown money. The ensemble was completed by gold hoops, a sleek watch, and the most deliciously impractical pair of pumps. *If she had to be the face of The Changegrounds: Free Trial, she was going to do it in style*.
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 had 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 her lab coat to maintain the perfect silhouette, and strode into the lobby, heels clicking smartly against the linoleum.
“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 heels, at least, made a proper, authoritative *click*.
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. “Let’s start small,” she suggested, already typing. She had a naughty idea. “How about… she makes money a *different* way?” 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.
The floral blouse and leopard-print leggings were gone. In their place? A skintight, pink minidress with a plunging neckline and glittery platform heels that screamed “buy me a drink.” Her jewelry had tripled?"dangly, oversized gold hoops, a fake diamond choker, and a gaudy cocktail ring on each manicured finger. Her hair, teased within an inch of its life, spilled over her shoulders in crunchy, artificial curls. Her makeup thickened?"lips glossier, lashes longer, eyes smokier.
Her expression changed too, an exaggerated pout replacing her previous enthusiasm. She leaned into her hip, one acrylic-tipped finger idly tracing the chain of her new purse?"a tiny, rhinestone-encrusted clutch.
Memories rewrote themselves. She had never been a saleswoman. She had never been married to Dennis. Instead, she had been a small-town girl who figured things out on the streets before working her way up in the escort world. She had met Dennis once?"a client, briefly, nothing serious?"and they had a kid together, but they weren’t anything now. They never had been. Just a one-night thing that led to co-parenting. She still knew him, but not as a husband, not as someone she had ever committed to.
Yet, to Nicolle, nothing had changed. She adjusted her dress, seemingly unconcerned, checking her reflection in the chamber’s mirrored wall with a critical eye. “Damn,” she mused, twisting slightly. “Shoulda worn the red one.”
Dennis stared, mouth agape, horror dawning slow and painful. “What… what just happened?”
Bertha leaned in, her lab coat slipping just enough to be distracting. “Oh, totally. And she always has. Reality’s adjusted. She’s never been your wife. She’s Nicolle, a cheap escort. And, technically, she never wasn’t.” She popped her lips. “Friends, coworkers, and Judy included. They’ll all remember the new her. You, of course, will remember the difference.” She winked. “Lucky you.”
Dennis looked like he might faint.
Nicolle, oblivious, checked her phone. “Hey, babe, I gotta run soon. Got a late-night client. You’re still good to pick up Judy later, yeah?”
Dennis just stared.
Bertha grinned.
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