“Huh,” you say to yourself as you tear a strip off the poster.
“Volunteers Wanted For Clinical Research Study,” it reads. It continues below, in a smaller font, “individuals aged 19-23 wanted for new study, titled ‘Regenerative Effects of Bichlorificated Benzothermoclenzonelonese on the Human Body’. Risks and details to be given in interview. Compensation available.”
You don’t care about any of it, except what counts: the compensation. As a poor college student, you need all the dough you can get. You whip out your cell phone out of your pocket and dial the number, walking down your dorm hall as you do so.
The phone rings, is picked up, and the voice on the other end is energetic. “Brington Medical Building. Can I help you?”
“I’m calling about the research study volunteering.”
“You’d like to make an appointment for an interview?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” comes the peppy voice, and she gives you a date and a time. You thank her, hang up, and think to yourself: I bet she’s hot.
A few days go by, and now it’s time for the interview. You enter the medical building, which is just as sterile and quiet as any other hospital. The front desk points you to the office where the interview is to take place. Arriving at the office, you are surprised by the name: a Dr. Brington. You knock on the door, and a man’s voice ushers you in.
Sitting at the desk is a young-looking man. His most distinguishing feature is his long, bright blonde hair that is tied in a ponytail. He seems nice, but you think he looks a little effeminate. “You’re here for the research study?”
“Yep.”
“Please sit down,” he says, and you do so. “The study is simple. We’re going to give you a shot, and we’re going to run a few tests. We might need to bring you back in for another dose.”
“And what about the risks?” you ask, folding your arms in front of you.
“Oh, right. Well, the test is on a new compound we think might be able to reverse the physical aging process, in other words, make somebody younger. We’ve used it on older people with limited results, but we think younger people might respond to it better.”
“Okay then,” you say, satisfied. This guy’s a quack, anyways. You can’t make people younger, that’s impossible.
“And how old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“May I see your ID?”
You hand him your driver’s license and he looks it over.
“Looks good. Any questions?” he says, handing your license back.
“What’s the compensation?”
“One thousand dollars, and five hundred more for each additional test if we have to run them.”
“Okay.” you say curtly, but you’re quite excited. A thousand dollars can buy a lot of food.
“So, will you do it?”
“Sure, when will the test be?”
“What time works best for you?”
“Whenever..”
“How about now?”
“Alright..”
He slides you a clipboard with a waiver on it. You don’t bother reading the whole thing; what could convince you away from a thousand dollars? You sign it, he looks it over, and then guides you into another room. This room looks like a hospital room, with steel trays, sinks, and various liquids about. A nurse is there, and she instructs you to sit on a steel table. You think she’s pretty hot, with a nice ass.
“Before we give you the shot, we have to put these on you,” she says, holding a few suction cup-like things attached to strings.
“Fine,” you reply, and she sticks them to your temples, your wrists, and your calves. You wait a few minutes, and Dr. Brington comes back in with a syringe full of a blue liquid. He approaches you and squirts a bit out of it.
“Roll up your sleeve, please,” he says. You pull up the sleeve of your shirt and allow him to swab your forearm. You flex your forearm, hoping to show off your muscles to the nurse. He then gently inserts the needle in and sends the blue liquid surging through your veins.
“Now just wait a few minutes. You might feel a little strange, that’s normal.”
You sit on the cold steel, thinking about your thousand dollars. The nurse is looking at a computer screen with a green mesh outline of a male figure. You realize that’s you. She points to a table of data and motions the doctor over.
“Very unusual this time.”
You don’t hear her, you’re busy looking at her butt as she leans over the computer.
“Well, it should be. I used a double dose this time.”
The doctor’s voice jolts you out of your reverie. Double dose? What does that mean?
“Look, doctor, it’s starting,” the nurse says, looking at the computer screen then at you.
What’s starting? Suddenly you feel strange. A feeling washes over you, a feeling that encompasses your whole body.
“Body hair is already thinning,” the nurse says again, pointing at a display on the monitor.
You feel a faint tingle in your face, then the same feeling around your stomach and chest areas. Curious, you massage your chest and notice your pectoral muscles aren’t quite as firm as you remember.
“Interesting. It’s going even faster than I expected,” the doctor says, looking over at you. You feel the now-familiar tingling, on your arms now. You look down at your forearm and notice things are amiss: your dark arm hair is gone, replaced by light, wispy hairs. You also notice that the muscular forearm you were trying to impress the nurse with doesn’t seem quite as thick now.
“What’s going on?” you ask angrily.
“Well, I think it should be obvious. You’re getting younger,” the doctor says.
You feel your shorts become loose around your waist and your shirt fitting strangely. You realize that these guys are serious. You’re getting younger, and you don’t know when it’s going to stop.
“He’s sixteen now; we should see some real shrinking now,” calls the nurse.
“How young am I gonna get?” you ask.
“That’s what we’re finding out,” replies the doctor.
You raise a hand to your face and it feels smooth, smoother than you have ever shaved it. You look down and see your legs. The hair on them has thinned considerably. Like the nurse said, you’re shrinking now. Your shorts are beginning to cover more of your legs, and your narrowing shoulders are making your shirt’s sleeves obscure your hands.
Please stop, you think to yourself. The process doesn’t listen, and you’re shrinking faster now. Holding up your arms for investigation, you see embarrassingly thin limbs covered by too-large sleeves. Your legs are almost hairless now, not to mention pale and skinny. Your sneakers slide off your feet and hit the ground with a clap. It seems that your feet are now a few sizes smaller.
Looking over at the computer screen, you see your estimated age to be fourteen. You’re barely old enough to be in high school, much less college! You look back over at the nurse you were ogling earlier. Before, she seemed like such a pretty little thing, sweet and unintimidating. Now she seems kind of daunting, and not as short as you remember. She seems to be about the same height as you. Everything else in the room seems larger, and it’s still growing.
“Make this stop!” you say. You try to sound threatening, but your higher voice prevents that.
“Sorry, can’t do anything. Plus, you signed the waiver,” comes the cold reply from the doctor. He turns back to the computer and the nurse. “He’s going back through puberty now, make sure it records everything.”
And he’s right. You feel a bizarre tingle at your crotch, and you realize that’s your pubic hair starting to vanish. You feel the same feeling under your arms. Stealing a quick glance at the nurse, you see she’s immersed in the computer readout. You thrust a hand down into your loosening pants and feel for your genitals. A completely unfamiliar feeling greets you: a small, hairless thing has replaced the bulging member you once boasted. Your arms and legs are bald, and tiny, thin imitations of what they were a few moments ago. Your shorts and shirt are huge on you, reminding you forcibly of playing dress-up with your dad’s clothes so long ago.
The room continues to expand around you as you exit puberty the wrong way. The doctor is watching you with interest, and the nurse has turned away from the screen to see the diminished you. They both look so big! You feel completely helpless, a child in an adult’s life. The rest of your transformation is a blur, you just remember your viewpoint sinking lower and lower, and everything becoming bigger and bigger.
“I think he’s stopped,” says the nurse, who sounds so intimidating to you. The doctor looks over at you and smiles. He pulls out a mirror and lets you look into it. You can hardly believe your eyes: it’s a little boy, not a day older than five. You try to raise a hand to your face, but it’s covered by the sleeve of an adult-sized shirt. You look down to the ground, which now seems to be a formidable distance. You see an empty pair of shorts, just as your legs used to be positioned. You wiggle your feet, and see them just peeking out of the legs of the shorts.
“Let’s get you out of those clothes,” the nurse says sweetly. She reaches her gigantic hands toward you, and lifts you in the air with ease. Your pants and boxers fall to the floor in a heap, but you’re still covered by your shirt. She sits you down on another table and strips the shirt off you.
“Hey!” you protest in a high-pitched squeal. You’re completely naked, with this woman looking at you! Of course, this is a highly enviable position for a college guy like yourself, but now you have the body of a child. The nurse holds out a pair of childish white briefs and slips them up your legs and to your waist. “I can do it myself!” you say indignantly. She smiles and hands you the rest of your outfit. It’s a pair of overalls and a shirt, appropriately sized. You slip it on.
“Now, come with me,” she says. She lifts you off the table and places you on the ground. Now you realize how small you have become. Everything is so tall and scary! You can’t imagine how you’d be able to reach anything on the counters, or sit in any of these grown-up chairs. The nurse motions for you to follow her, and you grab her hand. She smiles and squeezes it lightly.
The nurse walks with you to another place where a new life awaits you, and you do have the thousand dollars. Maybe it won’t be so bad.
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