He turns her into a mannequin

Target believes she is the lingerie store’s flagship lingerie mannequin. She poses in the front window, expression frozen, body fully exposed in store-branded lingerie. Her purpose is to attract attention and show off what a perfect body looks like. She is no longer aware she ever had a son. Everyone believes she’s just part of the store display. Her son forgets her existence completely as well.

He hit Enter.

The change was instant.

She stopped walking mid-stride, just outside the store entrance, like someone had yanked her soul out through her heels. Her mouth closed. Her posture stiffened. Her eyes lost their edge.

Then, without a word, she turned.

And walked through the open doors of ‘Silhouette Luxe’ like she’d belonged there her whole life.

Noah stopped a few feet away, heart thudding in his chest.

He watched as the woman, the angry, pushy, perfect-breasted mother climbed onto an empty front display platform beside the mannequins, turned toward the glass, and struck a pose.

One hand on her hip. One leg bent. Chest forward.

Her clothes began to shift, not falling away, not vanishing but reforming. Fabric rippled, seams unraveling and reweaving, reshaping into black lace and mesh. Her new outfit left nothing to the imagination: sheer lace bra, open cup. A garter belt clung to her hips. Her heels reformed too from modest and comfortable to glossy and sexy.

She froze.

Perfect. Unmoving. Sexual in a way no mannequin had any right to be.

Her face held no trace of judgment now, just a vacant half-smile, lips slightly parted, eyes glassy and meaningless.

A thin, transparent tag dangled from her fingertips:

"DISPLAY ONLY — Size: 34D / 26 / 36"

She wasn’t just posing, she was offering herself, frozen mid-invitation. The way her hips tilted forward, the slight arch in her back, the parted lips. It was artful, obscene, and so sexy it made Noah hard.

And yet, somehow, it felt natural. Like she’d always been there.

Her son, no longer having any meaningful memories of her, took a few casual steps toward the display. No hesitation. No flicker of recognition.

He leaned in, inspecting her face first, then slowly let his eyes drift down.

One hand raised, he reached out for her, not tentative or nervous, just curious.

His fingers brushed her stomach. Then traced up the mesh of her bra.

And with the kind of casual boldness that only comes from total ignorance, he pulled the cup down.

Her breast spilled out, heavy, perfect, soft in a way no plastic could replicate.

He let out a low, impressed whistle.

“Damn. Realistic.”

Then, a voice behind him snapped sharp.

“Hey! Hands off the displays, please.”

It was a salesgirl working at the store, clipboard in hand, unimpressed look in her eyes. She didn’t even look at the mannequin. Just at him.

The boy jumped slightly, embarrassed, and shoved the boob back into place before muttering an apology and slinking away.

The salesgirl didn’t glance at the model again.

Didn’t notice the way the nipples had stiffened slightly.

Didn’t care.

She just walked on.

And the mannequin stayed exactly where she was.

Exposed. Displayed. Oblivious.

Still smiling.

Just like that. It really was that easy?

Noah didn’t move. He didn’t speak.

He just stared at her. At it.

At the display piece in the window. Built to attract. To arouse. To be looked at.

No history. No family. No guilt.

Just one more beautiful lie in a storefront full of them.

He took a breath, slow and shaky.

This thing worked. He had to test it more, see what else was possible.

Noah stepped inside the lingerie store.

Cool air. Soft music. Racks of lace and silk.

He wandered through the aisles slowly, feigning interest in the merchandise. He wasn’t here for bras. He wanted some good targets.

Soon enough he spotted them in the back near the fitting rooms.

Two women.

At first glance, cute, normal, maybe a little try-hard. The mom had that yoga-bodied suburban wife thing going. Tight black leggings, loose pastel hoodie, hair in a loose bun like she was about to hit Pilates but had somehow landed in a lingerie shop instead. Her face was stiff, judgmental, lips pursed like she couldn’t believe she’d been dragged into a place like this.

Her daughter who seemed in her early twenties, was the type of girl who got away with everything. Blonde, tan, too pretty to take seriously, sipping something pink through a straw and laughing with someone over the phone. Also in yoga pants. Her hoodie was cropped to show off her midriff, but she probably still called it “casual.”

They looked identical from the waist down, like a matched set. A couple of perfect bubble butts.

Noah stared.

The mom shook her head, whispering harshly as she glanced around.

“I can’t believe you brought me in here. This place is disgusting.”

The girl rolled her eyes.

“Relax, Mom. God, you’re such a prude. You used to be hot, remember?”

The backhanded compliment softened the mother’s worries as she gave her daughter a teasing look.

They both laughed. It was the kind of sound that made Noah’s skin crawl.

Too fake. Too performative. Like a family trying to convince the world they were best friends. It disgusted him.

He pulled out the phone again.

The camera locked on both of their bodies, soft outlines forming around each. Then, just beneath each outline, a small floating tag appeared:

CLARISSA (39)

HAILEY (20)

He realised the app was showing him their names since he had selected multiple people in the frame so he could enter the prompt properly.

Right on cue, the prompt box popped open underneath.

Define new reality for selected targets: