Friday, August 29th, 2042, Hope and Wellness Clinic, Reno, Nevada.

In the clinic's waiting room, Elliot fidgeted in his seat, unable to keep still. His right leg bounced to the rhythm of some imagined high-BPM techno beat, while his fingers crept up to scratch the itchy fabric at the crown of his head.

Vanessa, sitting beside him, batted his hand away with a sharp glare and a swiftness that stung.

Oh. Right. The hoodie.

Earlier today, they had gone to the trouble of hiding his half-grown burrovian ears so strangers would not stare. The last thing Elliot wanted was for any waiting patients to notice furry ears twitching through his hair.

They were here because Vanessa had found a clinic specialising in trans care—and somehow wrangled him an emergency appointment. He had not even known such clinics took emergencies.

Despite calling ahead and showing up at the appointed time, they had been waiting for over half an hour already. Every so often, a name echoed, and another patient rose, drawn by the nurse's beckoning hand. Elliot had not kept track of how many people would be called before it would finally be his turn. He did not dare lift his eyes, afraid to meet anyone else's gaze. Instead, he fixed his attention on his lap—rubbing palms together, scratching at an itch with his new, too-long fingernails. When his brain caught up that those nails, hands and fingers were not his, he yanked them apart and clutched his knees, trying to kill the leg bounce.

It lasted seconds. Then noticed his legs—longer, stronger, shapelier. He immediately averted his gaze, trying to find anything interesting to focus on. The rhythm started up again.

On the waiting-room wall, an art display spelled the word Hope hundreds of times, each in different fonts and colours. A collage of past patients, maybe? Children's art?

Children, though? In a clinic like this?

Then again, Emmy's mountain of links had included one about early transition. Some kids, apparently, knew from the start. Starting treatment before puberty made everything easier.

God, let the same logic apply to my second puberty.

Maybe the clinic could slow this down. Reversing it? Too much to hope for. But delaying it? Stabilising it? Surely.

He had seen the before-and-afters—dozens, no, hundreds. On one of Emmy's links, a resource page focused on the transmasc experience. The results floored him. Without the side-by-side photos, he would never have guessed.

Testosterone worked miracles—reshaping muscle, dropping the voice, even changing faces.

Unfortunately for the transfeminine folks, oestrogen did not seem to do as much—at least, not if taken after puberty.

So he clung to the hope that T might be enough. The one silver lining in this nightmare.

"Mommy," a small voice asked from across the room, "why is the beautiful tall lady dressed like a boy?"

Elliot froze.

Vanessa's hand closed over his, squeezing tight. But the damage was done. His ears rang. His stomach dropped. He tried to smile—to pretend he had not heard.

Beautiful. Tall. Lady.

The child had not meant harm—just honest curiosity.

The mother leaned down, mortified. "I'm so sorry—"

Then, quieter: "Are they like me?"

Elliot's chest clenched. The voice was soft. Hopeful.

He looked up for the first time since arriving.

A kid—nine, maybe ten—sat two rows across. Short-cropped hair, thick glasses, a dinosaur sticker on their hoodie. Baggy jeans, doodled-on shoes. One fingernail painted a different colour.

The mother had an arm gently around them.

The pieces clicked.

The Hope collage. The rainbow pins on the nurse's lanyard. The vending machine full of juice boxes. The poster near the door: You are valid. You are safe. You are seen.

Vanessa had not brought him to a trans-adult clinic. She had brought him to a pediatric gender care centre.

Now he felt utterly out of place.

Elliot squeezed Vanessa's hand harder.

Some people have it so much worse than I do…

The thought stabbed sharp.

The child across the room was not fighting a game-glitched body rewrite. They were just trying to live in the only skin they had ever known, praying someone would believe them.

Elliot had never begged to be called he at age seven. Never sobbed through his first bra fitting, or needed blockers to survive puberty. He had lived free of dysphoria—simple and ordinary. Until now.

Until a stupid decision, in a stupid game, to make a female avatar—because he thought she looked glamorous. Because he felt it suited the mage class' aesthetic. He had believed he could handle wearing her skin in VR, supported by the lauded calibration system the developers were so proud of.

Now? He looked down.

Long legs. Soft hands. Bunny ears hidden under a hoodie. A body that was no longer his.

He did not belong here—in this clinic. Not in this waiting room. Not among people biology had betrayed from birth.

He had gone out of his way to get screwed.

Sure, he had not known. But that detail did not stop him from blaming himself.

This kid? They had done nothing wrong.

His throat tightened. He blinked hard. Vanessa's hand stayed in his, his only anchor.

The mother across the room leaned closer. Her voice was soft. Nervous. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, her eyes flicking between Elliot and Vanessa. "I don't want to pry, but has it been long? You know… Before you saw results? I've been terrified about her—" She winced. "I mean... his future."

Vanessa hesitated a beat—long enough to sting.

He wanted to say something. Correct her. Dispel whatever misunderstanding she was labouring under.

But he did not. He could not really offer her the reassurance she was asking for.

Vanessa shook her head slowly and gave a tight-lipped smile. "Some bodies respond quicker than others. It's just like puberty. For some, a few months. For others, years."

Elliot shot her a look. She spoke like she had lived it.

"I was born intersex," Vanessa said softly, for both him and the mother.

Elliot blinked. News to him.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Luckily, my parents waited. Let me tell them how I felt. Once I knew, it took just a few visits to a clinic like this to sort it out."

The woman's expression softened. "Well, you've turned out gorgeous, dear." Then she glanced at Elliot. "And your friend?"

Elliot's throat clamped shut. He could not answer. His hands went cold, except for the heat where Vanessa still held him.

Vanessa stepped in, gentle. "He's still figuring things out."

The woman nodded, understanding.

From across the room, the child's voice piped up again. "I'm sorry I called you a lady."

Elliot looked up. The kid leaned forward, swinging their feet, glasses slipping down their nose.

"My name's Charlie," they said earnestly. "What's yours?"

The room quieted—not dramatically, but enough that he felt every ear tilt toward them.

His chest ached to say Elliot. His lips stuck.

He looked at Charlie—the doodled shoes, the painted nail, the bravery.

"I…" He swallowed. "I'm Elliot. Nice to meet you, Charlie."

Charlie beamed and leaned into their mother.

"Sutton?" a nurse called from the doorway, clipboard in hand.

Vanessa stood, helping Elliot up.

"Good luck in there," the mother offered.

"Bye, Elliot!"

He waved to Charlie before following Vanessa and the nurse.

They walked down a quiet hallway lined with pastel prints and humming vents. Beige walls, speckled vinyl floors, filtered light. Everything muted, designed to soothe.

Elliot trailed just behind Vanessa, steps too quick, as if speed could get it over with. His hoodie was hot, his skin prickling, ears twitching under the fabric.

The nurse stopped at a half-open door. "Please have a seat, and let me know if you need anything."

Vanessa nodded. Elliot mumbled a "thanks" and gravitated to the chair farthest from the exam table.

The room was clean but lived-in. A couple of plush animals on the counter. A jar of rainbow lollipops. A dragon-themed height chart on the wall. The scale in the corner a cheerful shade of blue.

He sat, hands unsure where to go.

The nurse tapped the computer, then glanced over. "Okay. Which one of you is Elliot?"

Vanessa tipped her head toward him. "He is. I'm Vanessa. Chauffeur and emotional support pillar."

"I'm Mx Keller, one of the nurse practitioners. They/them. Since this is our first meeting, I'd like to get to know you a little, Elliot."

Elliot looked up.

They were maybe mid-thirties, casual button-up over a hoodie, sleeves rolled. Badge pinned with a trans flag and a mushroom sticker.

Kind eyes—not the forced kind, but real.

Elliot's stomach flipped. This was real.

Keller adjusted their seat with a hiss of compressed air and pulled a notepad—paper, not digital. A smiley doodle already in the corner. They angled their chair toward him, clipboard balanced casually across their lap.

"Before anything clinical," they said gently, "this is your space. You don't have to answer what you don't want to. We go at your pace. Sound okay?"

Elliot nodded—easiest thing to do.

"Cool." Keller clicked their pen. "So. Vanessa called ahead, but I'd like to hear in your own words. Why are you here today?"

Elliot's throat closed.

Vanessa's presence beside him was solid, steady—but the words were stuck.

Why was he here? Because he was losing himself. Because a video game had stolen his body, left him with bunny ears and a stranger's face. Because he had no idea what else to do.

His mouth moved before his brain caught up.

"I'm… changing," he managed. Voice small. "Not by choice."

Keller nodded, waiting. Scribbled something down.

"It's my body. It's not what it used to be. Not just hormones, or weight, or… It's like someone flipped a switch."

He forced himself to meet their gaze. "I didn't look like this two days ago."

"Got it. Thanks for sharing that." Keller let the pause breathe. "Can I ask what's changed specifically? Physically?"

Elliot swallowed. "My voice. Face. Hands. My…" He stopped. Could not say chest. "Pretty much everything."

"Any procedures lately? New meds? Accidents?"

"No. Just… played a video game."

No laugh. No scoff. Just another note scribbled.

"All right," Keller said. "Do you mind if I check some basics? Vitals, posture, maybe look at your ears? Nothing invasive."

The blood drained from Elliot's face.

Oh no. No, no, no. This was a mistake.

Keller caught it immediately. "We don't have to," they said, palms raised. "Not unless you're comfortable."

"He really doesn't want to be touched right now," Vanessa said firmly.

"Totally valid," Keller agreed, already making a note. "This is your appointment, Elliot. We can just talk. Or not talk. You set the rules."

Elliot stared at a rainbow squid sticker on the cabinet. Nodded once.

Keller's voice softened. "I'll be honest—you're the first case of A.D.S. we've seen here."

That made him glance up.

"Autoludic Dysmorphogenic Shift," they explained. "The provisional term. It means your body is reshaping—abnormally developing—into your video game character. The wording's broad. It could apply to other media too: a novel, a stage role, even something you've lived too long."

They let the silence hang.

"That is what's happening, isn't it?"

Elliot swallowed. Keller had connected the dots.

He nodded.

"Elliot's his legal given name," Vanessa said. "He's AMAB. His character, Seraphine, is a—" she gestured vaguely, elegantly—"a gorgeous Noble burrovian lady. AFAB."

Keller raised a brow, amused.

"Although," Vanessa added, glancing at him with a shrug, "since we only made our characters two days ago, I guess that makes her Assigned Female at Creation?"

That pulled a sound from Elliot—not quite a laugh, more its cornered cousin.

Keller jotted notes, then glanced between them, eyes lingering a beat on Vanessa's hair.

"And… forgive me for asking, but—Vanessa, have you noticed any changes yourself?"

She blinked. "Me? We're here for him."

"Yes," Keller said gently. "It's just—I couldn't help but notice your hair. Red roots, blond ends. And you mentioned creating a character."

Vanessa ran a hand through it, self-conscious. "Oh. Uh. Yeah. That started yesterday. Kept going today."

"And the timing lines up with Elliot's onset?"

Elliot and Vanessa exchanged a glance. She nodded. "Yeah. We've both been playing. I picked a fabulous redhead with the perfect jawline. Callidora."

"Gorgeous name," Keller said, making another note.

"Thanks. She's got that supermodel look that turns heads—and a criminally good walk cycle."

Elliot stayed quiet, grateful the spotlight had shifted.

"So," Keller continued, clinical but not cold, "potentially two overlapping A.D.S. cases. That's actually helpful. Shared onset windows give us more to work with."

"You're… studying this?" Vanessa asked.

"Carefully. And don't worry—anything leaving this room is anonymised. Right now, the phenomenon has the entire medical community baffled. Nobody knows what's causing it."

That was not what Elliot had hoped to hear.

"It's destroying my life," he muttered.

Keller's tone softened, edged with awe. "Actually… probably the opposite."

"What?"

"It's miraculous," Keller said. "We've seen cellular rejuvenation. Tissue regeneration. A patient's scars vanished. Another's MS went into remission. One case is even clearing cancer cells."

"I just want to go back," Elliot whispered, voice cracking.

"Back to what, exactly?"

His fingers dug into his jeans. "Back to being Elliot. Not… Seraphine."

Keller nodded slowly, then turned to Vanessa. "Can you describe Seraphine? What exactly is a Noble burrovian?"

"You want the character sheet?"

"Whatever comes to mind. I need to understand the destination."

Vanessa leaned back, crossing her legs. "She's tall. Toned. Like a runway model crossed with an athlete. Long limbs, narrow waist. Big rabbit ears. Long brown hair, brown eyes. She's got this… serene confidence. Xena vibe, singer's voice."

Keller nodded as they scribbled, then glanced at Elliot. "And you're saying this isn't you?"

His jaw clenched. "No. That's not me. That's just a character."

"But you made her, correct? Chose the look, the voice?"

"I didn't know it would do this," Elliot snapped.

"I believe you," Keller said calmly. "But it's important to distinguish 'what you want right now' from 'what you created then.'"

Elliot had no answer. He had chosen every detail. Crafted Seraphine himself.

Keller tapped the pen. "So, this is you today. And if the estimates hold, in two days you'll be the woman Vanessa just described. And you're asking us to return you to Elliot, yes?"

He nodded. "There must be something—testosterone. It's powerful, masculinising. It has to—"

"I get it." Keller's pen slowed. "But Elliot… this isn't a gender transition. Not medically. This is rewriting your biology. Leporidae ears on a human skull? That's not hormones. That's something else."

Elliot swallowed.

"No dose of testosterone will counter this. It'd be like throwing a cup of water on a forest fire."

They looked at Vanessa, then back at him. "What's happening to you is what millions have wished for, and science has never given. I believe your body may even develop ovaries. A full female reproductive system."

Elliot shut his eyes. He wanted to vanish.

"I'm not saying you have to embrace Seraphine," Keller added gently. "Elliot is still yours to claim. I'll do what I can to help. If testosterone today will help you cope, I'll prescribe it."

"Please," Elliot whispered.

Keller nodded, turning to their computer. The keyboard clacked softly.

Vanessa shifted. "Wait. Something you said…"

"Of course."

"You said—ovaries. A full reproductive system. Are you saying this could… fix infertility?"

Elliot grimaced, looking like he would rather be anywhere else. The idea of himself with a womb, with the capacity for pregnancy—pregnancy—was enough to make his stomach turn. That was not something he had ever thought he would hear about his body.

Keller looked at her carefully. "Maybe?"

Vanessa blinked, breath catching. "I… I was born intersex. The doctors told me I was sterile. I've made peace with that. Mostly." She hesitated. "But if this could change that…"

Keller's expression gentled. "Please don't pin all your hopes on it. But yes. It's possible."

The weight of that "maybe" pressed into her.

Elliot stared at her, stunned. He had never known. She had carried that quiet loss all her life—and never told him.

Why would she? That kind of truth was not given to just anyone. Not unless it feels safe.

And clearly, he had not been that to her. Not until now. Maybe not even yet.

The printer whirred, spitting out a single sheet. Keller handed it to him. "You can fill this at the attached pharmacy. They should have it in stock."

Elliot held the paper in both hands. Too light. Too normal.

It might not help. Maybe only a little. Maybe not at all. But it was something. A thread to grip.

Keller tilted their head. "Hope you're not afraid of needles."

Elliot said nothing. His silence was enough.

"Have either of you ever done self-injection?" Keller asked, warm, matter-of-fact. "If not, I can show you. Easier than you think."

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