CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sarah awoke with a start, the pain in her head like a vice squeezing her temples. The harsh, incessant blare of an alarm filled her ears, and the room around her was bathed in pulsing red light. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision and orient herself. The glowing white of the VR realm was gone, replaced by the cold, dim reality of the basement lab.

Panic gripped her as she struggled to sit up, her mind racing to piece together what had happened. The VR helmet felt heavy on her head, but she managed to lift it off, tossing it aside. Her fingers trembled as they brushed against her throbbing temples, and she winced at the intensity of the headache that wracked her brain.

The sound of a voice, sharp and filled with anger, cut through the alarm. "Damn it! A power outage?! How? Reset, damn you! Reset! I'm not finished with her!"

Sarah's eyes widened as she saw Patricia, once her husband, Jack, standing with her back to her, furiously working at the controls of the VR machine. The sight of Patricia, fully transformed, sexy, and curvaceous as ever and exuding an aura of menace, sent a chill down Sarah's spine. She felt a surge of urgency, a primal instinct to flee and put as much distance between herself and Patricia as possible.

Ignoring the pain in her head, Sarah ripped off the remaining connections of the VR apparatus and scrambled to her feet. Her heart pounded in her chest as she took a shaky step towards the stairs. Her movements were clumsy and disoriented, but adrenaline fueled her desperation.

Patricia spun around, her eyes blazing with fury as she saw Sarah attempting to escape. "Come back! Come back here!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the lab.

Sarah's breath caught in her throat, fear propelling her forward. She stumbled towards the stairs, her legs feeling like lead but driven by an overwhelming need to escape. Each step was a struggle, her vision narrowing to a tunnel focused solely on the exit.

She could hear Patricia's footsteps behind her, a relentless pursuit that fueled her terror. "You can't get away, Sarah! You belong to me now!" Patricia's voice was a mix of anger and dark amusement, a chilling reminder of the power she wielded.

With a final burst of energy, Sarah reached the top of the stairs and burst through the basement door. The house was dimly lit, the flashing lights of the alarm casting eerie shadows on the walls. She didn't stop to catch her breath, pushing herself to keep moving despite the burning in her lungs and the dizziness in her head.

The front door loomed ahead, a beacon of hope. She threw it open, the cool night air hitting her like a shock to her system. She stumbled outside, her feet hitting the pavement as she started to run. Behind her, she could still hear Patricia's enraged screams, but they were growing fainter with each step.

"Where? Where can I go?" The question echoed in her mind, a desperate plea for safety and sanctuary. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess, but one clear idea emerged from the chaos: her sister's house. It was the only place she could think of, the one person she could trust in this moment of madness.

In the quiet solitude of her frantic escape, a thought slipped through her mind, almost unbidden. "My sister better, like, help me or I'll make the bitch totes regret it. Tee hee!"

The words had barely left her lips when a wave of shock and revulsion washed over her. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in disbelief. Where had that come from? The sentiment, the eerie giggle—none of it felt like her own.

Her heart raced even faster, a different kind of fear gripping her. She shook her head vigorously, trying to dispel the lingering echo of the words. "It must be the stress," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. "It has to be."

She forced herself to focus, pushing the unsettling thought to the back of her mind. There was no time for confusion or self-doubt. She had to keep moving, had to reach her sister’s house.

* * *

Sarah sat in the back of the Uber, the hum of the engine and the rhythmic passing of streetlights providing a soothing counterpoint to the chaos in her mind. She clutched her cell phone tightly, her knuckles white against the sleek black casing. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, a mix of fear, anxiety, and a growing sense inside her of something darker she couldn't quite name.

The phone rang incessantly as she dialed her sister’s number, the ringing filling the confined space of the car. "Come on, pick up... bitch," she muttered under her breath, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Immediately, a wave of shock washed over her. She covered her mouth again. "Why do I keep saying that? Calm down, Sarah," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling. Finally, after several attempts, she hung up the phone.

She caught the Uber driver's eyes in the rearview mirror, concern etched on his face. "You okay back there, ma'am?"

Sarah forced a smile, trying to mask her inner turmoil. In her mind, she knew the polite responses, the socially acceptable ways to reassure the driver: "I'm okay, thank you for asking," or "Oh sorry! I'm okay. Just having a bad day." But as she opened her mouth to speak, a sharp, piercing pain shot through her body, radiating from her chest and spreading outward. It was as if her very essence recoiled at the thought of kindness, rejecting it with a visceral intensity.

She tried again, the pain doubling in intensity, forcing her to clench her teeth. Finally, she blurted out, "No! Leave me alone." The moment the words left her lips, the pain subsided, replaced by an unsettling sense of relief.

The driver was visibly taken aback, his eyes widening slightly. "Oh, okay. Sorry," he muttered, clearly discomfited by her abruptness.

Sarah leaned back in her seat, a wave of shame crashing over her. What was happening to her? Why couldn't she say something nice, something normal? The rest of the ride passed in awkward silence, the driver occasionally glancing at her in the rearview mirror, his expression wary.

As they approached her sister's house, Sarah's mind raced with apologies she wanted to offer the driver. She rehearsed them in her head, each one perfectly polite and sincere. But as the car pulled to a stop and she reached for the door handle, the pain returned, sharp and unyielding. She hesitated, her mouth opening and closing without a sound. The pain intensified, forcing her to abandon her attempt.

She stepped out of the car, the driver watching her with a mixture of confusion and relief. Sarah felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. "Jeez," she muttered to herself, looking at her sister's house. "Get a hold of yourself."

Standing there, on the threshold of her sister's two-story suburban home, she couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental within her was shifting. Shaking it off, Sarah took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead.

Sarah stood on the doorstep, her fist raised to knock once more when she hesitated. "Please be home, you—" She bit her tongue, stopping herself before another unkind word could slip out. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog of frustration and confusion. She resumed knocking, a steady rhythm that echoed her desperation.

After what felt like an eternity, there was still no answer. The reality of her situation began to press down on her. She lowered her hand, the silence around her suddenly oppressive. She was alone, her thoughts racing as she stood there, feeling more and more abandoned with each passing second.

Where could she go now? Her parents? The thought flashed through her mind, but they lived in another state, far away from the immediate sanctuary she needed. Her life, once stable and predictable, had been violently turned upside down. It was as though she was living in a waking nightmare, one that twisted reality into a grotesque parody of itself.

Deep in thought, Sarah glanced down at herself, her eyes taking in her appearance for the first time in what felt like ages. A strange feeling welled up inside her. She felt a wave of deep disdain for her frumpy, unimpressive body. Her flat chest, her unmanicured nails—they all seemed to mock her. She almost gagged at the sight, an overwhelming sense of revulsion bubbling up from somewhere deep within.

Moreover, she noticed she was standing in an odd way. Her chest, as tiny as it was, poked out defiantly, her shoulders thrust back. Her weight was shifted to one side, conveying an air of attitude and defiance that felt foreign to her. It was a stance she had never assumed consciously, but now it felt unnervingly natural.

As she shifted her attention to the window next to the front door, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. It was her face looking back, but the expression was something else entirely. It was cruel and nasty, a vicious glint behind her eyes that sent a chill down her spine. Her lips curled into a sneer, a look of pure spite and malice. A pulse of pleasure rippled through her body at the sight, but the sensation swiftly morphed into panic.

Sarah quickly closed her eyes, trying to block out the disturbing thoughts. She took a deep breath, willing this thing within her to retreat. When she opened her eyes again, the reflection was gone. It was just her normal face, looking worried and tired, the cruel expression replaced by her familiar, passive features.

At that moment, the door opened, revealing a woman with wet hair, wearing a bathrobe. She looked at Sarah with a mixture of surprise and concern. "Sarah? What are you doing out here?"

Sarah felt a surge of relief wash over her, the sight of her sister grounding her in a reality she could grasp. The sense of dread that had been building inside her ebbed slightly, replaced by a glimmer of hope. She took a step forward, her voice trembling as she spoke.

Sarah sat on the edge of Brenda's couch, her hands wrapped around a warm cup of coffee. The comforting aroma did little to settle her nerves. Across from her, Brenda watched her with a mix of concern and disbelief.

"So, you're saying Jack is... a woman? That's... impossible," Brenda said, shaking her head in confusion.

Sarah felt a burst of frustration rise within her. "Brenda, you're not listening, you b—" She stopped herself, biting her tongue hard enough to taste blood. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the turbulent emotions swirling inside her. "You're not listening. My machine, I made him use it, to test it, and then a program, a character based on my high school bully... it changed him. It found a way to overcharge the VR's heart and soul, the molecular distortion field... and it turned him into her."

Brenda looked at her, stunned. "Wait, Patricia? That horrible girl from high school? Jack is Patricia? What... the...?"

Sarah stood up abruptly and started to pace the room, her movements erratic and filled with agitation. 

"I mean, he's not exactly her. He's still him, he just acts like her... mmmm... looks like her. Mmm," Sarah paused mid-step, a strange smile curling on her lips as she closed her eyes, licking her lips slowly, "...a sexy, cruel, yummy bitch, like, totally hawt. You'd be sooo fucking jealous if you—"

Brenda stood up with a jolt, her face a mask of horror. "Sarah!? What is wrong with you? That's horrible! I mean, it's impossible, but if it's true... that's terrifying."

Sarah's eyes snapped open and darted over to Brenda. "Oh, stop whining, you slut!" she spat, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. 

A rush of endorphins surged through her body, bringing a moment of perverse pleasure. But the shocked look on Brenda's face snapped her out of it. 

"I'm... sorry!" Sarah stammered, suddenly overcome by a massive wave of pain pulsing through her body. "I'm so..." she forced the words out again, despite the agony it caused, "...sorry!" The pain intensified, nearly making her throw up.

Brenda, clearly frightened for her sister, took a step back. "Sarah, it's okay. I... understand, of course. This would upset anyone."

Sarah, tears welling up in her eyes, looked at Brenda's compassionate face and, for some reason, felt a surge of hatred. She wanted to insult her, to make fun of her, to belittle her, and show her how much better she was. The urge was almost unbearable, the thought of the bliss it would bring was nearly overwhelming.

"No!" Sarah yelled at herself, clenching her fists. She refused to treat her sister like that. But she instinctually knew she couldn't be nice to her either; the pain was too much. In a desperate bid to control herself, she ran out of the living room, her heart pounding in her chest.

She rushed into the master bedroom and locked the door behind her. "Just leave me alone, Brenda! I need some space!" she shouted, her voice thick with emotion.

Brenda walked up to the door, her hand resting gently on the wood. "Okay, sis. Anything you need. I'm here for you," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm in the chaos.

Inside the bedroom, Sarah collapsed onto the bed, her body wracked with sobs. The struggle within her was tearing her apart, the duality of her emotions, the pain and pleasure was driving her mad. She pressed her face into the pillow, trying to drown out the sound of her own thoughts.

"Why? Why is this... why... w..." Sarah lifted her head, the spark of understanding striking her like a bolt of lightning. "She did this. I... I don't remember, but... she did this. It's the only answer."

Sarah sat up and soaked in the truth of it. Somehow, Patricia did this to her. She made it so that her body was trying to train her, making her gain pleasure from acts of cruelty, and suffer pain from being compassionate. 

"Fuck."

Sarah paced the room, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and desperation. She couldn't trust her mind anymore, but she had to do something. The urges and intrusive thoughts were growing stronger, threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn't just give in, couldn't let herself be consumed by whatever was happening to her.

She had to figure out a plan, something to counteract this madness. But every idea that surfaced seemed to crumble under the weight of her uncertainty and fear. The walls of the room felt like they were closing in on her, each step she took a futile attempt to escape her own mind.

In the midst of her frantic pacing, her phone rang, shattering the oppressive silence. The sound made her jump, her heart leaping into her throat. She glanced at the screen and saw the name "Jack" flashing. But she knew better; it was Patricia.

"Don't answer it," she muttered to herself, placing the phone down on the dresser. The ringing stopped, but a moment later, the phone dinged, indicating a message had been left.

"No. I'm not going to listen. No," she said, her voice trembling. But the pull was too strong. Despite her better judgment, she picked up the phone and pressed play.

Patricia's silky smooth voice started to speak, dripping with malice and condescension. "Hey, girlfriend! Well... not yet. I'm sure by now you know something is going on with your silly brain. I couldn't finish the job before that stupid power outage, but I had enough time to add a whole lot of little wonderful changes."

Sarah's heart raced, her palms growing sweaty. She wanted to throw the phone across the room, to shut out the voice that was tearing her world apart. But she couldn't stop listening.

"You see, I thought of so many yummy things to do to you. I thought of making you into a mindless drone, a living statue, a sad fat slob. But then I asked myself, what does she hate the most? And the answer was simple... me. You hate Patricia so much, huh? So, therefore, I'm going to make you just... like... me. Hehe!"

Sarah felt a cold dread settle in her stomach. "No," she whispered, shaking her head in denial.

Patricia's voice continued, relentless. "Yes! You're going to be my hot bestie, and together we're gonna ruin the lives of all the people you care about. So what did I do to you? I made your body hate kindness and love being mean. I made it so your body wants to be hot, not like you are now... frumpy and sad looking, but a body that all men will obsess over and all women will envy; almost as hot as me!"

Sarah gasped, the realization hitting her like a freight train. "No! This can't be happening," she cried, her voice trembling with fear and anger.

"And it's going to get worse... and better, every minute you aren't who you are meant to be; my hawt bestie! And guess what, I modeled it all after Patricia's old high school accomplice, Britney. Remember her? Well, you'll practically BE her by the time you're finished. Maybe you'll even take her name, huh? Britney."

Sarah's mind raced, her thoughts a jumbled mess of panic and disbelief. She remembered Britney, the cruel cheerleader who had made her life a living hell in high school. The thought of becoming her was unbearable, unthinkable.

"So, I'll be honest, you should just give up and come back here so the machine can finish what it started. You know you want it. You know you want that amazing body. You know you want to erase all those annoying traits like... yuck... compassion and... eww... empathy. If you're thinking of finding a way to make me Jack again... give up! This is me for good, baby. So... come join me."

The message droned on, each word a dagger to Sarah's sanity. "Saaaarah, come back. Come back, Sarah! You know you want it. Sarah! Come b—"

She turned off the message, unable to bear another second of Patricia's taunting. Her hands trembled, the phone slipping from her grip and clattering to the floor. She was fully panicking now, sweat rolling down her forehead in rivulets. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

This was real. Patricia's words echoed in her mind, a cruel testament to the twisted reality she was now trapped in. She had to fight this, had to find a way to resist. But as the fear and confusion swirled within her, she couldn't help but feel the tendrils of Patricia's influence creeping deeper into her psyche.