Prologue
--------------------------------
"Everything in its right place," was the first line of poetry written by Alan Bateman... and also the last. One of the luxeries normally afforded by old age is the leisure time to poetically record one's memoirs, carefully piecing together all one can remember about his existence on planet Earth. This was not to be so for Alan Bateman, or anyone who knew him as a matter of fact. Quite casually, Alan Bateman ended the world on June 15th, 2001. Well, not "ended" as in the fire and explosions we all associate with the chapters of Revelation, but simply the world as we know it. It wasn't as much a premeditated event as a massive, global experiment, that is, a scientific blunder. After all, didn't we all assume that a scientific blunder would be our downfall eventually?
Dr. Bateman was above all else, a man of science and reason. And being such, he realized quite early in his life that he desired more than simply a page in some future textbook. Whatever he created he wished to see through to completion, but, as Descartes wrote, there is not enough time in one man's life to solve the mysteries of the world. This was the impetus behind Dr. Bateman's doomed experiment, Kid A.
Where Did Vincent Van Go?
----------------------------------
Shannon Mosley was struggling to keep her sanity. Becoming a partner had certainly been a welcome prospect but she never realized how much work the job entailed. Her nervous ticks were becoming so frequent she had to resort to Sonata to fall asleep every night. Today had been especially busy, with several clients attempting to schedule emergency appointments, having broken every law from shoplifting to extortion.
"Make it all end," she mumbled to herself, shuffling through the Kilamanjaro of paperwork that covered her desk. She dreamed of later that night when she had a date planned with her new boyfriend. Of course, the way things were going, her kids would probably call her up during the climax of the film (or possibly other things).
Shannon used to be one of those people who mocked the so-called "stressed out people" at work. She contended that stress is only a figment of one's imagination, and if you truly distract yourself from any discomfort, you will rise above the pain and worry. This theory, however, had not been working particularly well lately. When she first began this job, she had been fierce and agressive, so much so that her co-workers referred to her as as one of the "Hitler Youth." And although the title was somewhat accurate, she had definitely become more sluggish with her cases. But all that was about to change, as she heard her secretary suddenly speak through the intercom:
"Shannon, there's a little boy-- I don't know what-- he says he's... I can't stop him..."
Just that moment, a boy no older than 8 came in through the door, with clothing draped on him. A confused look ran across Shannon's face. What could a little kid want with me? she wondered. Just then, her secretary burst through the door, panting.
"I couldn't catch him!" she wheezed.
"It's all right. I'll take care of it," Shannon motioned for the secretary to exit.
"I have to talk to you," the child sat down in the over-sized swivel chair opposite Shannon.
"I'm afraid you're not allowed in here, honey," she said. "Maybe you could--"
"No. I need to speak with a lawyer," the child added, his words sounded uncharacteristicly grown-up.
"Now, what would you want with a lawyer? Did someone out there tell you to do this?" Shannon quizzed him.
"No, ma'am, I'm here because I have no where to turn to. I want to bring charges against Dr.Bate--"
"Whoa, slow down there bud, now should you be in school?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"For the last time, I need to bring charges agai--"
"Honey, I can't do anything for you. You're just a little kid, ok?"
The child stopped, and made a massive grimace. He slowly leaned over to the desk. "I am not a child," he said plainly.
"Ohhh well, of course you aren't. But I need to talk to your parents, ok?" Shannon patronized.
"I... am... not... a... CHILD!"
Shannon stopped talking.
The child continued, "Once again, I am not a child. I am 19 years old. My name is Vincent Cardeau. And I am a victim of a revolutionary new procedure. I know you don't believe me, but do I sound like an 8 year old to you??"
"No, you don't," Shannon admitted.
"OK then, hear me out. As I said, I am a victim of a new procedure. I have been infected with some kind of retro-disease invented by a man named Dr. Bateman. He is a professor at the local university. I was one of his students, you see. And as extra credit, I came with him to his lab one day to perform some experiments outside of class. The laboratory is full of odd inventions and what not, and he invited me to sit in a chair next to his main lab table. Before I could react, Bateman injected some sort of blue-ish liquid into me; I don't know what it was... I didn't have time to look..."
Shannon noticed something funny about Vincent, as he was talking. It seemed as if she had to look further down to see him than she had when he had first say down. Strange she thought.
"... And I, of course, objected and tried to run away. He lunged at me, but I narrowly made it out of the place. And about 15 minutes after that, I started noticing something different, like a wave of current running through me, like nothing I had ever felt before. It didn't take long for me to notice that I was, in fact, growing younger! That's why I look like a little boy to you! An hour ago, I was a college student. You've got to believe me! No one else will!"
In mild shock at what she was hearing, Shannon ran her hand through her hair. This was certainly a first. How does one react to such a story? Usually disbelief, which was Shannon's first thought. But something else had occured to her... Vincent did not look as old as he had when he came in the room. His appearance at first had been around that of a 3rd grader or so... now, his face was rounder, and chubier, like baby fat...
"This sounds like a prank," Shannon said, still watching Vincent intently.
"It is no prank. I am growing progressively younger every minute and I need someone to believe me. Your practice was the closest place I could find! PLEASE!"
Shannon had to agree; Vincent looked younger, more like a first grader now. His hair had faded to a lighter shade than it had been a minute ago. Something was definitely wrong about this.
The Accidental Discovery
--------------------------------
On his way home from baseball practice, Michael Mosley liked to take the short cut down Bourbon Street, and in behind the houses. He was an average young man for his age, going to high school, trying to meet girls, playing baseball. Fairly All-American, much like his brother, Patrick. Michael had shaggy brown hair, and a few manly sproutings on his chin. Not terribly tall or muscular, but certainly anyone would say he was fit.
The coast was clear as usual and Michael made his way behind the houses in the neighborhood. He weaved his usual pattern through the trees and bushes. Glancing off to his right, he saw the old abandoned barn where Mr. Wickerson used to hang tobacco. Something was different today though; one of the doors was hanging wide open. That's odd Michael thought Nobody's been in there for years. Departing from his normal pathway, Michael curiously made his way to the crusty barn. The old joke "termites holding hands" came to mind. It certainly was rickety. Slowly crouching down, Michael moved close to the door and peered in.
It was a sight not to be believed. It was like finding a CD changer and leather seats inside a rusted out Yugo. It looked like a scene out of some science fiction film: rows of wires, tubes, mechanisms, syringes, and technical machinery that looked WAY ahead of its time. The entire room had a glossy metallic sheen as blue lights shined down from the ceiling. Holy shitMichael mumbled to himself, walking around the lab. He was in awe of this seemingly space-age set-up in Mr. Wickerson's old barn. What could anyone possibly want with all this? And in a barn??? he wondered aloud.
On one table sat a device that looked like a ray-gun out of Flash Gordon. Michael picked it up, mentally appraising its authenticity. It didn't look like anything real, but rather a prop from some B movie set. But something about it seemed more real than real. Michael examined the top of the machine, trying to make sense of the digital displays. Above one LCD screen, it read "SRU: Stored Regression Units" and above another it read, "RUI: Regression Unit Influx." What a trip Michael thought.
Not wanting to leave his discovery unprovable, he tucked the gun down into his backpack and zipped the top. How else would his friends or even his brother for that matter believe him without a little tangible evidence?
Doctor, My Age
----------------------------
Shannon, still reeling from what was already an unbelieveable experience, sat back in her black leather chair. What could one possibly say to such a thing? The boy sitting in her office was growing younger right before her eyes. With each tick of the clock, this boy's body was racing backward through time itself.
"Do you believe me?" Vincent asked insistently over and over again.
"I don't know what to believe, Vincent," a puzzled Shannon admitted. "But I know one thing... you don't look the same as when you came in here. Just look at your clothes. They're even bigger on you than before!"
"See!" Vincent said, his voice now completely indistinguishable from a little girl's.
"Maybe we need to have you examined," Shannon suggested, tapping her pencil nervously on the desk. "I think I know who to take you to."
--->
The car ride to Shannon's doctor, or rather her kids' doctor, was a tense one. Vincent appeared to be no more than a tiny kindergartener now, with baby fat appearing on his cheeks. His little eyes stared up at her, making her both frustrated and nervous at the same time.
"Can I get you anything?" she asked, trying to break the silence.
But the silence continued, as did Vincent's regression into early childhood. It seemed to be moving at a much faster rate now than it had earlier... much like when a VCR is rewinding a tape and gets faster towards the end. Though Vincent had only lost 3 years in the time Shannon had met him, he was starting to look like a completely different person, as growth spurts often, or a lack of them, often do to people. Shannon quietly wondered what substance could possibly do this to a human being, and futhermore, what larger implications did this truly have? If growth can be reversed this rapidly, what would that mean for civilization?
But Shannon's philosophizing soong came to a halt when she reached her kids' pediatrician. She turned to Vincent, who was submerged in a wad of oversized clothing in the passenger seat, his innocent baby face just barely poking through.
"C'mon, Vincent. We need to get you in there," Shannon said, as she heaved him out of the seat, losing some heaps of clothing in the process. "I'll try my best to figure out what went wrong with you, ok?" Vincent was silent.
After nearly yelling at the nurse at the front desk, Shannon proceeded to carry Vincent into the doctor's office, Dr. Palmer's office to be exact. Dr. Palmer had been a long time friend of the family, and Shannon knew she could rely on him to keep the sacred doctor/patient relationship confidential, which, in this case, might be more important than usual.
Oh hi, Shannon... who's this little guy you got with you?" Dr. Palmer cheerfully chuckled.
"Well, this is a bit unorthodox, Dr. Palmer, but this happens to be one of my clients."
"A client? He barely looks 4 years old, Shannon. Now, really, who is this?" the doctor smiled.
"OK, he's a friend... and I need for you to give him a check-up, err...well, can you just tell me if something is wrong with him?" Shannon gasped.
"Well, that's a little general, Shannon, can you be more specific?"
"OK, can you tell me if his growth is normal... or, well, if he's a normal growing child or not?" she asked, frantically.
"Sure, sure... just sit the big guy down right over there," Dr. Palmer pointed to a small covered examining table. After gathering some supplies, DR. Palmer turned to the examining table, and right away noticed something. "Hey, is that the same kid you brought in here? I mean, I just turned my back for 30 seconds and he's..."
"Exactly," Shannon replied.
Dr. Palmer eyed Vincent as he walked over to examine him. Vincent was now around 2 years old, and nothing more than a babbling toddler, hardly capable of even expressing himself.
"Oh, Vincent! Vincent! Can you talk to me?" Shannon whined, seeing that her client was now back in diaper days. Vincent only gurgled and moaned, kicking his tiny wrinkled feet in the air. Dr. Palmer removed what was left of Vincent's "clothing" and started to feel his pulse. Just then, a small dribble of pee ran down the side of the table.
"Nurse," Dr. Palmer yelled at the door, "Could you get me a diaper in here?"
Within seconds, a nurse promptly came in and began diapering young Vincent. Shannon had now watched the entire procession, and could only hang her head, speechless. The 8 year old kid who had walked in her office not half an hour ago was now lying on his back in Dr. Palmer's office, being diapered by some nurse who had no clue what was going on. This was the definition of unreal.
The Open Backpack
-----------------------
Michael heaved a gigantic sigh as he flung his backpack into the closest chair to the front door. Somehow, thoughts of the extravagant laboratory he had witnessed earlier seemed to be forgotten upon entering the house. The warm smell of familiarity rid him of his excitement, and all he could think of was how much homework he had piled up in the recesses of his room. Michael was a master of procrastination, known the world throughout... well, maybe just around school. First and foremost, he was athletic to the bone, your quintessential 15 year old prototype. Sports occupied his mind like Soma, and the only thing that momentarily took his focus off of that was Michelle Anderson.
"Hey bozo, what's up?" Patrick blurted out as he rounded the corner of the living room.
"Nothing much, asshole," Michael replied, smiling.
"I'm telling-- You said asshole!"
Both of the boys turned to see their little gap-toothed sister, Courtney, standing in the hallway. Courtney had just turned 6, and she was quite accustomed to getting her way. The flipside of that was that she was incredibly smart for her age, putting her two brothers to chame regularly. And for that, the boys could be rather cruel to their little darling sister.
"No, you're not!" Michael laughed, chasing Courtney down the dimly lit hallway. Courtney rounded the corner into her room, but Michael's longer legs caught up to her before she could slam the door. He picked the little whining girl up, as she beat him with her fists.
"That's not fair! You're taller than me!" she complained, endlessly. Michael set Courtney down on the couch.
"Don't you have some little freinds to play around with?" Patrick asked, crossing his arms in a fatherly way.
"Yes, I have lots of friends. But you said--"
"Ah Ah Ah... you know what happens when Mr. Mouth tells Ms. Mom," Michael warned her. She pulled her legs up indian style and made her best pouting face.
"It's still not--" she started in.
"Scrub Scrub, Courtney!" Michael made a gesture like washing...
All three of them knew what Michael was talking about. It all boiled down to Courtney's extreme modesty. Whenever she threatened to reveal the boys to their mom, they would strip her down and give her a good old fashioned bath, which Courtney loathed tremendously. Normally kids that young aren't so picky about their bodies, but suffice it to say, Courtney was ahead of her time. Blame the Britney Spears videos on Disney.
So, while Courtney continued pouting and scrunching up her lip, Michael and Patrick made their way to the backyard for a little one on one.
Courtney could hear them as they left:
"Guess I'll have to let you win again, huh?"
"In your dreams, dickhead..."
After the tension stopped and Courtney knew they were gone, she calmed down quickly. Glancing around the room, she noticed Michael's backpack was lying in the chair across the room... not its usual resting place. So, being the intensely jealous little sister that she was, she hobbled over to the blue sack. The zipper was halway open and Courtney could see something shiny sticking out, that looked kinda like a squirt gun. She carefully opened the bag the rest of the way and removed the shiny object. Entranced, she took all of it in. It was, after all, rather beautiful in a Star Wars kind of way.
Hmmm she thought out loud. She ad no clue what the big words on it meant. Regrresso? Ragressa? Courtney had been an early reader, but not early enough to know what that stuff meant. But she knew she liked squirt guns, especially Super-Soakers. With that thought, she carried the gun upstairs and into one of the bathrooms in the house, and figured she'd try to load it. Hmmm. I wonder what this does...
OUTSIDE
Michael and Patrick were fiercely going at it, trying their best to emulate basketball stars on TV. The game had to be postponed a moment though, seeing as that their mother just pulled up in her Ford Explorer. Looking harried, she hastily slammed the door and addressed the boys:
"Boys?" Shannon said. They paid no attention.
"BOYS?!?" she spoke up, and their heads turned.
"Yeah, Mom? Wazzup?"
"Shannon fiddled with her keys saying, "Boys, you know I was planning to out tonight, but it looks like I'm going to have to work late... so I want you to watch out for Courtney, ok?"
They reluctantly agreed.
"All right then... Now I don't want any fun stuff, ok? You be careful and take care of her!" Shannon ended, getting back in the Explorer. The two boys looks at each other and shrugged, going immediately back to basketball the second Shannon departed.
The Squirt Gun w/ Extra Features
-------------------------------
"La ti di la ti di," Courtney hummed as she happily started the water running in the tub.
The gun didn't seem to have a hole for the water, she thought. Where am I sposed to put the water? she questioned herself. The gun wasn't your normal Super-Soaker, that was for sure. It had little screens on it and junk. She took a stab at it and pressed a random button; the machine lit up. The screen under "Regression Unit Intake" read "10+" and, of course, Courtney had no idea what that meant, but it fascinated her all the same. Under "Regression SET," it read "Influx" and "Outflow" and it seemed to be asking which one she wanted. The gun wouldn't do anything unless she punched one of the choices on the touch sensitive screen, so she guessed again and pressed "Outflow." Then, the screen appeared: "Units of Outflow?" followed by "10%, 20%..." all the way up to "100%." This is fun Courtney giggled.
Once again randomly picked a setting, she pressed "100%" and watched to see what happened next. Finally, the question popped up: "INTEL - Yes or No." It was all completely and utterly foreign to her, but Courtney pressed "yes," since that seemed to be affirmative.
"Now start up!" she said at the device. The screens began changing colors, and Courtney was elated... it was actually follwing her orders. First red, then blue, then finally green. Something clicked in Courtney's mind (green=go?) and she figured the machine was now on and maybe she could shoot something. Of course there wasn't any water in it, so it wasn't like she was going to get wet or anything. So, in classic childish bravado, she flipped the gun around and aimed it at herself, giggling. Courtney pulled the trigger.
That second, a sharp blue laser light came out of the gun and struck Courtney square in the chest. "Oh!" she squeaked, feeling a electrical current run up and down, through her body. It was pleasurable, but intense at the same time. Courtney instantly began to feel changes, as she dropped the gun on the floor. Her head was swirling, like that time she had fallen off the swingset at day-care. Sickness started to rise up in her stomach, and she started coughing.
Following that, Courtney stood up, trying to get her bearings. The electricity flowed through every inch of her little body... and along with it the feeling of expansion, and pressing. In a complete fog, Courtney grabbed a hold of the nearby sink. The floor seemed to be going away, or not going away rather, but getting farther away. Courtney held her other hand up in front of her face. It was bigger! And her fingers were getting longer! Her pants now streched mercilessly over her legs. Also, her shirt was starting to get uncomfortably tight. She noticed she could now reach higher on the sink as well! What's happening? she muttered helplessly in her mind. But she continued to grow, escalating in height and maturity. She spun around to the sink and the mirror... I can see myself in the mirror! she cried. And Courtney wasn't looking like the 6 year old she had been minutes ago. She was older! Like 10! Her hair had grown longer and thicker, like all those shampoo commercials she saw. It wasn't stopping either... she soon felt two bumps begin to grow on her chest and she knew exactly what they were! Gaining size second by second, Courtney's breasts were ripening rapidly, jutting her one more step closer to adulthood all the time. She looked down, cupping them in her hands. This is GREAT! she screamed, surprised by her much deeper voice. It all seemed to make sense though... she was no longer barely 6 years old. She was grown up, and best of all, she understood it perfectly! She was now as old as Patrick!
Confrontation and Consequences
------------------------------------
Courtney's clothes were ripping, and she knew she needed to find something more suitable to don. She remembered Mom saying something about keeping her cheerleading outfits from high school, and hurriedly rushed to her mother's bedroom across the hall. Courtney's old clothes were almost about to split completely and fall totally off her, so she sped through the drawers, in search of Mom's cheerleading garb (hoping it wouldn't be too tacky).
"There it is!" Courtney exclaimed, happy to find fitting clothes.
She proceeded to tear off her baby clothes, leaving her in the buff. As she reached down to thread her leg into the first pantleg, she caught a glimpse of herself in Shannon's full-length mirror. Not too bad for a girl who was flat as a board ten minutes ago she thought. And she definitely wasn't used to anything hanging off her chest when she leaned over. Thrilling to say the least. It appeared the cheerleader uniform was going to fit nicely, but Courtney was going to need a bra, and there didn't appear to be one in the drawer, so she had to settle for one of her mom's bright, flowery-covered ones. God only knew why she liked such things.
After she applied her better-fitting attire, she sat down on the bed for a moment to look at the device again. Courtney had always been smart, and now was no different... only she had the added wisdom of 10 years on her side. The gun's instructions seemed fairly self-explanatory now. I mean, who DOESN'T know what Regression means?
I know two boys who probably don't she snickered, as vast, endless streams of ideas started flowing through her brain.
OUTSIDE
The heated basketball rivalry was reaching a climax outside, as Michale and Patrick competed for the title in their imaginary play-off game. Both had worked up a raging sweat at this point, which made sense seeing as the game were perfectly tied up. Heaving and panting, Patrick tossed a lay-up into the goal, and Michael shouted: "Damnit!" The two headed for their water-bottles lying in the grass nearby.
Before they reached them however, the back door started to open... and out came a beautiful sandy-blonde girl who looked to be about sweet sixteen. Michael and Patrick stopped in their tracks.
"Surprise, boys!" she shouted, raising her arms in the air. The dynamic duo shot confused glances at each other, wondering why in the world a sexy cheerleader would suddenly walk out of their back door.
"Don'tcha recognize me, guys?" The question met with no replies. Michael looked at Patrick and Patrick at Michael, both tinking she looked quite a bit like someone they knew, but couldn't place. "OK, let's try this," she said, "Scrub Scrub?"
Both of the boys' faces made the same expression of awe, mouths gaping wide. No, it couldn't be true Patrick thought to himself No one goes from being 6 years old to 16 in a half hour! Michael's thought-waves were running about the same frequency. It was, of course, scientifically impossible that their little sister could have grown up in a matter of minutes.
Courtney let out a rather evil laugh, as her "big brothers" stared at her new shapely body. The fact that she knew "scrub, scrub" perplexed them, since it was an incredibly exclusive in-joke between the three of them. They both had to admit, though, that this girl DID in fact look like a grown up Courtney. But it was still impossible for the boys to match this pretty, petite 16-year-old to their former bratty baby sister.
"You might be wondering how I got this way, eh?" she said, pulling the Ageflux gun out from behind her back. Michael immediately recognized it, and pointed.
"That's mine!" Michael yelled.
"Not anymore, it's not. I found out exactly what this little baby is capable of," she noted, fingering the trigger.
"And what is that?" Patrick asked.
"It's an age-changing machine," Courtney explained, "that's why I'm ... well, shall we say bigger, now?" The boys gulped a massive gulp simultaneously. "It can take years away or add them to anything you point it at. Pretty cool, huh?"
The boys were in shock. Niether of them said a word, as they watched their younger sister strut around on the back porch, wearing a skin tight cheerleader uniform that accentuated her, well, new acquisitions.
"Let me see it," Michael lunged toward Courtney, "I found it first!"
"Ah ah ah ah... I think I better hold on to it," Courtney said, laughing to herself at her two brothers' faces.
"Wh... what are you going to do?" Patrick muttered, afraid of what Courtney might have in store for them.
"You'll see, Patrick," Courtney giggled.
"This is ridiuculous! Give me the gun right now! I'm the oldest!" Patrick finally shouted at Courtney, as she started punching button on the gun.
"Oldest?" she asked, pointing the gun at Patrick, who immedtiately felt a thin beam of blue light pass through his chest. "Let's see what this thing does in reverse!"
Michael watched in clear horror as he witnessed his brother start to shrink in size, his sleeves already becoming too long for him.
"Stop it!" Patrick yelled, furiously.
But Courtney kept the ray directly on Patrick and wacthed as he slowly began to de-age. She saw the number on the "Regression Unit Intake" screen go up by 2. It's working! The ray was sucking years out of Patrick and into the machine! Hey, if there are more years stored in the gun, the older I can make myself! Courtney realized. Patrick conitnued to grow smaller, and less mature. The beginning of a beard he so proudly donned were all gone now, with the exception of a few lone hairs. His muscle tone was also decreasing, going back to his younger years when basketball hadn't yet toned them up.
"Quit it!" Michael screamed as he ran at Courtney full speed.
"Hold it! You wanna get younger too, Michael?" she said, acting as if she were going to turn the ray at him. Michael capitulated, and held his position. The thought of himself getting any younger was too much to bear. He returned his gaze to Patrick, who now looked about 10 years old at the most. Michael could gauge this well because he and Patrick had been so close their whole lives, and it was frightening to see his own brother pass backward through puberty. His clothes now hung on his childish frame, with the end of his sleeves hanging far past his hands. Courtney watched, as the screen lit up 3 more years, and it thrilled her. A surge of power ran through Courtney as she exacted revenge on her big brother. Watching him slowly reduced to a child was invigorating, and almost sexual in its overtones. Courtney smiled, realizing she still had Michael to deal with.
Meanwhile, Patrick's body crept gradually back to early childhood, with his face losing quite a bit of its maturity, and falling gracefully back to his formative years. No more than 5 now, Courtney read the indicator at "11" now. That meant Patrick was now younger than she had been! She, of course, had never seen her brother at this age, and she had to admit he was a cutie. His little cheeks were fattening up and his pudgy appendages made him quite adorable.
"Nooo, please!" Patrick whined, now with a pathetically high voice that had not accompanied him since pre-school.
"I wanna see you in diapers, Patrick!" Courtney sqealed with delight.
When the ray finally let up, Patrick was lying on the ground in a heap of former basketball clothes, no more than 1 year old.
"Scrub, Scrub"
-------------------------
Inside, Courtney sat little Patrick on the couch and instructed Michael to sit down next to him, waving the gun.
"OK, you two, now that you've seen the power of this machine, I would think you want to get on my good side," Courtney remarked, matter-of-factly. "So, from now on, you will do as I say and if you stray one inch, I'll use this thing to even greater effect. Now, Michael, take a good look at your brother. You won't be playing basketball any time soon, and you certainly won't be making fun of me. In fact, since I don't want you guys to contact Mom somehow, I'm gonna do things your way."
"Why, Courtney?" Michael nearly started crying.
"Well, I'm rather fond of my new body, as I'm sure you know why," Courtney gestured at her breasts. "I really like this grown up thing. Yes, yes, this is much better suited to my maturity level, I think."
Courtney lifted up her shirt and exposed her lucious breasts. "Yes, this feels pretty good, guys. In some sick way, I'll bet you want to feel it too, eh?" Courtney laughed. "But you two seem like you're better suited for a younger age... something closer to your mentality."
"What are you going to do to us?" Michael softly asked.
"Only what you would do to me."
IN THE BATHROOM
Courtney herded Michael into the upstairs bathroom, and carried baby Patrick, now incapable of rebellion, in her arms. Michael knew what was coming... the dreaded "scrub, scrub" routine where they used to strip little Courtney down to her birthday suit and give her a coerced bath. Courtney began:
"Well, Michael, I guess you know what comes next." She started the water running, and put the stopper in the drain. "But I can't very well see make YOU strip down too, seeing as you are nearly my age."
Michael breathed a sigh of relief.
"So, I guess we'll just have to make you a little younger too, so you won't be so embarassed," Courtney added.
"No, please don't make me younger! I'll do whatever you want! I swear! Just don't make me any younger, ok??" Michael pleaded, almost getting on his hands and knees.
"I'm afraid there's no other way," she said as she fired the beam at Michael. He instantaneously felt the shock, and the mildly pleasurable electric tingling. He could already feel his clothes getting big on him, and knew he was getting shorter.
"PLEEAASSEEE!!!!"
Michael's regression took a year off, then another year... leaving him an 8th grader or so. He was now more awkward, having lost some of puberty's handiwork. His fingers were retracting, and his whisps of facial hair disappeared into his chin. The hair on his arms also changed back into white-blondeish, then completely went away.
"This isn't fair!" Michael said in the voice he had had in the 6th grade.
"What is fair, Michael, or should I say Mikey?"
The beam was relentless and it shaved another 2 years off him, leaving him the scrawny 4th grader he had been 5 years ago. When Courtney stopped the ray, Michael was now a 7 year old, with his jacket draped on him like a circus tent. Courtney layed Patrick down next to the tub and walked over to Michael. She now stood significantly higher than her big brother, casting a shadow over him. She could see that his tearducts were beginning to well-up with tears, but that didn't get in her way...
"Now's the fun part!" she said, as she pulled the now-huged jacket off of Michael. He finally let loose and Courtney could see a single tear run down his innocent looking cheek. "Aw, don't worry," she said, squatting down to his level, "bathtime can be fun!" She yanked the remaining clothes off Michael's body. He stared down in disbelief at his much younger self. He had grown so accustomed to seeing it a certain way that it now seemed totally foreign, almost as if it were someone else's body. And the embarassment -- the EMBARASSMENT -- of having his sister be a hot 16 year old while he was a naked 2nd grader, with not much to show down below... was terrifying like a bad dream.
Courtney ordered Michael into the tub, and he capitulated once again to her demands, stepping nervously into the tub.
"Now, here's your bro!" she said, handing baby Patrick to Michael. Michael stared down at his reduced, infant brother in tears. The only thought running through his mind was: if only things would be back to normal...
Courtney glanced at the readout on the gun. Hmmm, might need more than 23 years to play around with.
The Chamber
---------------------
Across town, a desperate Alan Bateman's fears were growing that the public would soon be on to his little experiments. His Ageflux gun had been missing all day, and something inside him told him it had to do with that Vincent kid. Damnit, why did he have to get away? Bateman thought.
But there were more important matters at hand. The jewel of Bateman's collection was a new Youth Chamber or RTC (ReTrogression Chamber) that stored up radiation and could emit youthizing waves at long distances. He intended to use it as a kind of service to the population and anyone who wished to pay for it could get a personal treatment and be made whatever age they wished. Tonight was to be Bateman's first test of the machine.
It was a large cylindrical tube that would fill with a quasi-violet gas. Of course, Bateman had no one to release the energy upon at the moment, so he simply began the process to make sure the gas properly filled the tank.
He entered a series of complex keystrokes and turned on a few of the digital monitors... all appeared to be nominal. But the board was beginning to smoke and Bateman rushed to the panel and tried to stop the machine, but it wasn't responding to the password. he enetered it again and again.
"Damn, Damn!" he repeatedly yelled, as a large spark jumped off the controls and hit his hand. It knocked him away from the panel, and on to the floor. Bateman could hardly tell where he was the shock was so sudden. The room seemed to be spinning and he couldn't tell were he had landed... he could, however, tell that an electrical tingle was moving throughout his body.