The plug ripped free. Pandora shrieked. Light crashed over you.

 

When it cleared, the lab loomed impossibly large. You staggered forward—legs short, clothes pooled around you. Hands tiny. Your reflection in the glass confirmed it: a toddler, maybe three years old.

 

Your voice piped up, impossibly high, but the words still sharp with your adult mind. “This… is bullshit.”

 

Liam clapped a hand over his mouth, torn between horror and laughter. Maya bent down, eye-level, biting back a grin. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest genius in diapers.”

 

Thorne’s face drained of color. “Pandora… reversed the developmental clock.”

 

You were still you—adult intellect, adult memories—but trapped in a body that could barely reach the bench.

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September 4, 2025
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