Our TG Caption

The daily operations of the lab tended to be mind-numbingly boring, as Georgie discovered in the weeks following its opening. Managing temperamental machinery, juggling overdue bills, and fielding calls from collection agencies were hardly the sort of things he had envisioned when he set out to revolutionize human relationships. The only real reprieve came from the occasional curious customer who wandered in off the street. That was why Georgie was almost giddy when he finally booked their first official appointment.

Rob and Lily arrived right on time—noon sharp. They looked like a typical middle-class suburban pair, both edging into middle age with a few wrinkles, grey strands, and soft middles to show for it. They weren’t unattractive, not at all, but the sheen of youth had long since dulled. Still, Georgie was eager to make an impression. They had prepaid $7,500 for the full treatment, and he needed glowing word-of-mouth if the lab was going to stop hemorrhaging money.

“Our neighbors recommended you,” Rob explained as Georgie led them toward the Treatment Chamber. “Figured I’d try it out for myself.”

Lily chuckled and pat-patted his arm. “I just came along for moral support. He’s been talking about this nonstop.”

“Don’t let her fool you,” Rob said with a grin. “She’s curious too.”

Georgie ushered Lily into the glass-walled chamber while he and Rob stepped into the adjacent Control Room. The machines rattled to life, the old CRT monitor flooding with diagnostic readouts. Georgie cleared his throat, about to launch into his well-rehearsed spiel about alternate realities, infinite variations of the self, and the delicate artistry of choosing what *could have been*. It was a long-winded lecture, but it always teed up the inevitable question:

“So… you can do anything?”

Georgie’s smile twitched. He’d heard it a hundred times already. “Anything you can imagine.”

He could see Rob wavering, skepticism written plainly across his face. Most clients did at this stage—they needed a push, something tangible. Georgie’s fingers hovered over the keys, already inputting adjustments.

“Why don’t we start with something simple?” he suggested. “What if Lily here were, oh… say, a Midwest mom? The kind you’d run into at a PTA meeting in Des Moines.”

Before Rob could reply, the machine pulsed and reality bent. Lily’s posture shifted, her clothes morphing in an instant. The conservative blouse and slacks melted away, replaced by a rhinestoned denim jacket and tight, flattering jeans tucked into knee-high boots. Her hair gleamed platinum blonde, teased into perfect, voluminous curls that framed her face with practiced glamour. A splash of makeup appeared across her features—heavy mascara, a glossy pink lip, a touch of bronzer giving her the look of someone who never left the house without getting dolled up.

She now carried herself with a kind of breezy confidence, the unmistakable energy of a small-town pageant queen who had traded the crown for carpools and community bake sales. A gold cross glittered at her neck, oversized sunglasses perched in her hair.

And most importantly, Rob felt a strange dislocation in his memory. Lily wasn’t his wife anymore. She wasn’t even his partner. She was… Lily Rasmussen, the old college friend who’d married young, settled down in Iowa, and now had three kids, a husband who farmed soy, and a personality larger than life. She was the kind of woman who lit up Facebook with photos of elaborate birthday parties and matching family Christmas pajamas.

Rob blinked. The new Lily waved through the glass with a bright, slightly performative smile—like she was greeting him at a county fair.

Georgie, watching Rob’s confusion with a practiced eye, leaned in. “Different, isn’t she? A little more… glam.”

Rob scratched at the back of his neck, still processing the sudden shift in his own memories. He remembered her visits to Iowa, the way she’d gush about her kids’ school plays, the gossip she always had tucked away for long phone calls. Lily wasn’t his wife. She never had been. She was just… Lily.

“She looks…” Rob hesitated, his brow furrowed as he searched for the right word. “Different. Like she’s straight out of a reality show or something.”

Georgie chuckled. “That’s Iowa glamour for you. A friend from college, a family out in the Midwest, and all the energy of a woman who knows exactly how to make herself the center of attention.”

Rob let out a slow exhale, conflicted but intrigued. His hands shifted down toward his own soft belly, self-conscious as he stared at his glammed-up friend posing naturally in the chamber, like she’d been born that way.

“Yeah… maybe I’ll give it a shot too,” he muttered.

Georgie smiled, already preparing the machine.

Georgie’s fingers lingered on the keyboard long after Rob had spoken. Clients usually needed time to acclimate, and Georgie usually let them have it. But today… he felt bold. Maybe it was the stale monotony of the last few weeks, maybe it was the hunger for some creative expression. Either way, he decided to give the new “Lily” a little extra adjustment.

“This is just a baseline,” Georgie murmured, almost to himself. “A sketch. Let’s add a bit of… depth.”

Before Rob could ask what he meant, Georgie tapped a series of commands, the machine’s hum deepening. The glass-walled chamber glowed faintly as Lily’s expression softened, her bright, pageant-smile fading into something gentler. Her heavily glossed lips now formed a serene, practiced curve, the smile of someone who’d spent years welcoming strangers at a church potluck.

Her wardrobe shifted again—denim jacket giving way to a modest cardigan, designer sparkle receding into a tasteful cross pendant that glowed faintly against her skin. The makeup softened, still present but less about glamour, more about polish. Lily’s posture grew rigid yet deferential, her eyes cast slightly downward as though the chamber itself deserved reverence.

And the memories twisted.

Rob felt it hit like a tide, rewriting their shared past. Lily was still the Iowa mom, still the blonde, still the chatterbox with stories from the farm town—but now her every anecdote circled back to the church. Vacation Bible School, youth group fundraisers, the “blessing” of her husband’s soybean yield, her children’s baptisms. That same bright energy was there, but it had narrowed to a single channel.

Lily Rasmussen was devout. Deeply. Overwhelmingly. To the point where Rob realized he had never known her as an individual outside her faith. She didn’t have hobbies anymore, not really—just service committees, choir practice, meal trains, and scripture study. Every Facebook update ended with “Praise Him!” Every coffee date dissolved into a gentle but persistent invitation to attend Sunday service.

She waved again from inside the chamber, but it was no longer playful. It was almost formal, the kind of gesture you’d get from a church greeter trained to exude warmth without intimacy.

Rob blinked, unsettled. “Wait… she’s… different again.”

Georgie pretended to check the monitor, though he was watching Rob more than the readouts. “Not so different. Just… clarified. You said she looked like she belonged on a reality show. I thought maybe she’d look more natural as, say, the matriarch of a church-going Iowa family. You know—strong values, community ties. The kind of friend who makes sure you’re always prayed for.”

Rob shifted his weight, suddenly uneasy. “She seems… less like herself.”

Georgie’s grin widened. “That’s the beauty of it. In this branch, she never really had a ‘self’ outside her faith. She’s woven into it. She *is* the church, in a sense. Reliable, stable, devoted. What better friend could you ask for?”

Lily’s eyes lifted then, meeting Rob’s through the glass. There was warmth there, but also something uncanny—an almost complete absence of curiosity. As if she was only waiting for him to step into her orbit, to be folded into her endless network of potlucks, prayer chains, and Sunday obligations.

For the first time since entering the Control Room, Rob swallowed hard. He wasn’t sure if Georgie had improved Lily or hollowed her out.

And Georgie, catching that flicker of doubt, merely kept his fingers resting lightly on the keys, as though daring himself to turn the dial even further.