Tales from Outer Space

After Dylan’s grandfather passed away, he invited his friend Natan to join him in checking out the house he had just inherited. Dylan mentioned that his grandfather had worked for years on a secret project, which many believed to be connected to some mysterious agency with a name full of consonants—completely off the official government books.

The house itself was unremarkable. But when they went down into the basement, they stumbled upon a surprise: a dusty laboratory, filled with boxes and various objects hidden under tarps. One by one, they began uncovering things, exploring the place.

A larger tarp caught their attention—it covered a strange machine. It had a transparent glass chamber, a side panel with a screen, and next to it, a box full of handwritten notebooks.

Both intrigued, they began reading. Dylan, recognizing his grandfather’s handwriting, cautiously examined the contents. According to the journals, the machine had been salvaged from a crashed alien spacecraft. His grandfather had been assigned to study it and concluded it was a device capable of reshaping matter—allowing the user to morph themselves, possibly to infiltrate human society undetected.

Apparently, Dylan’s grandfather had decoded a significant portion of the technology. He had drawn schematics and detailed how to input body parameters into the system—height, weight, age, eye color, hair type, curves—just like customizing a character in a video game. Though tempted, the old man had never dared test it himself. But based on the input images shown in the photos, it seemed to render a full 3D human form.

After an entire afternoon of reading, the two friends went upstairs for drinks. The grandfather’s wine cellar was well-stocked. Between laughs and glasses, Natan asked, "If you could create a perfect body—just for testing—what would you change?"

Dylan joked about wanting to be taller and more athletic. Natan said he’d go for a sculpted body that would make women stop and stare.

Then, between sips, Natan laughed and asked, “What about your dream girl? With a machine like this, we could take a clumsy girl and turn her into a goddess.”

Dylan laughed. “Yeah, like I’d ever explain this to some stranger and ask them to be a guinea pig. Even my grandfather didn’t have the guts to try it in sixty-five years.”

Suddenly, Natan stood up. “I’ve got the guts. You only live once. We have the chance of a lifetime.”

Dylan smirked. “If you're really that brave, I know how to power it, program it, and start the transmutation. It’s even simple—body parameters are common inputs. Based on what my grandfather translated, you just enter the desired traits and boom! Worst case, we restore you using your current profile and the machine brings you back to your old self.”

Natan agreed. Dylan had already read enough, and if anything went wrong, there was still a mountain of research that might help undo it.

Dylan began adjusting the machine’s parameters. He had input the version of himself he always dreamed of—taller, more attractive. But then he hesitated and looked at Natan.

“Dude, these settings are for me. And honestly… it doesn’t feel right asking you to jump into this without knowing what it does. I admire your courage, but my curiosity is stronger. If something’s gonna go wrong, let it happen to me first. I’ll go in.”

Natan nodded. “Alright, man. Your call. I wouldn’t know how to operate this thing anyway. You're the genius here. But if it turns you into alien goo, it might take me days to figure it out.”

Dylan chuckled. “Where’s the guy who was all fired up a minute ago? Relax. Worst case, what happens to me is what would’ve happened to you—we’re just swapping the order.”

“Okay,” he continued, “when I get in, press the command with three orange symbols that’ll pop up on the top-right of the display. That’ll seal the chamber. Then wait until it turns purple. That’s when the machine enters molecular recombination mode. Then... we just hope it’s not painful.”

Dylan stepped inside the chamber, and Natan followed the instructions. Within seconds, a sound like gears grinding filled the room. Two scanning beams—one from the top, one from the bottom—moved toward each other. The glass fogged up briefly.

As the beams crossed paths and split apart again, Natan saw the image forming inside: Dylan, but different. Taller, muscular. Completely transformed. Even a scar on his arm—left from an old fall—had disappeared.

The glass slid open. Dylan, slightly dazed, asked, “I’m... alive?”

Natan grinned wide. “Man, this thing actually works!”

Dylan looked at his reflection in the glass and whispered, “That’s me.” Then, louder: “That’s me!” Flexing his new muscles, he added, “It worked! I’m this guy now!”

Natan, impressed, added, “Okay, my turn! But I want to push this further. Let’s see if this machine can actually turn a plain girl into something stunning. I want you to input your ideal woman. Let’s test its limits.”

Dylan, still a bit out of it, hesitated. “We don’t know the side effects, man. What if it doesn’t work the same way?”

Natan laughed. “For science, bro! Think about it—we already know it works. Worst case, you put my settings in again, upgraded like yours, and boom—I’m back, even better!”

Dylan agreed. He programmed the panel: tall blonde, wavy hair, curvy body, youthful—around the early twenties on the age slider. He asked Natan to approve the settings, since that body would soon be his.

Natan whistled. “Nice. You’ve got taste. Just thinking about turning some average girl into this makes me excited to be the guinea pig.”

Natan stepped into the machine, and the same spectacle unfolded. When the glass cleared, Dylan saw—firsthand—what his dream woman would look like.

The chamber opened, and Natan stepped out, now with a soft and feminine voice. Once a tall, bulky man, he was now shorter and delicate. The machine had stripped away much of his former size, leaving him a bit weak and unsteady as he leaned on the metal for balance.

After catching his breath, he examined his new reflection, ran his hands down his arms, and said, “It worked. It all worked. Let’s call this thing The Unuglifier!”

Dylan laughed nervously—there was a gorgeous woman standing in front of him, after all.

“Madam,” he joked, “give me a little spin. Let me check the merchandise.”

Natan teased back with a playful look, still visibly excited. Then said, “Alright. My turn to become Mr. Muscles. Just make me taller than you. I’ve never accepted being the short guy.”

Dylan laughed and asked for a little more time—after all, it was a golden opportunity to practice flirting with his ideal woman… even if that woman was still his buddy inside.

They chatted, Dylan with that goofy, smitten look, clearly forgetting at times who he was talking to. A moment of awkward tension passed between them before they both decided it was time to switch back.

Dylan smiled, like he was saying goodbye to a lover. “Okay, I’ll head down and set up the machine. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Natan stayed to clean up the kitchen. He got carried away, and after some time realized Dylan still hadn’t called him down. Curious, he went to the basement—and froze.

Dylan was buried in old papers, flipping through pages like a madman.

Natan, in his new feminine voice but now serious, asked, “Dude… what’s going on?”

Dylan hesitated. “I powered the machine… but it wouldn’t start. I figured it was cooling down, so I passed the time reading. One of the journals explained everything. The reason my grandfather never used it.”

He opened a side panel, revealing three strange cells—like energy cores.

“My grandfather ran a test to see if it worked, and even without anything inside, it used the third charge. That’s when he realized the energy source was limited. He didn’t know how many uses he’d get, so he never risked it.”

Natan’s eyes widened. “So you’re saying… the alien batteries are dead? And I’m stuck like this until we figure out how to recharge this thing?”

Dylan nodded. “That’s the bad news. My grandfather spent 65 years trying to restore even one of the charges. He never managed to do it.”