Seth will call a Cab

Seth glanced at the clock on his new wall-mounted TV—forty minutes until he needed to head out. Plenty of time to clean up. He stripped off his rumpled clothes from the day, tossing them into the hamper that the remote had upgraded into a sleek bamboo bin, and stepped into the shower. Hot water cascaded from the rainfall head he'd just manifested, steam filling the bathroom as he scrubbed away the sweat and stickiness, his muscles loosening under the spray.

Seth stepped out of the shower, droplets clinging to his skin as he grabbed the towel from the rack, rubbing it vigorously over his arms and chest, the rough fabric scraping lightly against his muscles. He paused in front of the vanity mirror, its wide frame reflecting every detail back at him—his wet hair sticking up in spikes, water tracing paths down his neck and over his collarbone, his body lean from sporadic gym visits but nothing special. Steam fogged the edges of the glass, but he wiped a section clear with his forearm, leaning in closer.

The upgraded bathroom lights cast a soft halo around him, highlighting the faint stubble on his jaw and the way his shoulders rolled as he dried his back. He flexed his arms once, watching the biceps tense and release, a small smirk forming—he looked the same, ordinary Seth, yet the polished tiles under his feet and the sleek fixtures around him sharpened his posture, straightened his spine without effort.

The closet door hung open across the room, clothes spilling out in disorganized piles—faded tees stacked haphazardly on shelves, jeans folded roughly or draped over hangers, nothing that screamed date-ready. He crossed the floor, bare feet padding on the new hardwood, and rummaged through until his fingers brushed a plain button-up shirt, its white cotton limp and wrinkled from neglect. He held it up, shaking it out, the fabric flapping softly in the air.

The remote sat on the dresser nearby; he snatched it up, pointing it directly at the shirt. In his mind, the command formed clear: turn this into a tailored dress shirt from high-quality cotton, slim fit in dark blue, complete the look with fitted chinos and leather loafers. He pressed the button.

A subtle shimmer rippled through the air, the shirt's threads pulling taut one by one, colour deepening from white to a rich navy as the material thickened into smooth, breathable cotton. The collar stiffened into crisp points, buttons shifting from plastic to gleaming metal that caught the light, sleeves shortening just right to expose his wrists with precise cuffs. Nearby jeans twisted on their hanger, denim fading into khaki twill, seams aligning into sharp creases down the legs, the fit narrowing at the thighs and calves.

On the floor, his old sneakers bulged and reshaped, rubber soles elevating into polished leather uppers with intricate stitching along the sides, tongues folding neatly under fresh laces.

He buttoned the shirt starting from the bottom, each metal clasp sliding through its hole with a satisfying click, the fabric lying flat against his torso without a single pull or gap. The chinos went on next; he stepped into them, pulling them up over his hips, the waistband sitting snug but comfortable, no need for a belt as the sharp crease ran straight down to his ankles.

The loafers waited by the bed—he slid his feet in, leather conforming instantly to his arches, the soles cushioned and broken-in from the first step, no blisters or stiffness to break through. He turned side to side in the mirror, tugging at the shirt cuffs, noting how the dark blue brought out his eyes, the slim cut accentuating his frame without restricting movement.

From the cabinet under the sink, he pulled out the deodorant—its label now sleek and upscale, a brand he'd seen in ads but never bought. He twisted off the cap, rolling the stick under each arm, the fresh woody scent rising immediately, notes of cedar and sandalwood mixing with his clean skin, lingering just enough to catch on a breeze. He set it down, running both hands through his damp hair, fingers combing strands back from his forehead, tousling the top for a casual mess that fell just right. Satisfied, he pocketed his phone and headed to the living room, opening the cab app to summon a ride, the screen confirming arrival in minutes.

Seth's phone buzzed sharply against his palm, the screen flashing with the cab app's alert—driver pulling up in five. He shoved it into his pocket, snatched his keys off the kitchen counter, and twisted the lock with a satisfying snap. One quick tug on the handle confirmed it held tight.

Down the stairs he went, steps light and easy, the new loafers absorbing every impact, their soles gliding over the rough concrete without a single scrape or echo.

At the bottom, he shouldered through the lobby door, the cool evening rush hitting him full ****—breezes nipping at his exposed skin, sending a shiver along his neck while streetlights hummed awake overhead, their orange halos piercing the gathering dusk. Shadows crept longer from the curbside cars, the sidewalk dimming under the fading sky.

The cab arrived with a grind of tires on gravel, its yellow paint chipped and faded, engine coughing unevenly as exhaust billowed in lazy clouds. The passenger door popped open with a rusty groan, hinges protesting the motion.

In the driver's seat hunched a man built like a sack of complaints—his massive gut wedged tight against the wheel, folds of skin spilling over his belt, his face a map of permanent scowl lines etched deep under a cap slick with grease. A nose that dominated his features, red and swollen, sat above patchy whiskers that failed to hide sallow cheeks, and his eyes—flat, lifeless orbs sunk into sockets worn by too many graveyard shifts—barely flicked toward the mirror.

"You Seth? Hop in," he muttered, the words dragging out flat and disinterested, his head staying fixed forward as Seth climbed into the back, the vinyl seat cracking under his weight, sticky in spots from god-knows-what.

With a jolt, the cab surged ahead, merging roughly into the stream of cars, the inside reeking of old smoke that clung to the upholstery, mingled with the greasy remnants of discarded wrappers littering the floorboards. Seth rattled off the address, settling back as buildings whipped past, but his fingers grazed the remote in his pocket once more. The driver's grumbles started low—curses at a slow light, a pointless honk at an empty lane—his attitude scraping like nails on chalkboard, building irritation with every red signal.

What if I just...

The idea sparked again, his hand wrapping tighter around the device, pulse quickening as he fixed on the back of the guy's head, the rolls of neck fat shifting with each turn. Turn him upbeat, attractive, or wipe him clean?

Power thrummed through the remote, options racing in his mind—risks of chaos, thrills of control—while the city lights streaked by the debate stretching out, unresolved, all the way to the curb where the cab finally screeched to a halt.