What if he tried to “zap” something small?

Jon stood frozen in the lab, staring at the door Elena had just walked through.

His fingers still tingled.

The more he thought about it, the more a memory surfaced—one of those flippant thoughts, easy to dismiss. When he’d brushed against her a moment ago, he’d noticed her frame. He’d barely registered the words, but they’d floated across his mind:

Huh… she’d look better with a bit more shape.

Nothing lewd. Nothing loud.

But now her chest had shape. Her hips had motion.

Coincidence?

He glanced down at his hand. Turned it over. Flexed his fingers.

“I need to rule out hallucination,” he muttered.

His gaze scanned the lab until it landed on the minifridge by the wall. Inside, he knew, were three warm sodas, none of them worth drinking. One in particular—Volt Maxx—was his least favorite, the flavor of synthetic citrus and regret.

He opened the fridge, pulled out the can, and stared at it.

Volt Maxx. Garish neon green label. Ridged edges. Screw-top cap that never quite closed.

He set it on the stainless steel counter.

“Alright,” he murmured. “One variable. One touch. One thought.”

He placed a hand on the can’s top, felt the aluminum bite coolly into his skin.

He closed his eyes.

Wish this were a Cherry Nova instead. Classic red label, sleek shape, real cola bite.

He opened his eyes.

Crack.

A faint spark danced from his palm to the can.

And then—shift.

He saw it happen.

The green label bled red like water spreading across ink. The ridged top smoothed out. The cylindrical body tightened just slightly. The hiss of carbonation came unbidden, a sound that hadn’t existed before but now echoed like it always had.

He pulled his hand away.

Cherry Nova. Bold red with a stylized starburst logo. Chilled. Beaded with condensation that hadn’t been there before.

Jon took a slow, deliberate step back.

“That… that’s impossible.”

He grabbed the can, twisted it—smooth cap. Cold metal. A completely different soda. He popped it open, heart pounding, and took a sip.

Sharp fizz. Cola tang. That hint of cherry syrup.

Definitely not Volt Maxx.

The lab stayed silent around him, as if waiting for him to react.

Jon set the can down and slowly exhaled.

“This is real.”

The reality of it hit him harder than the carbonation—he could change things with a thought and a touch.

No remote. No command phrases. No weird programming. The RAC had discharged into him. Whatever field had been pulsing in that experiment, it had rewritten its interface.

He wasn’t just carrying the tech.

He was the tech.

And suddenly, possibilities unfolded like a fan.

Objects first—sure. A drink. A tool. A keycard. Could he alter digital info? Paperwork? Could he hold a dollar bill and turn it into a twenty?

But people…

He looked toward the door Elena had gone through. His heart raced with the memory of that soft crack and the subtle changes to her figure.

He hadn’t meant to. But it had happened.

What if he did mean it?

Jon blinked. The thought wasn’t lecherous—yet. It was curious. Powerful.

What are the limits?

He turned his hand over once again, slowly. Flexed his fingers like a pianist warming up.

He wasn’t sure where this would go.

But he knew he wouldn’t stop at soda.