Though Amanda’s mind was spinning with ideas, it finally settled down with the most reasonable one on top. I can’t just fire some unknown device at myself, she decided. I need to confirm it really does what it says it does first.
Scanning the objects in her room, her gaze rested on a scented candle sitting on her dresser. Raising and aiming the gun, she squeezed the trigger, cringing and tensing slightly in anticipation…
…misplaced anticipation, as it would turn out. The gun did not respond.
Frowning, she turned a few dials and pressed a few buttons on each side, clicking the trigger with varying degrees of pressure, to no avail. Maybe it only works on living things? she wondered, pointing the barrel at a flower in a pot on her nightstand. She repeated the same set of actions but the result was just as before. Her frustration starting to mount, she finally heaved a sigh and pointed the gun at herself, closing her eyes this time. Once again, the gun remained silent and still.
She tossed it onto her bed in disappointed disgust, crossing her arms as she slumped down next to it. After a few minutes, she finally had to laugh at herself. Did I really believe something so stupid, that a device exists that could actually alter the size of things? C’mon Amanda, you don’t live in some cartoon or fetish novel. It’s probably just an elaborate toy from some comic book universe I haven’t heard of. I guess I’ll try to return this to the owner—or wherever it came from.
She examined the casing for any clue of origin. On the butt of the handle, she found it: “Property of N-Hance Technologies”. Hm. I guess that’s a start. She pulled out her phone and looked up the company name. Sure enough, an address on the other side of the city was returned.
Amanda looked back down at the dormant device with uncertainty. I guess I could just return it in person, but…I don’t want them to think I stole it or anything… she thought for a moment, then nodded in resolution. I’ll just mail it. I’ve still got plenty of boxes and packing material left over from the move.
Over the next hour, she went to work neatly stowing the gun into an appropriately sized cardboard cube, sealing it with tape, and writing down the address on top. A short drive later, she arrived at the post office and dropped it off.
As she made her way home, an odd sense of relief washed over her, despite the seemingly minor circumstance. Well, I guess that’s over with. I still feel silly—making such a big deal over something that will probably amount to nothing.
Meanwhile, back the package drop-off area, within the box she had just left, a small screen implanted into the gun’s casing suddenly flickered to life in the darkness and a series of words scrolled across it:
AUXILIARY POWER SOURCE ACTIVATED
CURRENT CHARGE: 1%
EST. TIME TO FULL CHARGE: 5H 9M 22S
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