Becoming Anya free porn video

Becoming Anya by Pol Roger An Elrod W's Morphic Adaptation Unit (MAU) Universe story One should always keep one's home wireless network secure, especially with alien devices around! The plain silvery metal box sat among the other bric-a-brac on the crowded table just inside the Portobello Road antiques shop. It was not much bigger than a shoebox, although squarer in shape. Harry Pringle was twenty-nine, rich, brash and very good at his job. He was fairly tall and thick set and lately had been developing a noticeable paunch, though most people would probably still consider him moderately good-looking. A currency trader in the City, he lived in a newly renovated late Victorian terrace in nearby Notting Hill. He often came down the Portobello Road to check out the antiques shops and market stalls, even though, he complained, one seldom found a bargain there anymore. Too many tourists. He gazed at the box curiously. It intrigued him that there seemed to be no obvious means of opening it. "Afternoon, mate. So what's this, then?" he asked the shopkeeper, who had drifted over to where he was standing. "Ah, very interesting piece, that one, sir. Just came in this morning. Humidor, we reckon. Probably not that old, I'm afraid, but beautifully made. And light as a feather. Here, feel the weight. Lovely, isn't it?" He took it from the shopkeeper. It did indeed seem much lighter than its size and metal appearance suggested. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, marvelling at how robust yet lightweight the box felt. "How's it open, then?" he asked. "Ah, now that's the funny thing. We haven't figured it out yet. There'll be a clever catch or something somewhere. Always is. Maybe a spot you press or squeeze. It's clearly not damaged, so it's just a matter of working it out. A well looked-after piece, that. Not a scratch on it." "So how d'ye know it's a humidor, then?" he asked. "To be honest, it's a bit of a guess. But we're fairly sure. One gets an eye for these things, you know." "What would you say it was made of, then? It seems too light to be silver," Harry said. "No, definitely not silver. It's some new alloy or other. That's why we know it can't be that old. It's much too shiny for titanium, and remarkably hard. Last a lifetime, sir. That's a very special item, that is. Rare workmanship, and I've seen a lot, sir, I can tell you." "What are you asking?" said Harry. He had already decided he would get it. A humidor was just the thing that would impress some of the colleagues and business contacts he occasionally had round for drinks or for dinner. "Well, sir, it's one of a kind. A very special piece, that is. And in mint condition, as you see. I couldn't take less than two hundred pounds." "Two hundred quid!" gasped Harry. Actually he was prepared to pay a lot more. "You don't even know how it opens!" "Ah, yes, sir. But that's why we're offering it so cheap. Come back tomorrow when we've cracked the secret and it'll be at least two hundred and fifty." Harry frowned. "I'll give you a hundred and fifty," he told the stall keeper. "I'm sorry, sir," the man answered smiling, "as I just said, we'll get a lot more for it after we work out how to get it open. And it won't take us long. We're hardly inexperienced with these items, I assure you." "Then why sell it at a two hundred at all? Why not just wait till you've got it open?" Harry said, trying to find some way to beat the man down. It did seem a bit fishy that he would take fifty less than he thought he could get the next day. "Well, it's not really the sort of thing we usually stock, frankly. Too modern. Makes the place look like a white elephant stall. Truth to tell, I only bought it off the bloke who brought it in this morning because I was a bit intrigued by the writing on the sides, if that's what it is. I'm beginning to wonder, because no one round here recognises it. I think it might just be decoration. Anyway, as you seem to like it I'm willing to let it go today for a bargain." Harry shrugged his shoulders. "All right then, two hundred pounds. But if I can't get it open I'm bringing it back!" "Very good, sir, a full refund if you can't open it, provided it's undamaged. Then we can sell it back to you for two hundred and fifty once we've found the mechanism," he added smiling. "A pleasure doing business with you, sir. I'm sure you'll keep your cigars in wonderful condition with this." The shopkeeper began to wrap the box in tissue paper. ____________________ But the antiques dealer was wrong. The box wasn't a humidor. In fact it was an alien artefact, a free demonstration model Morphic Adaptation Unit (MAU) from the Fwirthian Glamafi Company, part of a lost cargo which, along with scores of others just like it, had been drifting in space for hundreds of years after being accidentally jettisoned by a damaged intergalactic freight ship and at last survived entry into earth's atmosphere. ____________________ Harry placed the box on the hall table before going into the kitchen to get a beer, which he drank in the sitting room, leaning back on the sofa with his laptop beside him checking his e-mails and doing a bit of work. He was wondering whether he might give Fiona a call to see if she fancied a curry. Fiona wasn't exactly his girlfriend, but they sometimes hung out together, and occasionally stayed the night at one another's places. They were both far too interested in their careers to want anything more from each other. He had definitely decided to give Fiona a call when he suddenly remembered the 'humidor'. Putting the laptop on the coffee table he picked up the box and unwrapped it as he carried it into the sitting room, marvelling again at how light, yet strong it seemed. He began to search for some kind of catch or button, or pressure point that would let the lid open, but he was getting nowhere. Actually it was far from clear that there even was a lid. He began to examine the writing on the sides. It didn't look like any writing he had ever seen before, but he was still pretty sure it was indeed writing. "Probably some sort of Chinese," he thought. "Maybe it's Korean or Vietnamese. Could be Cambodian, or Arabic." He shrugged his shoulders. "No, too angular." He brushed his fingers absently over the strange letters. At once the letters began to glow with a dull green light, and the box begun to emit a soft low hum, barely detectable if one weren't holding it. "That's bloody odd!" Harry muttered. He placed the box on the coffee table. Immediately it began to expand. It grew until its edge was right up against his computer, then it stopped. "That was unexpected," Harry said, regarding the box cautiously. The sudden inexplicable increase in size had given him a bit of a shock. He gave the box a nudge, pushing it away from his laptop slightly. At once the box expanded again, just a fraction, until it was touching the edge of a book at the other end of the table. "Hmm. I wonder," thought Harry. He picked the box up and set it down in the middle of the room where there was plenty of space. Sure enough, it began to expand again, growing outwards for a while, and then upwards. As it grew, a number of coloured lights and devices appeared on one side. It now resembled a shiny metal telephone booth, only it appeared to be quite solid. "It's a bloody Tardis!" Harry exclaimed (referring to the eccentric 'space ship' from the legendary BBC science fiction television series Doctor Who, which looked like a 1960s British Police Telephone Box but which was "bigger on the inside"). He stared at the huge object in the middle of his sitting room. "This is so fucking cool!" Harry took out his phone and rang Fiona. "Hello, Fi? Harry. If you're not busy tonight do you feel like a curry? ?No, my place. I want to show you something. I bought it today in Portobello Road, and it's absolutely amazing! ?Good, see you around seven." ____________________ Harry walked all the way round the large box. He could see no way it could have grown so big from such a small object. Still, he'd seen much stranger things. Or he supposed he had, anyway. He decided to examine the side with the lights and devices. There was a blank black panel set in the middle, about level with his abdomen. Below this, there was a strange glowing red shape, like a three-fingered hand or paw, and around this were various coloured lights. Harry placed the palm of his hand on the red panel. With a shock he pulled his hand back. He had definitely felt some sort of tingle. Just as he a was deciding it would be safer not to touch anything else in case he got an electric shock, the red panel re-formed itself into the shape of a normal five-fingered hand. Strangely the black panel had moved up a bit and was now at eye level. The box had possibly grown a bit taller as well. The hand shape was still immediately below the panel. "What the??" He regarded the re-formed hand shape for a few moments. "Oh well, nothing ventured," Harry said to himself. He placed his hand on the red hand-shaped panel. Once again he felt a strange tingle. He took his hand away quickly, just in case. At once writing (similar to the writing he had previously seen on the outside of the box) began to scroll across the black panel. He decided to venture one more touch of the hand panel. This time there was no tingle, but on the black-coloured panel, now obviously some sort of screen, the image of a human body began to appear. Harry looked at it narrowly, trying to make out the form. Finally he burst out laughing. "That antique dealer is such a sodding idiot! Humidor my arse! It's a bloody computer game, a kind of souped-up version of Body Shop, like in The Sims or something. Pretty clever, too. It looks just like me. I wonder how they do that!" The picture on the screen was indeed an exact image of Harry. He found he could even rotate the image and zoom in, though he wasn't quite sure how he was doing it. Something to do with the hand panel, he supposed. "Hmm. I should be thinner than that, shouldn't I?" he mused, regarding the picture. Immediately the figure's stomach flattened. "Oh, very cool, mate!" he complimented himself. "I wonder what else it can do? How about some bigger muscles?" Immediately the image acquired a more athletic physique. "Now that looks more like me!" Harry observed complaisantly. "I wonder ? can it change into a woman?" he ventured. The figure instantly changed into a female version of himself, rather heavy-boned and angular. "Shit, what a dog! I'm glad I wasn't born a girl. I'd have had to drown myself!" he laughed. "That is the ugliest woman I've ever seen!" Actually, it wasn't that ugly at all. It's just that Harry had very high standards in the women he truly lusted after. The image on the screen really wasn't that much worse looking than Fiona in some ways, or any of the women he worked with. But when you judge the women around you by the standards of models, actresses and porn stars, they invariably come off looking a bit plain by comparison. He tried to adjust the figure, thinking he was using his hand on the panel in some way to make her thinner, or her breasts bigger, or mouth poutier, but in fact the device was responding directly to his thoughts, and creating exactly what he was visualising in his mind. Somehow Harry had not yet realised this. Harry wasn't really interested in seeing what he would have looked like as a woman. What he wanted was to use the program to make a picture of a really sexy bird. The trouble was that Harry had always sucked at art. He liked a good painting as much as the next bloke, and had even bought a few to put around the house as investments and to impress people, but when it came to doing his own creations he just could never get the picture he wanted to form either in his head or on paper. He simply didn't have the imagination for it. The picture he now had before him was looking more and more like a freak with every adjustment he made. By now it really was ugly, in an exaggerated overly sexualized way. "I need to start over," he thought. Immediately the figure reset itself to the big-boned female version of Harry. He was about to give up in disgust when an idea occurred to him. He could find some pictures of girls he liked and try to copy them onto the image on the screen. Actually he knew exactly whom he wanted to copy. He left the strange machine, went back to the sofa and took up his laptop. As he touched the track pad, he felt a slight tingle in his hand. "That's never happened before," he thought. But he didn't think much more about it, because he was impatient to try out his idea. "Must be static from walking on the carpet," he concluded dismissively. Now Harry, like a lot of men, liked to look occasionally at porn on the Internet. These were the girls he really wanted to be going out with. And screwing. Especially screwing. Don't misunderstand, he liked Fiona a lot. It's just that she didn't really press his buttons. Not really. Deep down he understood he didn't really press hers either. So he liked to surf porn on the net, to see what he was missing out on. Like a lot of men did. What harm did it do? And there was one girl he always found irresistible. He quickly found a web site with several pictures of her. He'd seen her called by different names on different sites, but the name that she was usually given was "Anya" from the Russian Federation. Anya had pert little breasts and a lovely figure. She wasn't perhaps the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, but there was just something about her. She had an innocent, almost angelic quality. Which was ironic, considering she was a porn model ? and a very good one! ? and certainly wasn't coy about what she showed off to the camera. Indeed, there probably wasn't a square inch of her that Harry hadn't seen on his computer. Harry selected one of the thumbnails. "Now that's more like it!" Harry muttered. A picture appeared of Anya sitting on a rock in a clearing in the woods or in some park. The pose was demure, but she was buck naked, of course, and there was something playful and flirtatious in her expression, without being vulgar and lascivious. There she was: young, beautiful and alluring. He liked the way she always seemed to be looking at him in that 'special' way, like they shared a secret together or something. What he wouldn't do for the chance to give her one! She certainly looked like she was up for it! "That's strange!" he added aloud. Peculiar writing like the writing on the screen of the 'computer game' box began to scroll across the screen of his laptop computer. Suddenly images of the girl began to appear one after the other on his computer screen. Faster and faster they flickered past. Some he had seen before and recognised in the instant they were on the screen, but others appeared which he couldn't remember ever having seen before. The computer seemed to have a mind of its own, and it appeared to be trawling the Internet at lightening speed for images of Anya. From time to time pages of writing that Harry recognised as Russian also appeared. Images that looked like certificates of different kinds, or sometimes letters, flickered past along with the pictures. Could that have been a birth certificate? Was that a hospital record? That looked like an invitation or something. School report card? Who can tell? ? everything was in Russian. It could have been anything, Harry reflected. "Blimey, slow down!" Harry exclaimed. Immediately the rush of images stopped and a single image filled the screen. It was Anya, actually wearing clothes for a change and walking in the park, happy and carefree. And flashing her breasts! "Wow," thought Harry, "what a perfect pair! Not as big I usually like, but on her they just look perfect!" Strange writing scrolled across his computer screen, but Harry had ceased to wonder about it. He was too preoccupied to worry about strange writing. "The thing is," he mused aloud as he looked at the picture, "she is just so completely at ease with her body! Just standing there in the park, happy as you please, not a hint of embarrassment, or acting slutty. She doesn't care what people think! Jeez! What confidence! She just seems so comfortable with herself," he reflected. Writing scrolled across the screen. "I wonder how she'd look a couple of years younger," Harry mused. The picture seemed to change slightly. "Did she just get a bit younger?" Harry asked himself. After a few moments he smiled. "Yeah, right!" he said, shaking his head. "That Tardis must have me spooked, I'm even starting to think the computer can hear my thoughts!" Harry chided himself, though his attention was beginning to focus again on 'Anya's' breasts. "I wonder if there's a closer view of them somewhere," he speculated. His finger must have tapped the trackpad, he thought vaguely, because a new picture came up on the screen of the laptop, coincidentally just what he was hoping to see. "I bet they're really sensitive," Harry thought, mesmerised by the little breasts. More of the strange writing scrolled across the screen. "She'd probably be able to have an orgasm from just a bit of fondling." There was more strange writing. By now Harry wasn't really very concerned about it. He was looking for more pictures of Anya. He clicked on the picture, which turned out to be a link to a gallery of Anya pictures. There was Anya swimming in the sea. Anya reclining in some sort of windowsill. Anya sitting up in the same windowsill. "She does seem a little younger than I remember," Harry reflected, only slightly puzzled. After all, how could she be younger in these pictures he had seen many times before? "There's something so special about her," Harry considered. "She makes you want to fuck her and look after her all at once, to possess her as your own and also to please her. She really understands the power of her femininity. No, she bloody revels in it!" More writing scrolled across the screen. And as if to prove the point Harry was making to himself, another picture appeared when he clicked on the screen. "She's so poised and self-assured!" Harry continued with his internal commentary. "She probably did ballet or gymnastics. Or both! And so young! She's probably still at school and boy crazy. Girls too, I bet. Made for sex, and she knows it!" Harry was no longer even registering the strange writing that continued to scroll across the screen. He clicked on the screen and another picture of Anya in the windowsill appeared. She was holding a banana and sucking her thumb. The connotations were obvious. "Oh, she loves cock, that girl!" Harry leered. "Every way she can get it! In her mouth, in her twat, probably up her arse as well." The next picture showed Anya in a joking pose with the bananas on her head, still without any sense of embarrassment. Harry smiled at the picture. Yet the sense of childlike fun in the model made him feel slightly ashamed of his last outburst. "Yeah, well maybe that's a bit over the top, but not by much. She seems a really nice girl, actually. And there's that sense of innocence ? I dunno, makes you want to protect her." Strange writing continued to scroll. "Hmm," thought Harry, feeling now rather protective, "maybe she should have some clothes on, after all." He absent-mindedly clicked on the picture, and a new one appeared. She was wearing a skimpy see-through 'baby-doll' negligee, all frills and pink ribbons. She looked very young and sweet. "Phwoar!" Harry exclaimed inwardly, or words to that effect. "She is such a girl! She probably can't even imagine being a guy. You can see she just loves all that little girly stuff. Like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth ? sweet and submissive, but what a flirt, eh? She just loves this, loves being the object of desire. She knows she's really the one with the power. But like a good little girl she loves to please!" More strange writing. "And that wasn't really what I meant by 'clothes'!" Harry laughed to himself, not actually disappointed. Harry clicked on a new thumbnail. A new picture of Anya appeared, duly dressed in casual clothes (grungy jeans and a sleeveless top), but in a rather provocative pose, and pulling at her top, almost but not quite revealing her nice little tits. "Now that's what I'm talking about," Harry exclaimed again, "what a flirt! Oh yes, there's some magic in her, all right! And maybe she's not always such a good little girl," he chuckled. More strange writing. She was indeed looking at the camera with a very smouldering expression ? at least, as much as such a sweet young face can be described as 'smouldering'. Harry began to wonder about the real girl as he continued to fantasise. She would speak Russian of course. But she would probably have learned some English at school, he supposed, though she would have a strong accent. She could have learned French and German as well, in Russia. She was probably bright enough, but never really got good results. Too interested in boys! Or maybe they were too interested in her! Anyway, too interested in having a good time. (At the age she seemed to be in these latest pictures, she probably was still at school, Harry supposed. Funny he'd never considered that before.) And was her name really 'Anya', anyway? It suited her so well; Harry decided yes, her name is definitely Anya. Anya Sokolova, he smiled, remembering the name of a Russian he once knew through work. "Suits her, 'cos she loves to suck," Harry smirked. (Apparently it's quite a common name in Russia, but Harry always thought it was hilarious.) Strange writing scrolled across the screen. Harry felt like a different picture and one duly appeared. She was reclining in bed, gazing at the camera, her finger playfully poised over her hip and pointing suggestively at her completely waxed pussy. Harry's face became a picture of lust. "What a tease!" he spluttered. "What a stunner! Oh, she wants it so badly!" It seems Harry also wanted it badly. He was rubbing himself back and forth through his trousers, imagining making love to Anya. "How young she looks!" he remarked to himself again. He gazed at her face, imagining her looking at him with that 'come on' expression. Another picture appeared, showing a young-looking Anya once again gazing at the camera. Harry had taken his finger off the track pad and was about to undo his flies. Then something struck him. "I bet she's in love with the photographer," he thought. "That's why she always seems to have that way of looking at you. She's really looking at her lover, in' she? And he's taking porno pics of her!" Harry laughed. He moved his hand back to the track pad again. "Oh well, I guess she'll do anything to please her man." Strange writing scrolled across the screen. "I seem to remember one of her with another girl," Harry thought. A picture immediately appeared of Anya with a blond girl, possibly at the beach. Anya was in a bikini and the other girl was in a short pink dress. "Yes that's the one," thought Harry, "or at least, I think it is. She definitely seems to have got younger." Harry was beginning to be genuinely puzzled. But not for long. "Anyway, it looks like she's into girls as well," Harry smirked. Writing scrolled across the screen. Harry felt like looking at another picture of Anya. At once one appeared. She was sitting on the windowsill, gazing at the camera with the same self-confidence, her legs together, crossed at the ankles, but gracefully drawn aside to reveal a clear glimpse of her hairless pussy. "Oh, very nice!" he exclaimed. He looked at her appreciatively for a while. "I wonder how she'd look as a blond," he suddenly thought, "and a little bit tanned?" Immediately the picture changed. A different version of the same picture appeared before him. She now had blond hair, and her complexion also seemed to have changed slightly. "That's incredible!" Harry exclaimed. "I wonder how I did that? She is absolutely peachy!" Now readers at this point may be thinking Harry must be a bit of an idiot not to realise that something very weird was going on here. The thing is, Harry was very clever at his job. He was even quite clever in other ways. But although he loved technology and gadgets, he was never really into the way things worked. He particularly loved it when computers did something amazing and cool. He almost expected it. Plus, he was presently thinking with something other than his brain. ____________________ Behind and unnoticed by him, some interesting things were happening with Harry's 'tardis'. The way the Morphic Adaptation Unit normally worked was through a hyper- telepathic connection established and calibrated by an initial 'touch' on the unit's sensor. So long as a user kept their hand on the sensor their sub-linguistic telepathic instructions would be received as direct brain waves and processed by the unit. Inadvertent instructions away from the unit would not be registered. That was the 'failsafe' feature. There was, however, a very cool accessory that enabled a user to access the unit and send instructions remotely. Needless to say, none of these were available on earth. Or ever would be. Nevertheless something very remarkable had happened. Like a lot of people, Harry had had a wireless broadband network installed in his house, and he nearly always used this with his laptop as he moved from room to room, working or playing games or sending e-mails or whatever, just as he was doing now. Like so many people, Harry hadn't bothered to make the network secure. (Of course it would probably not have made any difference anyway.) Anyone who happened to be near enough to pick up the signal could join his network and use the Internet for free. Quite a few of Harry's neighbours actually did this. If Harry knew he didn't really care. He paid a flat rate for unlimited usage, so what did it matter? Somehow the Morphic Adaptation Unit had detected the presence of the wireless network and had automatically established a connection with his computer. More than this, it had somehow found a way to configure the track pad of Harry's laptop to act as an interface to send signals remotely back to itself. It was also sending feedback back to the computer. The chances of this happening successfully were in the tens of millions to one, as it could take weeks to hit upon exactly the right algorithm to make the connection and then interpret the data through the very different hardware as anything other than gobbledygook. Of course the technology on Harry's laptop was fairly primitive by Fwirthian standards, but in this case it still did the trick. Mostly. The problem was that messages were coming through as raw telepathic data, without much nuance. What Harry was admiring and what he was requesting were all the same thing as far as the MAU could determine. And the modifications it was registering were going far deeper than simply physical characteristics. That was the beauty of the MAU. Those who knew its capabilities could change just about anything about a subject: appearance, physical capabilities, mental capacity, personality, psychological characteristics, skills, memories, abilities, even species ? anything. You could make up an entirely new species, or combine existing ones, or a bit of both. (That's why they had been banned throughout the Fwirthian Empire for the last two hundred years.) It had made genetic engineering and bio-manipulation completely pass?. For those who didn't know how... well, it could also change anything. So long as it knew what to change. Or thought it knew. The default setting for most of the features was 'automatic'. Most (Fwirthian) users found this extremely annoying and changed the default settings as soon as they got their unit. But how was Harry to know all this? Anyway, as soon as Harry had begun to look up pictures of 'Anya' on the Internet, the picture on the unit's screen had changed from the big- boned female version of Harry that he had found so unattractive into an exact image of the petite Anya. In fact, after downloading from the Internet everything it could about the 'real' Anya, including things not even she knew were online, the unit had stored in memory an identical copy of the girl in Russia, right down to her DNA and fingerprints, which, as it happened, were on file in various Russian data bases. However the picture had quickly begun to change as Harry perused and studied the images on his computer, making his comments and expressing his reactions. In fact the entire profile was being altered. Already ? apart, obviously, from now being blonde and less pale-skinned ? the current profile on the MAU was younger, prettier, hornier, sweeter, slightly cleverer yet more na?ve, funnier, more self-assured yet also more compliant, and actually quite a bit more feminine than the 'real' Anya, who was, after all, just an ordinary nice-looking girl in the Russian Federation who was trying to make a living with her most marketable assets. As Harry mused and made comments to himself about the images he was gazing at, information was being received and processed by the machine as instructions and requests. Even the notional DNA was undergoing subtle and complex alterations as a result of some of Harry's musings. Unknown to Harry the artist in him was at last coming out. ____________________ "What a little witch she is!" Harry smiled. "She has no idea how much power she has over people." By now he was oblivious to the writing constantly scrolling across the screen. All the pictures of Anya Harry now looked at showed a younger, tanner blonde Anya. Many were versions of pictures Harry had seen many times, but had now been changed. Far from being concerned or puzzled, Harry was ecstatic. He was now looking at a picture of Anya sitting in a windowsill, legs astride a big vase with branches of blossoms, wearing skimpy teenage girls' pyjamas he supposed. She looked skinny but really fit, Harry thought. "Cute kid!" he mused, "I almost wish she didn't have to grow up." The strange writing continued to scroll across the screen. Harry was ready for another picture and one duly appeared. Anya still looked her younger version, with her (now invariably blonde) hair in two ponytails, stark naked on top of some tower overlooking a lake. "I think I'll print that one," Harry exclaimed. This was the picture, he decided, he would use to create his character on the imaging machine (as he thought it was) that he had dubbed the 'tardis'. It was then that he noticed he didn't seem to be using his usual browser. There didn't appear to be any of the usual buttons or menus for saving or printing, or anything else for that matter. But Harry didn't get paid a ridiculously high salary for just sitting there in confusion when things didn't work as expected. When things went wrong he found a solution. He prided himself that he could turn a near disaster into a triumph, just by refusing to admit defeat. That, and thinking outside the square. Hadn't he been successfully navigating the internet on the strange browser for nearly an hour now, and even discovering pictures he didn't know existed? He pressed the 'control' and 'P' keys on his computer (the usual key shortcut) to get the unfamiliar browser to print the picture. Harry was surprised to see what looked like a dialogue box with the same unfamiliar writing he had become accustomed to seeing scroll across the screen for the last hour or so while he was looking at pictures of Anya. "Must be a Russian site," thought Harry. "Strange," he pondered, "how the print box also comes up in Russian. I never heard of that before." Harry was satisfied then that he knew what the writing in the box said. It was just the settings for printing the picture on his laptop. All he had to do was press 'enter' on the laptop for 'okay' and it would start printing. He tapped the button without hesitation. It seemed to be working, because a progress bar briefly flitted across the screen. Naturally Harry assumed it showed the print job had been successfully sent to the printer. That's when he heard a strange noise coming from the 'tardis' in the middle of the room. Harry went over to investigate. ____________________ Two things had changed about the 'tardis' since Harry had last looked at it. Harry only noticed the second change however. The first was that the screen on the side of the box now displayed the image of 'Anya', in exactly the modified form that now showed on Harry's computer, but without all the background scenery. In fact the image had been continuously changing and updating while Harry had been browsing his pictures, using the raw telepathic data obtained from the link it had established by adapting the laptop as an interface. The second thing that had changed was that one side of the box was now open, making it look like a bit like a sentry box. Or a police telephone box. Actually it looked somewhat like a silver Tardis. Inside the ceiling of the box was glowing with a bright yellow light from some sort of large crystal. On the inside wall of the box was another crystal. Normally this other crystal glowed with a purple light once the portal had been accessed, until it was pressed by an occupant?signifying confirmation ? thus initiating activation of the MAU and the point of no return, at which point it would cease to glow. Right now it was no longer glowing. As far as the unit was concerned it had already received confirmation when Harry had pressed 'enter' on his laptop. All it needed now was a subject. Harry noticed the open side of the device. "Cool!" he exclaimed. "It bloody is a tardis!" He peered inside the box. Of course Harry didn't really think it was a 'tardis'. He still thought it was a computer game platform, perhaps for use in game arcades, judging by the size of it. So Harry wasn't really disappointed or surprised when he saw that the dimensions inside the box exactly corresponded with its outside. However it did have a glowing yellow light coming out of it, and that (thought Harry) could do with a bit of investigating. As soon as he stepped inside the box the door closed with a quiet "shhmp" sound, leaving a blank wall with no signs of ever having been a door, or even of being capable of opening. Before Harry could become alarmed, however, the yellow light changed at once to red. Harry felt himself frozen in space, unable to move for a few seconds. As suddenly as it had closed, the door reappeared, and the red light changed back to yellow. "Whoa, that was weird!" thought Harry, giving his head a shake. He felt his long hair caress his shoulders and back as he did so. He stepped out of the box. Harry had a strange feeling that something didn't seem quite right. Or more precisely, Harry had the feeling something had been very wrong a minute ago, but he couldn't quite recall what it was. It was bothering him slightly. Then he thought he had put his finger on it. "That's odd. I wonder where my clothes went," wondered Harry, looking down at his young slender body, past his perfectly shaped B-cup breasts at his completely hairless pussy. Actually Harry was glad his clothes seemed to have disappeared. They must have been too tight, or heavy or something, he thought vaguely, because he seemed to feel lighter and more comfortable, as though a weight had been lifted off him, or his head had cleared after waking up too quickly. He felt freer and more relaxed somehow. Indeed he felt better than he had ever felt in his life. One thing he was aware of was that he seemed to have suddenly got smaller. He was relieved, rather than alarmed. He had a vague recollection that for some reason he had just been all swollen and bloated and shaped all wrongly. Actually he had been huge; for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on. Had he recently been sick? For some reason he was finding it hard to recall just what had just been amiss. Anyway, he supposed he was now back to normal. It felt good, and he knew he was smiling. He was, however, feeling a little dizzy. Had he bumped his head in the silver box? He felt his head with his tiny feminine hands, but could find nothing wrong. "Everything seems to be normal," he concluded. Just then he remembered that Fiona would be arriving any minute. He didn't mind being naked in the least, but perhaps he had better put some clothes on before she arrived. Harry skipped off upstairs to the bedroom to get dressed. Harry opened the closet and surveyed his clothes. "Oh dear! Nothing seems right," he sighed. He definitely had lost weight, he decided, because everything seemed much too big. And also somehow 'wrong'. They were all his things, he recognised, but he wondered why he had ever got any of them. Going through his drawers in a rather desultory fashion he spotted some panties of Fiona's, which she had left behind after staying over one weekend. "Well that's a start, anyway," he decided. "Fiona won't mind, I'm sure." Harry slid the panties up his legs, but they were far too big for him. There was no way they would even stay on his hips. He searched in vain for a safety pin. Then, remembering there was a box of them in a drawer down in the kitchen, he left the bedroom and headed downstairs again. As he was walking through the dining room he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the wall. His face took on a puzzled expression. He got up on a chair to have a closer look. "That's interesting," he said to himself, frowning slightly, "she looks just like me. Oh, how silly I am!" Harry suddenly giggled, "It is me!" He shook his head again, feeling a sense of momentary disorientation. "Maybe I did give myself a bump," he speculated. "Anyway, at least I still look hot!" His eyes fell on his nicely shaped small pert breasts. He gave the nipples a tweak and at once they became hard and erect. He began to massage his breasts. "Mmm, I love my tits so much," he purred. "Ahh, this is just so nice!" He began to feel a warm moistness in his pussy. Just then Harry caught sight of a photograph on the mantelpiece. It showed him at his graduation as a Bachelor of Science from the London School of Economics. Harry remembered the day clearly, but there was something wrong with the picture. "I wonder how I ever got in when I haven't even finished school." Suddenly Harry felt a chill go up his spine. "Oh My Gosh!" he exclaimed softly. Memories of the last hour or so and his activities at his laptop began to flood into his consciousness. "That thing changed me somehow, I'm sure of it!" ____________________ Now readers may be wondering why Harry had seemed rather oblivious of his ? let's admit it ? radical change. Or why he seemed so (comparatively) calm about it. The thing is, the Morphic Adaptation Unit was designed to incorporate acceptance, adjustment and 'instinctive functioning' protocols into any transformation. The greater the transformation, the more potent were the protocols. This was an important feature that prevented shock to the system of any transformed subject, and quickly allowed the subject to cope with and adapt to its new form. After all these devices were made primarily for recreation, and no one was going to pay good Fwirthian Credits for an experience that left them panicked, traumatised or acting like a weirdo. So for example, anyone changing to another species, would find themselves instantly able to communicate with others of the same species, as well as sharing the general temperament, abilities and instincts of the chosen species. (Even so, MAUs in private hands had long ago been deemed just too dangerous, and throughout the Fwirthian Empire morphic adaptation was now only available under supervised conditions in accredited clinics to approved registered applicants?even for simple enhancement or 'makeover' procedures ? and occasionally mandatorily to those convicted of heinous crimes.) Likewise anyone changing from male to female (or vice versa) in any species would before long, in the absence of any overriding instructions, begin to think and act in an appropriate manner according to the species and its (usually) local culture, with a basic set of skills, attitudes and knowledge corresponding to the form transformed into. The same was true even in changing race, or altering or enhancing body shape, or even MAU-generated genetic modifications and mutations. (Some amusing personality modifications had recently resulted when certain people on earth had used another lost MAU to give themselves the supposed 'superpowers' of fictitious comic book characters!) But Harry had (unwittingly) reinforced and enlarged this particular feature quite significantly. Harry's fantasies, as he drooled over the pictures on his laptop, had been received telepathically as direct information by the MAU, so that Harry had given some very specific instructions about the end result of the transformation requested. Among other things Harry had speculated that Anya seemed totally comfortable with who she was ? a teenaged Russian schoolgirl at ease with her body and revelling in her femininity ? with a natural grace and awareness of her sexual attractiveness. He had supposed she was girly, flirty, oversexed and boy crazy (or mainly boys, anyway). (It was also the case that Harry was now curiously enough and for what it was worth, quite a powerful witch. Of course he wasn't really able to do actual 'magic' in the spooky sense. It's just that the MAU, having been given some parameters to work with, had incorporated some abilities and capabilities not fully understood yet on earth. In fact he was now able to perform quite a lot of the MAU's own functions ? as well as some other very cool Fwirthian technology?independent of any device. And, as we have said, with all filters and safeguards off. So if he was ever able to get his hands on a magic wand or spell book (or something he thought was a magic wand or a spell book), he would perhaps soon discover that he could rival Hermione Grainger as "the most talented young witch of his ? er, her ? age".) All of these things ? and several more which would soon have serious consequences for Harry ? had been received by the device as instructions to be incorporated into the resultant transformation. Ironically, had Harry made all his choices and changes while standing at the MAU itself, it would easily have filtered out idle thoughts from actual requests. However, since the link it had made with the laptop involved adapting much more primitive technology with limited capabilities, there had been no filters operating. Consequently Harry was much more than 'coping' and 'adapting' to his transformation into a girl. His whole sense of identity and self-image had been fundamentally altered. As he would soon learn, Harry had really done a number on himself! ____________________ Harry gazed at her reflection in horror. Or rather, Harry gazed at her reflection with a horrified expression. But it wasn't her reflection that horrified her, which she was actually quite pleased with, as ever. However the sudden recollection of her graduation day had brought back other memories. In fact Harry now remembered everything. Or sort of, since it was hard to imagine herself as a man. Yet her memories were very distinct. Even as she thought this they began to become fuzzy. She tried to hold on to them, but the harder she tried, the fuzzier they became. It was very confusing, and the thought passed through her mind that maybe she was going mad and her mind had just invented the specific memories that were now coming to the surface, and which fought with other fixed ideas of who she was. She hadn't always been a girl! The idea seemed incredible, absurd. Yet there unmistakably was the 'tardis' thingy that she supposed had done this to her. If that was so, maybe it could change her back! Harry rushed over to the tall metallic device, arms flapping. Her image, she noticed, in perfect miniature detail, was now on the screen. She placed her hand on the hand-shaped panel, which immediately shrunk down to fit the smaller petite hand. Harry smiled with a certain satisfaction at the image of herself. "Now change me back!" she commanded in her new soft feminine voice. Her voice was much more confident than she felt inside. 'Changing back' was actually something that made her feel very queasy. Thankfully nothing seemed to have changed. Harry remembered how she had used pictures in her mind to alter the image on the screen when it had first activated. She closed her eyes and tried to picture herself as she was previously. Nothing was coming to mind. She tried to imagine herself as a man. After all, that had worked before, as a woman, she suddenly recalled. Nothing. She couldn't get it to change. Try as she might, she just couldn't see herself as a man. She tried to imagine another man instead. Immediately an image of a handsome teenaged boy with nice muscles and a fit well-proportioned body appeared. He had medium-length light brown hair and nice grey-blue eyes. 'Cute!" drooled Harry. "He'll do!" She was about to withdraw her hand when suddenly the image reverted to the previous one of herself. A strange feeling of panic had suddenly come over Harry. It seemed that the instant she had entertained the idea of becoming this image, a strong feeling of unwillingness had asserted itself. In fact the idea of changing herself into any other form filled her with revulsion. Maybe, she thought, if she tried changing something small she would succeed in getting the image to change. Then perhaps she could work up to bigger changes. She studied the image on the screen. "Now, what can I change?" she pondered. "I could make my tits bigger." Harry's nose wrinkled slightly. "No, they seem quite nice as they are. How about hair colour! Hmm, no I actually like it like that. I know, height! I could be taller! No, on second thoughts it would feel a bit weird. Anyway, I wouldn't fit any of my clothes then, would I?" Harry's eyes widened. "Clothes! I don't have any clothes! Shit, what am I going to do? I really need a complete new wardrobe!" And she meant it too! The image on the screen changed. It was still the image of the beautiful blonde Russian teenaged girl Harry had become, but now she was dressed in very short slightly frayed faded denim shorts, with a cute white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the shoulders underneath a fashionable black velvet "waiter's" waistcoat. She had some nice silver jewellery: earrings, a few chains around her neck, and a charm bracelet. And a really nice watch with diamonds! She was wearing some really great soft grey suede-leather ankle boots with only three-inch heels, with a matching grey leather tote bag over her shoulder, and in both her hands were several shopping bags with the names of various clothing and department stores. She could read Topshop, Sass & Bride, FCUK, and Harvey Nichols, among others. The image of herself on the screen was struggling a bit with the quantity of parcels, but had a very happy expression. "Cool!" blurted Harry. "Now what do I do?" The doorbell rang. "Shit! Fiona!" exclaimed Harry. She stood as if paralysed. The doorbell rang again. Strangely she wasn't feeling worried or self-conscious about Fiona seeing her like this. She just panicked a little (despite what she thought earlier) about what Fiona might think about seeing her in some of her own knickers, which she still couldn't get to stay up. With no time to lose, she rushed to the bedroom and put on a pair of Harry's loose-fitting gym shorts, which had a cord she could tighten. She threw on one of Harry's shirts, which reached down almost to her knees. And headed for the door. ____________________ "Slaav a bawg oo!" she said, opening the door. "Fiona, v kha deets!" "Who are you?" a shocked Fiona said, looking at the girl narrowly, and in a not very friendly manner. She barged past the girl into the house. "And where's Harry?" A puzzled expression came over her face. What did Fiona just say? Why is she talking like that? "Pra klee naats!" she muttered. "What's that?" said Fiona. "Do? you?speak?Een?glish?" she said rather slowly and louder than strictly necessary, and for some reason putting on a somewhat foreign accent. Of course! Fiona was speaking English. Only now did she realise she had been thinking and speaking the whole time in Russian. But now that she was required to speak English herself she found she was struggling to understand it. Oh why hadn't she paid closer attention in English lessons! "Eenglish. Da. I speak," she said in a soft young feminine voice, heavily accented. "Good. So, who are you?" Fiona said, arms akimbo, becoming rather intimidating again. "Fiona, ees me! Anya!" she answered, gesturing to herself. "You're Anya," Fiona repeated. Anya smiled. "So where's Harry, then? And what are you doing here, may I ask?" "Nyet, nyet, nyet," Anya said a little impatiently. "Ees me! I am Anya!" Fiona was asking to see Harry. Anya knew she was Harry. But she also knew beyond doubt and at the core of her being that she was Anya. Somehow she didn't seem able to refer to herself as Harry. Unfortunately she hadn't quite figured this out yet. She went on, "I was here. My home. Then I come from ? how I say? ? tardees," she gestures towards the tall silver box. "I go een," she made 'going in' gestures, "I come out. Clothings, they go phzt!" (she made a quick motion with her hands) "Something deeferent for sure! But I am steell same Anya!" Fiona was shaking her head. She could make no sense at all out of anything the girl was saying. Except that she was someone called Anya. She seemed very firm on that point. Also she seemed to expect her to believe she had travelled there in a 'tardis'. "How do you know my name?" Fiona asked the girl suspiciously. "How?" answered Anya incredulously, "Ees me, Anya! Anya Sokolova!" "And where can I find Harry, then?" Fiona asked rather shortly. "I am Anya!" screamed Anya, stamping her foot in frustration, "Understand? I am same girl I always was!" "Look you Russian trollop, or whatever you are, I don't have time to stand here listening to you tell me your name is Anya. I came here to see Harry Pringle. He asked me over himself, so if you don't tell me where he is I'm going to search this place until I find him. You understand? Capiche?" Tears were starting to well up in Anya's eyes. "Da," she said softly, "I capiche." Fiona felt a bit guilty about yelling at the girl, but she was feeling sorely provoked. She was actually quite upset about finding this half undressed foreign slut in Harry's house, and her mind was jumping to all sorts of conclusions, none of them very comforting. She noticed that the girl was very beautiful. And very young. She couldn't even be eighteen yet! Probably still at school. Fiona found that she already disliked this girl intensely. Harry had better have a pretty good explanation for her when she finally caught up with him. She waited a bit for Anya to tell her where Harry was, but Anya had sat down on the sofa, and was now leaning forward with her face in her hands. Fiona set off upstairs in search of Harry. "And don't think I won't be on to Immigration about you, darling, after I get my hands on that arsehole!" Fiona muttered under her breath. Fiona didn't think Anya would have heard her, but she had. Anya's hearing, it seems, was now extremely keen. Poor Anya began to feel a rising sick panic. Fiona was going to have her sent back to Russia! What about her house? Her job? No, that was the old Anya, er, Harry, when she graduated from university all those years before she went to school in Russia. That didn't sound right. Wait! Did she actually come from Russia? Of course she did. She spoke Russian, didn't she? But she didn't think she had ever actually ever been there. In fact she was sure of it. Actually she wasn't so sure really. Yet she knew that Russia was where she was from. How can that be? It was all very confusing! ____________________ While Anya sat wringing her hands in fear and anxiety, her eyes lighted on the screen of her laptop computer, which was still sitting on the coffee table. On the computer's screen was the picture of her. But it wasn't the picture that had been there before, the one she had decided to print. She found she could remember that one. No, this one was the one that Anya had seen come up on the side of the 'tardis', the one with her dressed in denim shorts and carrying shopping bags. A light went on in Anya's head. Somehow the computer and the 'tardis' were linked! The picture she had made appear on the 'tardis' was now on the laptop. And the picture on the laptop earlier?Anya was beginning to remember it all clearly now?must have been sent to the 'tardis'! Meanwhile Fiona had come back downstairs, having failed, as she thought, to find any sign of Harry. "Alright Anya, or whoever you are. Can?you?tell?me," she pointed to herself, "where?Har?ree?went?" She waved her arms towards nothing in particular. "Where Harree went!" Anya repeated, becoming a bit brighter, as if something was dawning on her. "I understand! Harree, hee go een tardees. Eet have ? how I say? ? door. Hee een there." "He's inside the metal box?" Fiona repeated incredulously. "Why didn't you say so? Harry?" she began shouting as she went up to the big silver MAU. "Are you in there?" There was no response. Fiona banged on the side of the device with her fist, and was surprised at how solid it felt. It must weigh a ton! "Harry? Come out of there!" Fiona demanded. Meanwhile Anya was thinking. Now, Anya wasn't stupid. Even as Harry she hadn't been stupid. It was by thinking outside the square?lateral reasoning?that Harry had been so good at his job, sometimes pursuing a course that seemed counter-intuitive, like buying up a certain mediocre currency to the tune of tens or even hundreds of millions of pounds in order to keep the price up for a while longer before quickly selling it all to buy another currency that he had previously been selling wildly in order to try to drive the price down. He always seemed to know just when to sell and when to start buying. Shit! Fiona was about to hand her over to Immigration! Anya didn't have any documents or proof of identity. No one would ever believe she owned this house, or her car, or anything. Did she have a family in Russia who would look after her? She couldn't recall. Wait, how could she? And without a home or relatives or friends, she knew she would soon have to rely on her only assets to survive. There were a lot of sleazy mean bastards back in Russia. She would probably end up in prostitution or making pornography. Well, the latter didn't bother her that much, she realised. It might even be fun. But there were dangers. She could be murdered if she didn't do what they wanted, and her body dumped in the Neva, and no one would care. Life would be better in England. Anya was getting scared. She hadn't been able to get the machine to change her back. Maybe you only got one chance, and that was why she couldn't make it work again. If that was so, maybe Fiona could do it? "Are you telling the truth?" Fiona was now demanding. "I don't think anyone is in there. "Eet has treeck," Anya replied. "Like maag ee ya. How you say? Like mahjeek." Anya went over to the tall silver box. "Must poot hand here," she pointed to the hand-shaped panel, "and theenk of Harree." Fiona gave Anya a suspicious look. She examined the screen and the panel. "But that's you, not Harry," she said, looking at the image of Anya carrying shopping bags that was still on the screen. "You try," said Anya anxiously. Fiona placed her hand on the panel. The panel grew a little to adapt to her larger hand, and the panel and screen, and even the box, moved slightly higher to accommodate Fiona's taller perspective. Fiona felt a slight tingle or shock on her hand, and pulled it away quickly. "But it's a picture of me!" she announced. "How did it do that?" "Eet take everyone's peecture," Anya said as dismissively as she could. "Now you put back hand and theenk of Harree." "There he is!" Fiona exclaimed. "Slaav a bawg oo!" Anya cried. It seemed to be working! "But treeck not feeneeshed," she said. "You must tell tardees Harree know hee ees Harree. Hee like to bee Harree. You tell eet." (Anya had realised that the machine had changed the way she thought of herself. This would have to be fixed more than anything.) Fiona looked sceptical. "Alright. Harry," she said to the image on the screen, "you know that you are Harry. You like being Harry." Fiona felt a bit foolish. Strange writing began to scroll across the screen. "Kha raw shee," said Anya. She was keeping one eye on the screen of her laptop, which Fiona hadn't noticed, and sure enough the image appeared of her before she had been transformed. It was still hard to imagine she had once been male. The idea of changing into this form was rather horrifying. But the present circumstances required desperate measures. "Now you tell eet Harree reemember all about Harree. Ees eemportant. You say now." Fiona pursed her lips. Was this girl winding her up? "Alright. Harry, you remember ? what is it again?" she turned crossly to Anya. "Reemember all about Harree. Only remember was beeing Harree." "Right. You must remember all about Harry. Only being Harry. Is that what you mean?" "Da, verree good!" Anya said excitedly. Strange writing scrolled across the screen. "This is ridiculous," Fiona was thinking to herself. She kept on thinking. "This girl is wasting my time. Anyway, what I should be telling Harry is that he should stop being such an arsehole to people. I wish he wasn't so full of himself. And that he should think about helping other people for a change. And was more sensitive to women. Especially in bed! And that he kept himself fitter. And had better taste. And enjoyed going shopping." Strange writing scrolled across the screen. ____________________ "Nothing seems to be happening," Fiona hissed impatiently. Anya's brow furrowed slightly. How could she get the machine to open? She looked at the laptop again. "Wait! I try somtheeng." She leaned over and pressed the 'control' and 'P' keys on the computer nearby. She was about to press 'enter' but she heard a gasp come from Fiona. "Good Lord! It's opened! But I don't see Harry," she said. Anya saw that the machine's invisible door had opened like magic, just as it had before. "Ees okay. I get heem," she said, trying to smile at Fiona. She went over to the device and stepped inside. There was the yellow crystal in the roof, glowing brightly. There was also a glowing purple crystal on the inside wall which she hadn't remembered being there before. With a feeling of utter dread she closed her eyes and gripped the sides of the machine, and braced herself to be turned back into her former self. Nothing happened. She waited a bit longer. It wasn't working. "I still don't see Harry," Fiona complained from outside. "What are you doing in there, anyway?" After a while Anya admitted to herself that the machine must be broken. Or her theory about how to turn herself back must be wrong. She slowly emerged from the box. "So where's Harry, you stupid slag?" Fiona demanded aggressively. She had had enough of this. Anya shook her head. "Somtheeng wrong," she said. She looked so upset that Fiona wondered whether perhaps it hadn't been a windup after all. "Let me have a look," she said, and stepped into the 'tardis'. "What's this purple thing do, then?" she called from within. Instantly the door of the MAU vanished as if it had never been there. ____________________ "Fiona?" gasped Anya, as the tall fit-looking man emerged from the door, which had suddenly reappeared. "Ees that you!?" "Oh shit! Fiona! Thanks for reminding me, Anya," said the man. "I'd forgotten I'd asked her over, and she'll be round here any minute," said Harry. "Look, Anya, do you mind hiding upstairs for a bit until she's gone? There's a good girl. I hate to deceive her, but I don't want her to get upset. You know how it is, she might not understand straight away ? if I know her ? that I'm just sponsoring you to go to school in England. You understand, don't you? I'll make it up to you, I promise. I know! What say I take you shopping later? You could do with some sexy new clothes, couldn't you?" Harry gave Anya a wink. "Sorry, no offence meant," he added, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "None taken, Harree," Anya replied, beaming happily.