McMillan Tech Industries Lake Point Branch, basement lab complex, main lab
Ryan and Samantha heard the groaning, and turned to see Jeffries regaining consciousness. Their friend and coworker (transformed into a white-haired mad scientist by the Random Gun) opened his eyes, and attempted to move, only to discover that he was tied up with duct tape that restricted his arm and leg movement.
"Duct tape." Jeffries said. "Cute, Samantha. Real cute."
"It was the first restraint I could find." Samantha said. "It'll do for now."
"So, what are you going to do now?" Jeffries asked. "It's already too late. Those batches probably made it to the Pittsburgh branch even if the Chamber overloaded."
"Actually, it's worse than that." Samantha said. "Take a look at the news."
She pointed to the laptops that were showing news channels. The news reports were all detailing mysterious transformations. They were happening in every country in the world. All over the United States, in Australia, in Canada, in many European and Eastern nations. All caused by mysterious ray guns that had somehow instantly replaced all conventional guns of any size.
"So far, the source behind these mysterious events has yet to be determined." one news anchor was saying. "But already, a little over an hour after the event, speculation is running rampant. Both scientists and religious authorities are preparing statements..."
Ryan turned down the volume. "You get the idea. The Transformation Guns are everywhere now."
"And now that people are changing each other all over the world," Samantha said. "We need those Restoration Guns more than ever."
Ryan looked Jeffries in the eye. "Will you please tell us the combination to your storage locker?"
At this, Jeffries began laughing. "Hahaha ha! This is perfect! It's not what I was planning, but this might be even better!"
"What are you talking about?" Ryan demanded.
"This is so much better than just threatening to leave McMillan and the other higher-ups in their transformed states if they didn't agree to give us tech geeks our fair share of MTI's profits." Jeffries replied. "Now that people are being changed by Transformation Guns all over, EVERYONE will be coming to us, because we have the only Restoration Guns in the world! They'll part with a lot of money to be back to their normal selves."
"Finally, FINALLY we will be the ones with the true power and influence." Jeffries continued. "McMillan and the rest will serve us instead of us serving them. And the whole world will be running to our door. Look, you're both my friends, so I want you to be in on it. I'll gladly share the wealth with you, and with Mycroft and Rachel if they want in on this."
"You can't be serious!" Samantha said. "You expect us to go along with this?"
"Why not?" Jeffries replied. "Think about it. We'll make so much money we'll be richer than Mr. McMillan, Nolan Mousse, and all the other tech company owners put together! Finally, the true tech geeks will take over and those who exploit us will no longer be getting rich off the fruits of our labor! This is our time now!"
"But this isn't right!" Samantha protested. "We shouldn't make money off of others' suffering like this."
"Why not?" Jeffries said. "The people that run this world have been doing it for centuries. Now it's our turn."
"The Random Gun has made you delusional." Ryan said. "There's no way we're going to force people to pay to be changed back to normal."
"It's your loss." Jeffries replied.
"Jeffries, I'm asking you as a friend. Will you please give us the combination to your storage locker?" Ryan asked. "There are already plenty of people upstairs who likely need our help."
"No." Jeffries said.
Ryan sighed. He turned to Samantha. They had already discussed what to do if Jeffries refused to cooperate after he woke up. Neither of them wanted to do this. Especially Ryan, who had been friends with Jeffries prior to their employment at McMillan Tech Industries, when they had spent four years together at Lake Point University.
But their hand had been forced. There were eleven Restoration Guns locked up in Jeffries' locker, and they needed the combination. Asking nicely or reasonably had failed.
Ryan took a look at the Transformation Guns that were lying on the floor, or in boxes nearby. "All right, Jeffries. Four batches of the Transformation Guns were sent through the teleporter. That leaves eight of each type of Transformation Gun here in this lab complex."
"And nine Random Guns." Samantha added. "I took one from the Teleportation Chamber just before you activated it the last time."
Ryan went on. "We could use any one of them on you, you know. Which one to use, I wonder? Maybe we think you're talking too much, and the Mime Gun would be good."
Ryan then gave what he hoped looked like a sadistic smile. "Or maybe the Nerd Gun? Or perhaps the Fat Gun? How would you like to be an obese joke?"
Jeffries was silent. Ryan went on.
"But that's not what scares you. I know because you told me so, back before you became what you are now. I know you've changed in personality, but I'm sure the Transformation Gun you're most afraid of is the Bimbo Gun."
"You treasure your intelligence more than anything." Ryan went on. "The very idea that you could be zapped and instantly turn into a shallow idiot who barely understands how rain works? THAT is what keeps you up at night. That is why you were so glad the Transformation Guns weren't real, until they were."
"You wouldn't!" Jeffries protested. "You're my friend!"
"I know." Ryan replied. "But as the saying goes, desperate times call for desperate measures. If you're not going to cooperate..."
"There's also the Random Gun." Samantha said. "I know it was your idea in the first place, but that one scares you too."
Ryan and Samantha looked intently at the Transformation Guns nearby, while keeping an eye on Jeffries.
"So?" said Ryan. "Are you going to risk losing the very thing that defines you? Or are you willing to listen to reason after all?"
McMillan Tech Industries Lake Point Branch, Marketing Department hallway
Jerri, the punk rock woman roamed the halls of McMillan Tech Industries. Now she was in the Marketing department. She had seen a secretary and a security guard kissing each other. Both of them were dressed in scant, sexy attire, and she knew both of them had been affected by one of the Transformation Guns her former self had created.
Not that Jerri cared any more. She left them to their fate. Maybe someone would come along and counter the Slut Gun's effects by zapping them with the Prude Gun, or maybe the Restoration Guns would be freed from Jeffries' locker downstairs. It wasn't her problem.
Nor were the problems of a few marketeers who'd been turned to Clowns by the Clown Gun her problem. Or those who were now Goths, or Emo.
Jerri even saw Rachel McLewis briefly. Rachel was still her normal mousy self, but she was being held hostage by Martin Stragey, one of the marketing executives. He was dragging her down the hall threatening her with what Jerri recognized as a Random Gun.
Jerri didn't know why Stragey was kidnapping Rachel, but she decided not to interfere. What had Rachel done for HER lately? Rachel had only known Jerri's previous self, Dr. Chance, and hadn't liked him much at all. Not that Jerri blamed her, as she couldn't stand her past self either.
But the real clincher was that Stragey had the Random Gun, the one from the batch Jeffries had teleported to the above-ground levels of MTI. Jerri liked who and what she was now, and she wasn't going to risk being changed into some random other type of person just to help someone who wasn't likely to help her in her rebellion against Mr. McMillan.
Instead, Jerri charged down the hall, knocking over a few potted plants and spraying "McMillan sucks!" on the wall. Many people got out of her way, not wanting to deal with her.
But then came another marketing executive she recognized. It was Darby Adaway, blocking the hall ahead and aiming a Transformation Gun right at her. He charged at Jerri and aimed the Transformation Gun at her. From this angle, Jerri couldn't see the label so she didn't know which Transformation Gun it was.
