Switched in Time
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When I had invented my takeover chips, little microchips that allowed you to take over someone's body, I knew the possibilities were endless. So, naturally, I told my best friend, Owen, about them. We'd been through thick and thin together—all the ups and downs of college life, dormitory pranks, and now, the frontiers of revolutionary technology. Owen, ever the guinea pig, demanded I let him try it out. He had this weird aspiration of owning a more masculine and modular body. His enthusiasm was infectious.
"Hell yeah, man! Lemme see how this works. Get me into the body of a real stud, huh? Like, action-hero type!"
I chuckled at his anticipation. Owen's ideas of gender and attractiveness were as crude as his pull-up techniques.
So, when I went over to his house with the chip, I already had a plan—a plan molded by years of his insufferable tricks. His sister, Amy, was there, sitting on the couch. Her head was down as she texted someone, occasionally giggling.
I snuck behind her and flicked the chip onto her wrist. The click was almost imperceptible, but its effect wasn't. She went limp immediately. I pressed the takeover button hidden in my pocket.
Owen, as Amy, rose slowly, looking around the room bewilderedly. I watched with uncontained laughter as he instinctively grabbed his—now her—new chest.
“Dude, what the friggin’ hell?! I’m a chick!” he exclaimed in his signature, husky voice.
“Not just any chick,” I said, unable to contain my amusement. “Look in the mirror.”
Amy's—no, Owen's—eyes widened as he/she staggered to the mirror over the fireplace. The shock on his face was priceless. “Oh my God, you asshole! You turned me into Amy! I—"
“You did wanna try it out on someone,” I said with a smirk.
“This ain’t what I asked for, man. You gotta change me back. NOW.” His voice strained, trying to adjust to the feminine vocal cords unsuccessfully.
I took a seat on the couch and crossed my arms. “Remember the time you put itching powder in my underwear before my first date with Lisa?”
He scowled at me. “Seriously dude, this is not funny.”
“Oh, but it is. And I’m not changing you back unless you do me a solid,” I declared.
Amy's— Owen's—eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What kinda solid?”
“You’re going on a date with me."
“Wait, what?”
“You’ll pretend to be Amy, like, for real. You've gotta do it convincingly,” I said, leaning in, relishing his discomfort.
“Goddamnit, you’re killing me here. You know I can’t pull off being a girl.”
“I think you'd better figure it out quickly, bro,” I said, my grin widening. “She uses terms like 'adorbs' and has a high-pitched laugh. Mimic it. Flawlessly.”
As the color drained from his—her—face, the gravity of my prank began to truly set in.
“You get this over with, and I promise, you’ll be you again.”
His face softened slightly, but he was still visibly annoyed. “Alright, fine. But after this, we’re even.”
“Deal.” I gave him a playful salute.
By the time the evening rolled around, Owen had reluctantly slipped into one of Amy’s dresses. We met up at a cozy, dimly lit cafe, and I couldn’t contain my laughter upon seeing him awkwardly adjust the hem of his—now her—dress, his movements clumsy and graceless.
“What would you like to order, miss?” the waiter asked when he approached.
“Uh, just a salad, I guess,” Owen muttered, trying a pitchier voice.
“That’s adorbs!” I mimicked, stifling a laugh. “Just a salad for the lady.”
Owen sent me a sharp, daggery glance but attempted to soften it into a tentative smile for the waiter. As he did his best—albeit terrible—impression of his sister throughout our date, I had to admit some part of me marveled at his desperation and determination.
Maybe there's more to friendship than just shared fun and pranks. Maybe it's about pushing boundaries, testing trust, and keeping each other grounded—no matter how entangled our wires get in the process.
As Owen fumbled through the night, I realized it wouldn’t be long before I’d have to switch him back. But for now, I savored the look of pure mortification on his face, knowing that in this grandiose prank war, we were, indeed, finally even.
This story was generated by user zach3 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write a story with dialogue where When I had invented my takeover chips which were little microchips that allowed you to takeover someone’s body, my friend demanded I let him try it out. He told me he wanted a more masculine and modular body. But I decided to prank him. I went to his house and found his sister sitting there. She was on her phone texting someone with a little giggle. I tossed the chip and it connected to her wrist. She went limp immediately. Soon I pressed the takeover button and you were in her body. The first thing you did was grope your new chest. You still only thought you were some random lady you have no clue you are your sister yet. His sister is blonde and is short with a busty set of Double D knockers. He looks in the mirror and freaks out when he sees who he actually is. He wants me to swap him back but I might keep him like this for a while. After all the pranks he has committed on me I think he owes me. I told him I'd change him back if he pretended to be her and go on a date with me. The best part was he had to do his best impression of his sister during the date I wanted him to act like her. Give my friend a dude accent in the story.
Response: When I had invented my takeover chips, little microchips that allowed you to take over someone's body, I knew the possibilities were endless. So, naturally, I told my best friend, Owen, about them. We'd been through thick and thin together—all the ups and downs of college life, dormitory pranks, and now, the frontiers of revolutionary technology. Owen, ever the guinea pig, demanded I let him try it out. He had this weird aspiration of owning a more masculine and modular body. His enthusiasm was infectious. "Hell yeah, man! Lemme see how this works. Get me into the body of a real stud, huh? Like, action-hero type!" I chuckled at his anticipation. Owen's ideas of gender and attractiveness were as crude as his pull-up techniques. So, when I went over to his house with the chip, I already had a plan—a plan molded by years of his insufferable tricks. His sister, Amy, was there, sitting on the couch. Her head was down as she texted someone, occasionally giggling. I snuck behind her and flicked the chip onto her wrist. The click was almost imperceptible, but its effect wasn't. She went limp immediately. I pressed the takeover button hidden in my pocket. Owen, as Amy, rose slowly, looking around the room bewilderedly. I watched with uncontained laughter as he instinctively grabbed his—now her—new chest. “Dude, what the friggin’ hell?! I’m a chick!” he exclaimed in his signature, husky voice. “Not just any chick,” I said, unable to contain my amusement. “Look in the mirror.” Amy's—no, Owen's—eyes widened as he/she staggered to the mirror over the fireplace. The shock on his face was priceless. “Oh my God, you asshole! You turned me into Amy! I—" “You did wanna try it out on someone,” I said with a smirk. “This ain’t what I asked for, man. You gotta change me back. NOW.” His voice strained, trying to adjust to the feminine vocal cords unsuccessfully. I took a seat on the couch and crossed my arms. “Remember the time you put itching powder in my underwear before my first date with Lisa?” He scowled at me. “Seriously dude, this is not funny.” “Oh, but it is. And I’m not changing you back unless you do me a solid,” I declared. Amy's— Owen's—eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What kinda solid?” “You’re going on a date with me." “Wait, what?” “You’ll pretend to be Amy, like, for real. You've gotta do it convincingly,” I said, leaning in, relishing his discomfort. “Goddamnit, you’re killing me here. You know I can’t pull off being a girl.” “I think you'd better figure it out quickly, bro,” I said, my grin widening. “She uses terms like 'adorbs' and has a high-pitched laugh. Mimic it. Flawlessly.” As the color drained from his—her—face, the gravity of my prank began to truly set in. “You get this over with, and I promise, you’ll be you again.” His face softened slightly, but he was still visibly annoyed. “Alright, fine. But after this, we’re even.” “Deal.” I gave him a playful salute. By the time the evening rolled around, Owen had reluctantly slipped into one of Amy’s dresses. We met up at a cozy, dimly lit cafe, and I couldn’t contain my laughter upon seeing him awkwardly adjust the hem of his—now her—dress, his movements clumsy and graceless. “What would you like to order, miss?” the waiter asked when he approached. “Uh, just a salad, I guess,” Owen muttered, trying a pitchier voice. “That’s adorbs!” I mimicked, stifling a laugh. “Just a salad for the lady.” Owen sent me a sharp, daggery glance but attempted to soften it into a tentative smile for the waiter. As he did his best—albeit terrible—impression of his sister throughout our date, I had to admit some part of me marveled at his desperation and determination. Maybe there's more to friendship than just shared fun and pranks. Maybe it's about pushing boundaries, testing trust, and keeping each other grounded—no matter how entangled our wires get in the process. As Owen fumbled through the night, I realized it wouldn’t be long before I’d have to switch him back. But for now, I savored the look of pure mortification on his face, knowing that in this grandiose prank war, we were, indeed, finally even.
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