G.R.O.W.T.H

~ 1st Person Pov ~

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"Wha~ What the?" 

I turned to my left, seeing a desk and an alarm clock next, looking downwards to my right, I saw the creases and folds of a spreading...

It was a white bedsheet, or some sort of blanket over my lap. My hands—no, these hands—rested on top of them them; my fingers twitching slightly as if testing their own responsiveness. They weren't mine.

The skin I was looking at was smoother than I remembered it, paler than I remembered—though remembered might not be the right word. Hell, It was like I was reaching for something in the dark, a shape just beyond recognition.

"Guh!"

My chest felt tight, my breath shallow as I turned my palms up and down, watching the light from the window shift across them. They obeyed me, but they definitely weren't mine. I knew that, I remembered it... I remembered me, but... Who even was I? 

I swallowed hard. My throat felt strange, foreign. Even the act of blinking, shifting my weight on the bed, sent a wave of unease through me. This isn't my body. The thought was cold to me, sharp, definitive. I didn't know much, but I knew at least that.

The air in the room was still and calm, carrying the faintest scent of something like linen and something sterile, like a hospital but not quite. My eyes darted around, scanning—beige walls, a closed wooden door, a bookshelf filled with spines I didn't recognize. And then, across the room, a mirror.

Dread pooled in my stomach.

I didn't want to see.

But my body—this body—was already moving, legs swinging over the side of the bed, feet pressing against the cool wooden floor. The mirror called to me, its glass surface a gaping unknown. My breathing hitched as I pushed myself up, every step slow, uncertain.

And then, I was there.

I looked.

And a stranger stared back.

"Oh... Oh no..."

I looked at the reflection to see black hair in contrast to ash blond. Brown eyes instead of blue, and features that didn't even remotely resemble me. Or, the old me?

'I'm so confused... What's even happening here?'

I lifted a hand—his hand—and watched as the reflection did the same. My fingers trembled as they hovered just shy of my face, brushing against unfamiliar skin. The sensation was real, the warmth, the pressure. This wasn't a dream.

I swallowed hard, "Okay... okay, think man." I ensured myself; Realizing my voice was much quieter than I even expected it to be, but it's also rougher. I took a step back, breaking eye contact with the complete stranger in the mirror.

Panic threatened to creep in, tightening around my chest, 'This isn't me. This isn't my body! Then where—?'

I turned sharply, scanning the room again, looking for something—anything—that could give me answers. Clothes draped over a chair. A phone charging on the nightstand. A half-empty glass of water. Normal things. Everyday things.

I moved toward the nightstand, grabbing the phone with stiff fingers. The lock screen flashed to life.

A name. A date. By mars! Even a missed notification!

And none of it meant anything to me.

The name wasn't mine. The date felt wrong. The message—a simple "Where are you? Call me when you wake up." from someone named 'Lena'—offered no comfort.

I sat back on the bed, gripping the phone tightly, my breathing shallow.

"What the hell is going o—ooOORARGGHHH!!!!"

A white-hot pain exploded in my skull. It was as if something was forcing itself into my mind, clawing, digging, rewriting. My vision blurred, the room tilting wildly as I clutched my head, the phone slipping from my grasp and thudding against the floor...

Flashes. Fragments. A literal flood of memories—but they weren't mine.

'E-Ethan Vaughn?' The name had hit me first, as solid as a punch to the chest.

'Twenty-one years old.'

Year: 2024.

The numbers and facts rushed in, suffocating, relentless.

A city skyline stretched across my thoughts—Towering buildings of steel and glass, neon lights humming against the smog-filled sky, people flying in the sky, aliens, explosions. Hover-trams gliding noiselessly above streets packed with people, all moving, all rushing, just like I—

"Shit!"

The pain vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving a cold sweat on my skin. My breath came fast, ragged. My heart pounded, not from fear this time, but from realization.

I knew who I was. I knew this world. And—

"I'm late for work."

Adrenaline surged through me as my body—Ethan's body—moved on autopilot. I scrambled up, nearly tripping over my own feet as I lunged for the chair where a neatly folded set of clothes sat. A crisp, navy blue work jacket. A name badge clipped to the lapel—Ethan Vaughn, Tech Division, Vance Industries.

My job. My life.

I didn't have time to process the sheer insanity of what just happened. I grabbed the phone from the floor, the screen still glowing.

[ 7:42 AM ]

I was supposed to be at work by 7:30.

"Oh shit, shit, shit!!"

I tore off the pajama shirt I didn't even remember putting on, and yanked on the work clothes, my fingers fumbling with each of the buttons. My head still ached, my thoughts still reeled at me, but I had no choice. I had to move. I couldn't lose this job, if I did I was a homeless man walking.

Whoever Ethan Vaughn was, whoever I had just become—he had a life to live.

And right now, that life was already running late.

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The elevator doors slid open with a faint chime, revealing the pristine, high-tech interior of Vance Industries—a sprawling corporate hub of glass, steel, and efficiency.

The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of polished floors and expensive cologne. Sleek holo-displays flickered across the walls, streaming company reports, industry news, and the ever-present Vance Industries logo. Employees bustled around, dressed in sharp business attire, data pads in hand, murmuring about their schedules.

And then there was me.

I shuffled in hastily, still adjusting my wrinkled work jacket, my ID badge slightly askew. My heart hammered against my ribs, my breath still uneven from the mad dash to get here. I didn't even remember the route—Ethan's muscle memory had carried me, my feet moving on instinct while my mind lagged behind, still struggling to catch up.

'Act natural. Just act natural.'

I kept my gaze as low as possible, avoiding eye contact as I weaved through the lobby as best as I even could. Because of all this, I could feel my nerves buzzing like live wires, an uneasy mix of What the hell is happening? and Oh crap, I'm so late.

I barely made it five steps in before I heard my name.

"VAUGHN!!"

My entire body locked up.

The voice was sharp, authoritative—carrying the kind of tone that made people freeze mid-step. I swallowed hard before slowly turning.

A tall man being around 6 feet, 2 inches tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark gray suit strode toward me, his polished shoes clicking against the floor. His neatly combed black hair and steely expression made it clear—this man was not someone to piss off. And I looked like the guy who did just that...

'Oh yeah;, this is my boss, isn't it?'

"You wanna tell me why you just walked in—" he flicked his watch, checking the time, "—at 7:57, when your shift starts at 7:30?"

I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again. My thoughts scrambled for an excuse—any excuse. But what the hell was I supposed to say? Sorry, sir, I just woke up in a different body this morning, and I don't even know much of anything?

His sharp brown eyes narrowed. "Well?"

"Crap—say something—"

"I... uh—" My voice came out quieter than I intended. I cleared my throat, gripping the strap of my bag. "I—I overslept. I'm really sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

His expression didn't shift. If anything, it hardened.

"Overslept?" he repeated, unimpressed. "You realize this is the third time this month?"

T-Third?! My stomach twisted in on itself. That meant Ethan—the real Ethan—had already been screwing up before I got here.

"Do you know how that makes me look when my team isn't at their stations?" His voice remained level, but the weight behind it made my palms sweat. "I got upper management breathing down my neck every day, Vaughn. I don't have time to babysit you."

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to nod. "I understand. It won't happen again."

For a moment, he just studied me. I did my best not to fidget under the scrutiny. Then, with a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I should be writing you up for this."

My breath hitched. "Please don't." The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice softer than before—almost pleading. "I—I know I screwed up. I'll stay late if I have to, I'll make up the work. Just... please don't report this."

Something flickered in his eyes—annoyance? Consideration? A mix of both?

Finally, with another heavy sigh, he muttered, "If I see you late again, Vaughn, I won't be so generous. Now get to work."

"Y-Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

I didn't waste another second. I turned on my heel, forcing myself to walk at a normal pace toward the tech department, even though my legs wanted to sprint.

My heart was still hammering. That was way too close.

But just as I reached my station, I felt my pocket buzz.

I hesitated before pulling out my phone. One new message.

[From: Lena]

We need to talk.

I stared at the words, my fingers tightening around the device.

Uhh... Who even was she? And why did I get the distinct feeling this conversation wasn't going to be a pleasant one?

I sat at my workstation, my hands hovering uselessly over the sleek, holographic interface. Multiple screens floated in front of me, filled with data logs, system diagnostics, and code scripts. It should have made sense. It had to make sense—this was my job.

But none of it did.

The symbols and numbers blurred together, unfamiliar and overwhelming. I could feel the knowledge somewhere deep in my head—Ethan's memories trying to connect, trying to tell me what to do—but they weren't mine. My fingers twitched, hesitating over the virtual keyboard.

"What the hell am I supposed to be doing?"

Before I could even attempt to fake my way through it, a voice broke through my thoughts.

"Dude, you look like you saw a ghost."

I flinched.

A guy had pulled up a chair beside me, lazily spinning it backward to straddle it. He was about my age, maybe a little younger, with messy auburn hair and a sharp grin that gave him a constant 'I know something you don't' look. His ID badge read Ryan Carter, Systems Engineer.

I scrambled for a response. "I—I'm fine."

"Uh-huh..." Ryan squinted at me, then drummed his fingers on my desk. "Funny, 'cause you just came in late as hell, got chewed out by Sinclair, and now you're staring at your screen like you forgot how to read."

Sinclair. So that was my boss's name. Good to know.

"Just... a rough morning," I muttered. It wasn't exactly a lie.

"Lena again?" Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow.

My breath caught. "W-What?"

"Yeah, figured." He sighed, leaning back. "Man, I told you she was gonna mess with your head if you kept playing that game. But hey, you never listen to me, do you?"

My stomach twisted. What the hell kind of relationship did Ethan and Lena even have?

Ryan didn't seem to notice my hesitation. He just shook his head, glancing at my screens. "Well, if you're done having an existential crisis, I'd start running the system patches before Sinclair breathes down your neck again."

"Right, y-yeah, of course," I said quickly, pretending to focus as I blindly tapped at the interface.

Ryan smirked at me, "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

I froze... That obvious?

After a long beat, I swallowed. "No. Not... really."

Ryan huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes, "Figures. Alright, move over, genius." He nudged my chair aside and effortlessly began running a diagnostic. Lines of code scrolled past as he worked, casually explaining things as he went.

I tried to listen, to absorb it, but my mind was, well... elsewhere.

'Lena.'

Who was she to me? A friend? A girlfriend? An ex? The unease in my gut told me it wasn't anything good.

I flicked my eyes back to my phone. The message that sat there like a time bomb to me for some reason.

[We need to talk.]

My fingers hovered over the screen before I finally typed out a reply.

Where?

Almost instantly, three dots appeared. Typing.

Then, the response:

[The café near your place. Noon.]

A glance at the time—8:24 AM.

'Four hours.'

I exhaled slowly, slipping the phone back into my pocket. Whatever this was, I had a feeling it was about to make my morning a hell of a lot worse...

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END