Our TG Caption

The day-to-day operations of the lab tended to be mind-numbingly boring, as Kevin discovered in the weeks after his ribbon-cutting. The work was a tedious seesaw between managing temperamental machinery and dodging calls from the bank, neither of which brought him joy. He had learned that the real pain of running a bleeding-edge science business wasn’t the science?"it was the “business” part. His only break from the tedium came in the form of walk-ins, lost souls with curiosity in their eyes and enough cash to indulge it. Scheduled appointments were rarer than unicorns, so when the first one finally appeared on his booking calendar, Kevin felt a flicker of hope that maybe?"just maybe?"the whole operation wasn’t a slow, expensive suicide note. Luke and Rachel arrived exactly at noon. They looked like the kind of suburban white couple whose garage was filled with golf clubs, an old treadmill, and two brand-new electric scooters bought on a whim. They weren’t hideous, not by any stretch?"just a little worn down by the years. A couple of grey streaks here, a few wrinkles there, the comfortable cushioning of middle age settling around their frames. The sort of people who once turned heads at college parties and now mostly turned up at neighborhood potlucks. “Neighbors said this place was great,” Luke said as Kevin led them down the hallway toward the Treatment Chamber. “Thought we’d treat ourselves to something fun.” “Luke is always spoiling me,” Rachel said with a little laugh, slapping his shoulder. “Anything for my special lady,” Luke said, giving her a quick kiss before glancing toward the door. “You want to go first, hun?” “Ladies first!” she chirped, stepping into the sterile, humming chamber. The moment the door sealed behind her, Kevin guided Luke into the Control Room. The observation window revealed Rachel standing in the center, her posture uncertain but expectant. Kevin inhaled, ready to launch into his usual spiel?"quantum alterations, parallel histories, time-thread grafting?"all the technical noise that eventually led clients to the same whispered question: “So… you can do anything?” The machine’s outdated CRT display spat out diagnostics in lime-green text, its fans groaning as it warmed up. Luke’s brow furrowed in a mix of suspicion and curiosity. Kevin could read the indecision; he’d seen it before. Some people needed a nudge. “How about I show you something… bold?” Kevin’s tone was honeyed mischief. “Ever wondered how different Rachel’s life could have been?” Before Luke could answer, Kevin’s fingers were already dancing across the keyboard. --- **The Big Package: Iowan Mom** Rachel’s figure shimmered, then shifted?"like a reflection in water rippled by a tossed pebble. The fit of her clothing loosened in some places, tightened in others. Her hair grew a shade duller and frizzier, falling into a practical shoulder-length bob with a little too much hairspray. Her hips spread just a touch wider, her belly gaining a softness that no amount of planking could erase. She was still Rachel… but a Rachel who had given birth six times. Her chest sagged with the weight of nursing, though her bra?"now beige and unremarkable?"did its best to hide the truth. Her blouse vanished, replaced by a floral-print sweatshirt, the kind you buy in a Midwestern outlet mall and wear until it’s more memory than fabric. Her shoes became worn slip-ons from a discount bin. The air around her seemed to grow warmer, slower, heavy with the faint imagined scent of laundry detergent and overcooked casseroles. The look in her eyes changed next?"not just softened, but rearranged entirely. Her gaze no longer sought Luke at all. The man who had walked in with her simply… wasn’t her husband anymore. In her new reality, she was Mrs. Rachel Eckhart of Ames, Iowa, married to a ruddy, balding insurance adjuster named Rick. She had six children, three of them still in elementary school, and an ever-present mental to-do list that stretched on forever: soccer practice, dinner prep, mending a torn Cub Scout uniform, and the church bake sale. She had never met Luke. She would never have considered it. Luke’s jaw went slack. He pressed a hand to the observation glass as if he could reach through and grab his wife back. “What?"what the hell did you?"” Kevin didn’t even look up from the keyboard. “Relax. That’s just the big package. We haven’t even started the fun part.” --- **Tweak #1: Perfect Thighs** The machine pulsed again, a thin whine filling the air. Rachel’s baggy jeans shimmered, and her thighs seemed to smooth and firm beneath them. It wasn’t athletic tone?"it was sculptural perfection, the kind you’d expect on a 1950s pin-up. They pressed together just so when she stood, yet had a graceful gap when she shifted her stance. The jeans adjusted to fit them like a second skin, soft denim hugging the new curves. Her stance changed subtly?"knees brushing when she walked, feet pointing just slightly inward in a way that seemed modest, even bashful. There was nothing overtly sexual about her demeanor; she carried these thighs the way a woman carries a family heirloom?"without even realizing its beauty, yet destined to be noticed by everyone else. --- **Tweak #2: Unknowingly Misandrist** Kevin tapped a key, and Rachel’s eyes glazed for a heartbeat. A new mental architecture slotted into place. Every formative memory subtly rewrote itself: schoolteachers who’d favored the boys, bosses who’d promoted them, men who’d spoken over her at PTA meetings. None of it consciously remembered?"just the faint aftertaste of distrust woven into her worldview. Her posture shifted again, arms folding when she addressed any man (including Luke), her polite smile masking a quiet disapproval she couldn’t have explained if asked. If a man in the room coughed, she would glance at him just a moment too long, as if assessing whether it was worth saying “bless you” at all. --- **Tweak #3: Cigarette Pants Lover** The floral sweatshirt shimmered away, replaced by a crisp white blouse tucked into perfectly tailored cigarette pants. The transformation was jarringly specific?"her hips and calves now flattered by the high-waisted cut, her ankles just barely exposed above a neat pair of ballet flats. She looked like she’d stepped out of a retro department store catalog, the kind where the models all wore pearl studs and smiled without showing teeth. Her hands smoothed the fabric down her thighs, an unconscious act of reverence. In her altered mind, cigarette pants weren’t just clothes?"they were her signature. She owned them in seven colors, and never wore anything else when she wanted to feel “pulled together.” --- **Tweak #4: Never Curses** A shiver ran through her as the next tweak took hold. Every swear word she’d ever known dissolved from her mental lexicon, replaced with quaint substitutes. “Gosh” for “God.” “Heck” for “Hell.” The phrase “son of a gun” returned to her repertoire like an old friend. Even her expression softened?"her lips pressing together whenever Kevin or Luke muttered something coarse. If startled, she would gasp, hand fluttering to her chest, as though the world were too sharp for her sensibilities. --- **Tweak #5: Never Goes Anywhere Without Wine (Or Being Buzzed)** Finally, Kevin keyed in the last adjustment. A cork popped somewhere in her mind. Rachel’s floral-printed tote bag appeared on her shoulder, its bulk concealing two bottles of pinot grigio and a collapsible cup. Her cheeks flushed faintly pink, her smile loosening into something warmer, lazier. She swayed just slightly, like a tree in a mild breeze, and anyone looking at her could tell?"without a word?"that she was at least two glasses deep. She glanced around the chamber as if bored, eyes half-lidded, a woman perfectly comfortable floating through life in a gentle buzz. The idea of attending any event without a little help in liquid form simply didn’t occur to her. --- Luke stared at the transformed woman?"the woman who had been his wife?"now utterly alien. She didn’t look back at him, didn’t seem to even register his existence. Kevin, smirking, leaned against the console. “I told you. We can do anything.” Luke opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a single, hoarse question. “…Why?” Kevin’s smile widened. “Because you asked for different. And different,” he gestured to Rachel, “is my specialty.” The hum of the machine faded. Outside the window, Rachel dug in her tote bag for a corkscrew, humming some unplaceable Midwestern hymn. And Luke couldn’t shake the feeling that she had never belonged to him at all.