Transformation Sequence Armed The Remote of Transformation chapter 3 by ThePanswapticon

Ethan killed the soldering iron and scrubbed sweat and flux across his forehead. Chair squeaked as he leaned back. Above the bench, centerfold model Lila Hart sprawled across glossy paper—hips cocked, smirk bent mean and inviting, eyes that shorted out whatever part of his brain handled homework. Masterpiece. Weapon. Distraction pinned under blue tape.

He tipped the iron’s handle at her.

"Need a volunteer. You free tonight, Lila?"

The Morphisizer answered with a flat, offended beep. He spun to the monitor. Final molecular mapping checks still crawled. He’d scanned the centerfold as a quick reference mesh. Quick. Sure. Also because he couldn’t not.

A new window strobed red.

TRANSFORMATION SEQUENCE ARMED.

"Hold up. I didn’t—"

Side panels ramped, LEDs climbing from amber to white.

"No no no—" He lunged for the breaker.

The pulse blew through the lab. White hammered his vision. Air punched out of him. Heat knifed along every capillary, shockwaves racking muscle and bone until the floor rose and folded him.

Sound thinned. Light smeared. Then nothing.

He blinked at the ceiling, breath hitching in a body that didn’t line up.

Who the hell was he?