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Days at the lab tended to be mind-numbingly boring, as Caleb discovered in the weeks following the shop’s quiet opening. Managing temperamental machinery, fending off calls from creditors, and staring at empty booking slots was wearing on him; the only break from the monotony came from the occasional walk-in who was just curious enough to step inside. They’d finally landed their first *scheduled* appointment, and Caleb intended to make the most of it. If he couldn’t build a solid client list soon, the business would go under—and he’d had enough reminders about his marketing failures to last a lifetime.
George and Francine arrived at noon. They’d been friends since college, both still in their late twenties, unmarried, and—at least according to George—“just catching up” whenever they met. George had the look and mannerisms of a small-town farm boy—boots, a drawl, hair that looked like it had been trimmed in a kitchen—but there was a sharpness in his eyes and a quickness in his speech that hinted at brains well above average. His good-paying job in heavy equipment sales had given him a certain confidence. Francine, on the other hand, carried herself with a touch more sophistication—neat blouse, understated jewelry, and the faint, amused smile of someone who knew George’s ways and found them tolerable in small doses.
“Our buddy Kyle said this place was worth checking out,” George explained as Caleb led them toward the Testing Chamber. “Figured, hell, we got the afternoon free, might as well see what all the fuss is about.”
Francine smirked. “And George insisted we spend money instead of just getting coffee like normal.”
“Money’s only good if it’s workin’ for you,” George replied, grinning as they stepped into the sterile Treatment Chamber.
Payment had been made up front—$7,500 for the full treatment on Francine, with George footing the bill. Caleb didn’t care why; the important part was that someone was paying him to actually use the equipment.
Once Francine was alone in the chamber, Caleb and George stepped into the shielded Control Room. The old control computer hummed to life, diagnostic lights flickering across its CRT monitor. Caleb took in a breath, preparing his well-practiced spiel: alternate realities, adjustable life histories, controlled interventions in cause-and-effect—all the prelude to the one question every client asked.
“So you can do… anything?” George said, just as predicted.
Caleb gave a modest shrug, though his fingers were already dancing across the keys. “Within reason. Let me give you an example. How about something a little different—say, a domesticity package?”
George tilted his head. “Domesticity?”
“Think of it as… making someone grow up *wanting* the whole traditional home life. Marriage, kids, white picket fence. And making them build their life around that desire.”
Before George could answer, Caleb tapped the final sequence.
In the chamber, Francine froze mid-step as the transformation began—not a physical shift at first, but a violent rewrite of her personal history. At seventeen, in this altered reality, a sudden and overwhelming yearning for domestic life had taken hold of her—wilder and more powerful than anything she had ever felt before, so consuming it wrenched her life path out of her own control. College ambitions, travel dreams, and the independence she’d once guarded so fiercely were swept away in a tide of longing for a husband, children, a home of her own.
Yet in this new life, she was entranced by it—heart and mind reshaped to not only accept but *adore* this longing. She cherished it as the truest part of herself. Every decision from that point forward bent toward the same sun: a traditional home, a loving family, and a well-tended life built around them.
Her memories reshuffled—there was no grad school, no career ladder. She’d married her high-school sweetheart before twenty. Her twenties became a blur of babies, home projects, Sunday dinners, and bake sales. The Francine in the chamber now wore a floral-print dress and low heels; her hair was tied in a neat bun, and a simple gold wedding band caught the light as she brushed a phantom crumb from her skirt. She radiated a calm, settled warmth, every bit the image of someone who’d never wanted anything beyond hearth and home.
George stared through the reinforced glass, blinking. “Well, she sure ain’t how I remember her.”
Caleb leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “The change is total. To her, she’s *always* been this way. Priorities, memories, life choices—everything shaped around that domestic drive. Stronger than any ambition she could’ve had before.”
George scratched his chin, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Heh. Guess that’s… somethin’. Real different from the Francine I knew.”
“Different can be good,” Caleb said smoothly. “Of course, we could make a few tweaks, if you’d like.”
George hesitated, his weight shifting from one boot to the other. The flicker of indecision played out plainly across his face before he finally said, “Y’know, I think I’d like to change something else.”
George and Francine arrived at noon. They’d been friends since college, both still in their late twenties, unmarried, and—at least according to George—“just catching up” whenever they met. George had the look and mannerisms of a small-town farm boy—boots, a drawl, hair that looked like it had been trimmed in a kitchen—but there was a sharpness in his eyes and a quickness in his speech that hinted at brains well above average. His good-paying job in heavy equipment sales had given him a certain confidence. Francine, on the other hand, carried herself with a touch more sophistication—neat blouse, understated jewelry, and the faint, amused smile of someone who knew George’s ways and found them tolerable in small doses.
“Our buddy Kyle said this place was worth checking out,” George explained as Caleb led them toward the Testing Chamber. “Figured, hell, we got the afternoon free, might as well see what all the fuss is about.”
Francine smirked. “And George insisted we spend money instead of just getting coffee like normal.”
“Money’s only good if it’s workin’ for you,” George replied, grinning as they stepped into the sterile Treatment Chamber.
Payment had been made up front—$7,500 for the full treatment on Francine, with George footing the bill. Caleb didn’t care why; the important part was that someone was paying him to actually use the equipment.
Once Francine was alone in the chamber, Caleb and George stepped into the shielded Control Room. The old control computer hummed to life, diagnostic lights flickering across its CRT monitor. Caleb took in a breath, preparing his well-practiced spiel: alternate realities, adjustable life histories, controlled interventions in cause-and-effect—all the prelude to the one question every client asked.
“So you can do… anything?” George said, just as predicted.
Caleb gave a modest shrug, though his fingers were already dancing across the keys. “Within reason. Let me give you an example. How about something a little different—say, a domesticity package?”
George tilted his head. “Domesticity?”
“Think of it as… making someone grow up *wanting* the whole traditional home life. Marriage, kids, white picket fence. And making them build their life around that desire.”
Before George could answer, Caleb tapped the final sequence.
In the chamber, Francine froze mid-step as the transformation began—not a physical shift at first, but a violent rewrite of her personal history. At seventeen, in this altered reality, a sudden and overwhelming yearning for domestic life had taken hold of her—wilder and more powerful than anything she had ever felt before, so consuming it wrenched her life path out of her own control. College ambitions, travel dreams, and the independence she’d once guarded so fiercely were swept away in a tide of longing for a husband, children, a home of her own.
Yet in this new life, she was entranced by it—heart and mind reshaped to not only accept but *adore* this longing. She cherished it as the truest part of herself. Every decision from that point forward bent toward the same sun: a traditional home, a loving family, and a well-tended life built around them.
Her memories reshuffled—there was no grad school, no career ladder. She’d married her high-school sweetheart before twenty. Her twenties became a blur of babies, home projects, Sunday dinners, and bake sales. The Francine in the chamber now wore a floral-print dress and low heels; her hair was tied in a neat bun, and a simple gold wedding band caught the light as she brushed a phantom crumb from her skirt. She radiated a calm, settled warmth, every bit the image of someone who’d never wanted anything beyond hearth and home.
George stared through the reinforced glass, blinking. “Well, she sure ain’t how I remember her.”
Caleb leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “The change is total. To her, she’s *always* been this way. Priorities, memories, life choices—everything shaped around that domestic drive. Stronger than any ambition she could’ve had before.”
George scratched his chin, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Heh. Guess that’s… somethin’. Real different from the Francine I knew.”
“Different can be good,” Caleb said smoothly. “Of course, we could make a few tweaks, if you’d like.”
George hesitated, his weight shifting from one boot to the other. The flicker of indecision played out plainly across his face before he finally said, “Y’know, I think I’d like to change something else.”
What do you do?
Create your own Path!