James put the last book on the shelf, then stepped back and smiled. He had incorporated Alan’s library into his own; they meshed together perfectly. Several volumes lay stacked on his coffee table, freshly removed from the shelves, most of them gifts from family that didn’t understand what he liked to read. The thrift store was about to get a collection of near-mint-condition titles.

He relaxed into his couch, slipped on the ring, and began reading his uncle’s journal. The first several pages was nearly stream-of-consciousness; it read like an explorer’s travelogue. It didn’t contain much in the way of useful information; it was mostly Alan’s wonderment as he scouted the new world.

Before long, the format changed; now, it was tables and tables of information on odd subjects, such as four-leaf clovers, tulips, and armadillos. The tables were also separated by several blank pages, as if he intended to fill in more information later. Each table contained an index, a pair of numbers that looked like a simplified latitude/longitude, and a brief description of a location.

Many of the descriptions seemed insane–“at the bottom of the pool at the Rockin’ Rock Hotel”, “in a cave along the northern shoreline”, “behind the American Girl billboard on Fairfax Ave.” They went on like this for pages. There were also lists of unique stunt jumps, briefcases, weapon pickups, cop bribes…it looked like a massive series of geolocation grinds. But for what purpose? And why was “date any woman” written next to the “tulip” title, and circled several times?

Finally, he reached a page that looked more useful; it was titled “tutorials for beginners”. But the activities it suggested seemed banal. It recommended going to the barber to get a haircut, going to the gym to gain stamina/muscle, and swimming underwater to increase endurance. Sure, James thought; that’s good advice, but rarely does anyone do it, unless they’re unusually dedicated. The next page brought a stunner: “eat fast food to heal injuries”. James chuckled; on top of being ridiculous, it was the opposite of good advice. What to make of all this?

Still, he reasoned, the truth of the ring couldn’t be denied. He looked at the metal band on his finger, then at the shiny, clean version of his abode. Just because it didn’t make any sense, didn’t mean it wasn’t real. And, for the moment, he had enough tasks for his initial exploration.

He put the book back onto the shelf, opened his front door, tried not to let the white void outside freak him out, and stepped through. As expected, he appeared three feet in front of his door, facing away from it, his door inexplicably closed. With hope in his heart, he descended the stairs and walked out to the main street.

It was laid out like his usual neighborhood, but the locations were different. Instead of his usual laundromat, there was a clothing store. Instead of his local coffee klatch, an auto paint shop stood there. Further down the street, he could see a barber pole, in a place where there was usually only a vacant lot. Shrugging, he headed there.

He quickly realized the pedestrians not only sported glassy, vacant stares, but paid him no mind, and if he was in their way, they would walk around him, using an odd path composed of ninety-degree angles. He tried to get the attention of people passing by, but no matter what he said, or how much he waved his hands, they paid him no mind.

Finally, he resorted to colliding with one fellow. “Outta my way, loser!” he bellowed. To James’ surprise, his facial expression never changed; he had the same glassy eyes as before. As he thought about it, he wasn’t even sure he saw his lips move. James watched him walk away, acting as if nothing had happened.

Shrugging, he turned around to continue his journey…when his eyes fell upon the most alluring woman he’d seen in years. Beautiful dishwater-blonde hair, lithe figure, perfectly coiffed makeup, and most astoundingly, wearing nothing more than a bikini top, pastel short shorts, and gold calf-high boots. And what a sultry gait! He looked around frantically; did no one else notice her? Did this happen all the time? How could he be the only one reacting to this? He decided to try his luck, and bumped into her deliberately.

“Mmm,” she purred. “You’re going to need a car for what I want to do with you.”

Without another word, she walked around him and continued on her way. James’ skin flushed bright red; was she interested in him? That seemed impossible. Was she the only beautiful woman in the world that was instantly attracted to him? He couldn’t let her get away. He strolled up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. Without reacting, she continued to walk away.

“Sure beats waitressing,” he heard her say.

He stopped dead in his tracks. Was she a prostitute? And why was she out in the open, walking down the streets, rubbing elbows with average, everyday people? And why did they not seem to care? It made no sense. He watched her walk away then, with a lump in his throat, he resumed his journey to the barber shop.

As he approached the door, it opened, and on the other side, he saw the usual white void. Not fearing it anymore, he walked into it; as expected, the scene faded to black, and he suddenly found himself standing inside. There stood a kindly old man wearing an apron; there were no other customers. “Have a seat,” he soothed. James looked around uncomfortably before taking a chair.

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He saw his image in the mirror. Although his skin looked clearer, his male pattern baldness hadn’t changed. James sighed as he beheld his horseshoe-like hairstyle, long receded from his forehead. All the gloss in the world couldn’t hide that.

“What would you like?” the barber asked. James read the list of available hairstyles on a poster near the mirror, each with an astronomical price, all over $100. “The hell…?” he mumbled. He noticed something new in the corner of his eye, to the top-left; it merely stated “$320”. How did he get cash? He traditionally paid for everything with a charge card. Nevertheless, it appeared he had some money.

He laughed as he scanned over some of the hairstyles.

* Long Curly Hair

* Long Hairstyle with Textured Waves

* Long Straight Hair

* Long Hairstyle with Side Part

* Long Hair with Middle Part

* Long Surfer Hair

* Long Dreadlocks

How was a barber supposed to cut short hair and make it long? It was silly. But James was tired of the outrageous levels of nonsense he had encountered so far. “Long surfer hair,” he chortled.

Without missing a beat, the barber leaned in with his electric shaver, holding James’ head still with his other hand. “Hey!” he protested. A few seconds later, the barber withdrew; James’ jaw almost hit the floor when he saw himself in the mirror. Gone was his humiliating baldness; in its place, he sported a mop reminiscent of Patrick Swayze’s hair in “Point Break”, and in an arresting shade of blonde. He gaped at it wordlessly, then grabbed the top of his head and pulled. He felt a sensation he hadn’t experienced in years–the feeling of his hair being pulled, his skin lifting slightly off of his skull.

He let out a coughing sort of laugh. “This is incredible!” he gushed. “How is this possible?”

The barber simply held out his hand. “Glad you like it. That’ll be $125.”

James was more than willing to pay that price. Without warning, the readout of his available cash decreased; apparently, that was all it took. He thanked the barber, who continued to stand there, smiling pleasantly, otherwise not reacting. Looking around one last time, he headed to the door, was met with the expected white void, and found himself standing outside.

His chuckles erupted in fits and starts. He looked down on his pudgy form; his new hair clashed ferociously with his egg-shaped body, making him feel more ridiculous than before. He idly remembered passing a gym on the way here, and decided to head back there.

As he passed an alley, he suddenly stopped. Halfway down, there was an oversize golden police badge, bobbing up and down. He approached it carefully and looked closely at it; the badge simply continued to bob. Slowly, he reached out to touch it; the badge passed through his hand. James tried to grab it more aggressively, but to no avail; it continued to move up and down as if he wasn’t there. Shrugging, he left the alley and continued his trip to the gym.

Inside was a treadmill, a stationary cycle, a bench press, some dumbbells, and a boxing ring. In the ring was a student and his sparring partner; outside, a trainer continually gave advice. No one else was inside.

James hopped onto the treadmill and began walking; it started at a slow speed. He switched to a light jog; the belt sped up. He maintained this for several seconds, expecting to become winded, but he didn’t. He wasn’t even sweating! James increased his pace; the belt kept up. Before long, he was sprinting; somehow, he was putting up with this workout easily! He decided to see how long he could keep going.

After what was no more than five minutes, all of it done effortlessly, the treadmill slowed down, and a message appeared in his vision: “That’s enough for the day.” Disappointed, he let the belt slow to a crawl, then he stepped off. He looked down and gaped at the transformation.

Gone was the paunch he had sported since junior year of high school; in its place was the flat belly of his dreams. The deposits of fat on his arms and legs had vanished, too; the skin wasn’t even loose. He found a mirror and perused his newly trimmed form, enjoying it for a moment, then this shoulders slumped. The loss of fat, while miraculous, seemed only to highlight his frail shape.

Spying the dumbbells, he approached them and picked up the lightest pair. It was some effort to raise them, but he managed to. Could these work the same way as the treadmill did? He began pumping them up and down, starting slowly, then working to a frantic pace. He wondered if he was able to handle heavier weights; instantly, he found himself holding some. He continued to work out, mentally increasing the weights when he felt comfortable doing so.

Five effortless minutes later, his arms fell to his side, and the same message appeared in his vision: “That’s enough for the day.” He trotted over to the mirror, and almost fell over in surprise. Gone were his bony arms; he now had bulging muscles that would have made the jocks that bullied him in high school envious. Inexplicably, his legs had gained muscle mass too! He could see the ripples through his pants.

It dawned on him that his clothing had expanded to fit his new form; none of it felt tight. He shook his head in bewilderment as he gawked at the body of his dreams. But now, his vastly improved shape seemed to highlight the dorkiness of his outfit.

He looked around for someone to pay. The trainer continued to give advice to the student in the ring; he paid no attention to James. He moved toward the door, then looked back. No one tried to stop him from leaving; apparently, the gym was free of charge. He walked through the door and found himself outside.

An elegantly-dressed lady, approximately his age, walked by. “Did you find that outfit in a dumpster?” she snapped, before walking away with no further reaction. James chuckled to himself, then beat feet to the nearest clothing store he remembered seeing. He wondered how much a new outfit would cost him.