Paul leaned back in his chair, eyeing the screen with mild amusement. "Yeah, okay," he muttered to himself. "Let’s see how deep this rabbit hole really goes."
With a smirk, he clicked the Random Trait button.
Immediately, the screen flickered. A flurry of blurred profile pictures spun past — coworkers, classmates, vague memories from summer camps and school bus rides. The carousel slowed. One face popped forward and locked into focus: Barbara Mitchell — his childhood friend from down the street.
He hadn’t thought about Barbara in years.
Under her picture, a digital slot machine of traits began spinning — humor, charisma, memory, posture, voice — all rapidly cycling until it abruptly stopped on:
Sexual Orientation
A sharp flash of light burst from the screen.
Paul blinked, a sudden headache blooming behind his eyes. "Ow… what the hell—?"
He rubbed his temples and glanced back at the screen. Everything looked the same, yet… different. He clicked back to the Recommended tab out of instinct.
First, his ex-girlfriend. Her photo loaded.
Nothing. No spark. No pull.
Next, a guy he went to high school with. Paul stared at the image a second too long.
Whoa… he’s actually really hot.
Paul jolted upright in his seat. "No, no, no, no…"
Panic bloomed in his chest. He scrambled through the interface, searching for an "Undo" button — anything to reverse what had just happened. But every option he clicked came back greyed out or locked.
He quickly typed in his brother’s name, hoping to swap the orientation trait out.
His brother’s profile loaded. Paul hovered over the trait list — but when he scrolled to Sexual Orientation, a red lock symbol flashed.
“This trait has been recently altered. All traits of this type are locked for 7 days.”
Paul stared at the message in disbelief. He was stuck like this.
He looked away from his computer, eyes shut tight. It’s just a trick, he told himself. Some psychological gimmick. Deep fake. Placebo.
He tried to picture his ex-girlfriend. Another. A third. Nothing stirred. Even when he forced himself to imagine them naked, it felt hollow — disconnected.
Then, uninvited, an image flashed across his mind: Hugh Jackman, shirtless, pulling someone into a slow, intimate hug.
Paul’s breath hitched.
His chest tightened with a surprising flutter — not fear, but attraction. Real, undeniable attraction.
He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.
"Oh… shit."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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