Reality Remote - Zane's

Zane sat hunched over his desk, the dim glow of his monitor casting long shadows across the cluttered room. Empty ramen cups, energy drink cans, and scattered notes littered the floor. His dark circles were deeper than ever—sleep had been a luxury he couldn’t afford for weeks. Not since she ruined everything.

Anna.

His jaw clenched at the thought of her. He’d gotten her the damn job at VirtuTech—pulled strings, vouched for her, even trained her himself. And how did she repay him? False accusations. A whispered lie to HR about "inappropriate conduct," and just like that, his career was ash. No proof, no investigation, just her word against his. The company had folded instantly, terrified of bad PR. They cut him loose with a bullshit severance and a warning to "keep things quiet."

Fuck them.

His fingers flew across the keyboard, lines of code flickering on the screen. The Reality Remote—his obsession for the past month—was nearly complete. He’d scoured dark web forums, used AI, read research papers, even tapped into experimental quantum physics databases. Most of it was garbage, but buried in the noise were fragments of something real. A way to manipulate reality itself, not through brute ****, but through subtle, surgical adjustments. Like rewriting the code of the universe.

The device itself was unassuming—a sleek black remote with a touchscreen interface, linked to a neural network he’d trained on behavioural patterns, physical alterations, and psychological triggers. It wasn’t magic. It was science. And it was almost ready.

A notification pinged. His stomach twisted as he saw the source—Anna’s Instagram. A new story post.

There she was, grinning in some upscale cocktail bar, her arm slung around her sister, Alena. Both of them flawless, laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. Like they hadn’t destroyed his.

"Celebrating my promotion! #Blessed #NewBeginnings"

Zane's grip on the remote tightened. Promotion. Of course. She'd taken his job, his reputation, and now she was thriving.

He zoomed in on the photo. Anna's sharp features, that smug smirk, the way she tilted her head like she was untouchable. Beside her, Alena—taller, curvier, but with the same cold eyes. The two of them had always been a unit. Anna the manipulative schemer, Alena her partner in crime, whispering in her ear, backing her plays.

The remote hummed in his palm, warm and heavy with potential.

Zane leaned back in his chair, the dim light of his apartment flickering against the walls. His reflection in the darkened monitor stared back at him—hollow-eyed, unshaven, a man pushed to the edge.

What do I do with this?

He could erase Anna’s victory. Rewind her promotion, make her forget she ever had it. He could twist her ambition into something ugly—turn her into a grovelling mess, **** for validation. Or he could go further. Change her. Not just her mind, but her body. Make her into something she’d never wanted to be. Something less.

Alena, too. She’d stood by Anna, egged her on. Maybe she deserved the same treatment. Or worse.

His thumb hovered over the screen.

The possibilities were endless.

But **** wasn’t something to rush. It needed precision. Patience.

He set the remote down on the desk, watching as its interface pulsed softly, waiting for his command.

I’ll think about it.

And for the first time in weeks, Zane smiled.