Change your best friend

The remote felt heavy in Harry’s hand, a solid block of potential carved from black acrylic and studded with tiny, glowing LEDs. A single, red power button pulsed like a heartbeat. On his laptop screen, lines of code scrolled past, the final synchronisation complete. The ‘Reality Editor’ was online.

Harry Chen, a 22-year-old electrical engineering graduate from Auckland, ran a hand through his messy black hair. His small apartment was a testament to months of obsessive work: circuit boards and 3D-printed parts littered his desk, empty energy drink cans formed a precarious tower on the floor. He’d used every resource he had, open-source AI models, quantum theory forums, even a dodgy dark web tutorial, to build this. A universal remote that didn’t change channels. It changed… everything.

He navigated the rudimentary menu on the small OLED screen.

>MIND ALTERATION: [Control Level] [Memory Edit] [Fetish Shift]

>BODY CHANGE: [Bodypart Swap] [Size/Proportion Adjust] [Total Rebuild]

A lonely ache echoed in his chest as he scrolled. He had no girlfriend. His dating app profiles went nowhere. His type was specific, Asian women, but his confidence was not. The remote was a solution born of desperation and genius.

A sharp buzz from his phone broke his focus.

A text from Hayley: Hey dumbass, you better not be bailing on me. See you at Osteria in 30. Don’t be late. X

Shit. Dinner. He’d almost forgotten. Hayley Nguyen, his best friend for the past four years. The one constant in his life. He looked at the remote, then back at his empty apartment. An idea, reckless and thrilling, sparked. He slipped the remote into his jacket pocket. Why not bring it along for a test run?

Osteria was all warm lighting and the gentle clatter of cutlery. Hayley was already there, saving them a table. She waved him over, a wide, familiar grin on her face. She was dressed casually in a navy blouse and jeans, her long brown hair not styled in any particular way.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week,” she said by way of greeting, nudging his shoulder as he slid in opposite her.

“You try bending reality to your will and see how you look,” he shot back, the truth hiding in plain sight as a joke.

Hayley was 22, a Vietnamese immigrant who’d moved to New Zealand for university. She was incredibly athletic, a dedicated rock climber and runner, but her looks were… unassuming. At 5’3”, with a lean, wiry frame, her hours at the gym had given her stamina, not curves. She had a B-cup chest and, as she often lamented, “no real ass to speak of.” Her face was pretty in an honest, open way, but not the kind that turned heads across a crowded bar. To Harry, she was just Hayley. His best mate.

They ordered, falling into their usual easy rhythm, talking about work, their annoying bosses, and a new movie they both wanted to see. But as the main courses arrived, a shadow crossed Hayley’s face.

“So,” Harry said, scooping up a forkful of pasta. “How’s your visa situation going?”

Hayley sighed, pushing a piece of broccoli around her plate. “Not great. I’ve got a year left. No one wants to sponsor a junior marketing assistant. The immigration rules are a nightmare.” She **** a smile. “My mum says my only option is to find a nice Kiwi boy to marry.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

Hayley’s eyes met his, a playful glint returning. “What about you? You’re a nice Kiwi boy. You wanna get hitched? We could do it for the papers. Then I could stay here. It’d be a laugh.”

She was joking. Of course she was joking. Their friendship had always been fiercely, resolutely platonic. They’d been each other’s wingmen, confidantes, and emergency contacts. The idea was absurd.

But it wasn’t absurd to the remote burning a hole in Harry’s pocket.

The idea didn’t just spark; it ignited. A full-blown, terrifying, exhilarating plan. He could help her. He could… change her. He could make her the perfect woman for him. The perfect wife. She’d get to stay. He’d get the girl. And she'd be none the wiser. It was a win-win.

His heart hammered against his ribs. This was it. The first real test.

“Be right back,” he mumbled, his throat dry. “Need the loo.”

He stood up, his legs feeling unsteady. As he passed behind Hayley’s chair, he fumbled the remote from his pocket. His thumb found the power button. The screen glowed. As he began to ponder how far he would take this.