Ask Derek if he's okay and what it felt like inside the machine.

Westfield Galleria Food Court, Crescent Bay, at 2:53 PM on Saturday June 14th, 2025.

The figure that steps out of The Identity Blender is definitely not Derek anymore—at least not the Derek you've known since middle school.

She's shorter now, maybe 5'7", but what she's lost in height she's more than made up for in curves. Her body is an exaggerated hourglass—wide hips flaring out from a narrow waist, thick thighs pressed together, and an ass that strains against the tiny denim short-shorts clinging to her like a second skin. But it's her chest that immediately draws every eye: massive, heavy breasts that have to be K-cups at minimum, barely contained in a white crop top that's riding up to show a generous stripe of underboob. The fabric stretches so tight across her tits that you can see the outline of her nipples pressing through.

Her face is stunning—full lips painted a natural pink, high cheekbones, hazel eyes wide with shock. Long, wavy dark brown hair with caramel highlights cascades past her shoulders, framing features that blend Black and Latina heritage into something striking. Her caramel skin seems to glow under the mall's fluorescent lights. A pink thong peeks above the waistband of her shorts, the string riding high on her hips.

"Holy shit," Marcus breathes, his jaw literally hanging open.

The girl—Derek—staggers forward on unsteady legs, looking down at herself with dawning horror and confusion. Her hands fly to her chest, cupping the massive weight of her new breasts, and she lets out a high, feminine gasp. "What the FUCK?" Her voice is higher, breathy, with a slight rasp that's almost sultry. "What the fuck, what the fuck—"

"Dude—" Tyler starts, then catches himself. "I mean—Derek?"

"Yes, it's me!" She—he?—spins to face you all, and the motion makes her tits bounce heavily, drawing all eyes again. "I'm—Jesus Christ, I'm a chick! I've got tits! I've got a—" She reaches down, pressing a hand between her legs, and her eyes go even wider. "I don't have a dick anymore!"

You clear your throat, trying to focus on her face and not the way her body moves. "Are you okay? What did it feel like inside?"

Derek turns those hazel eyes on you, and there's genuine panic swimming in them. "It felt like—fuck, I don't know, man. I pressed the button and everything went white and tingly, like my whole body was vibrating. Then it just... changed me. I could feel everything shifting and I couldn't move, couldn't do anything, just had to stand there while my whole body—" She gestures helplessly at herself, at the ridiculous curves, the heavy breasts, the exposed skin. "How long do I have to be like this?"

Evan steps closer cautiously, like he's approaching a wild animal. "There was text on the screen. It said something about duration being randomized..."

"Duration?" Derek's voice cracks. "What the hell does that mean? How do I change back?"

Marcus is still staring, not even trying to hide it anymore. His eyes trace up and down Derek's transformed body with open hunger. "Bro, you're... you're actually hot as fuck."

"Marcus, what the hell!" Derek snaps, but even as she says it, you notice something strange. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, and the movement makes her thighs rub together. A visible shiver runs through her body, and her nipples—already visible through the thin crop top—harden even more. She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth.

"Everything feels... really sensitive," she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself. But that just pushes her breasts up and together, creating even more cleavage. "Like, really fucking sensitive. Even this shirt feels—"

She trails off, biting her lower lip. You can see a faint flush spreading across her chest and up her neck. Whatever the machine did to Derek, it's clear the changes go beyond just the physical.