Helpful Club Girl The Remote of Transformation chapter 4 by ThePanswapticon

Jerry leaned back against the bar, a mischievous grin curving his plump lips as the club’s energy pulsed around him. It was like being dropped into a candy store, except the candy stared back with hungry eyes and tight shirts. He swirled the last of his drink, watching the ice cubes clink, his mind buzzing with a new, delicious thought.

Who here deserves a little… adjustment?

The remote was tucked snugly into the strap of his dress, hidden but ready. Each time the bass dropped, he could feel it bump lightly against his side. He glanced around the club, scanning the crowd like a predator disguised in stilettos.

A tall, gangly guy stood near the wall, clutching a beer like it might shield him from social interaction. He looked like every bad Tinder date rolled into one—cargo shorts, socks pulled high, a graphic tee with a joke that stopped being funny in 2010. Jerry smirked. This guy could use an upgrade.

Then his gaze shifted to the dance floor. A buff dude in a tight tank top was flexing more than dancing, clearly enjoying himself way too much. He practically shoved women aside to carve out a space for his terrible moves. Jerry’s lips twisted in amusement. Maybe that guy could stand to lose a few inches in height… and maybe gain them somewhere else.

And then there was the cluster of women at the VIP table, dressed like they were auditioning for a reality show—perfectly curated outfits, hair big enough to have its own zip code, and the kind of fake smiles that made Jerry’s teeth hurt. One of them was laughing so loud it sounded like a car alarm.

Jerry chuckled to himself. “Oh, there’s potential everywhere,” he whispered, his voice low and velvety.

Sliding a hand down the curve of his hip, he fingered the remote. He could almost feel its promise humming against his palm. Who first?

A drunk guy staggered past and almost spilled his beer on her dress. Jerry’s eyes narrowed. Oh, buddy… you’re tempting fate.

But then again, the idea of upgrading someone instead of just humiliating them was kind of thrilling. Maybe he could turn that nervous wallflower into a Greek god, just to see what would happen. Or maybe he could do a quick body swap with Tank Top Flexer, just to see the look on the guy’s face when he suddenly found himself stuffed into Jerry’s too-tight club dress and six-inch heels.

Jerry licked his lips, heat curling in his belly. The thought of testing out this remote on strangers in a crowded club, all while looking like the hottest girl in the room, was intoxicating. The power dynamic flipped entirely—no more sad, short salesman on a Friday night. He was a walking cheat code.

He let his gaze drift back to the wallflower, who was now nervously checking his phone like he wanted to text someone but didn’t have the nerve.

Yeah, Jerry thought, smirking. Maybe I’ll start with him. Give him something to work with. Or… something really wild.

He slid the remote up, screen glowing faintly under the dim club lights. His thumb hovered over the TARGET button.