Jeffrey Giligan tried to protest as he was dragged back up into the playground. “You don’t undewstand! I’m not weally this kid! I’m Michemangenamelo Detwus!” His inability to say his own name aggravated him immensely.

“Now, now, stop fibbing!” the teacher reprimanded him. “Just wait till your mother hears what a bad boy you’ve been!”

His mother, Jeffrey thought derisively. As if the mother of some stupid kid would be able to stop him, Michelangelo Demetrius, from getting his body back. He vowed silently that he wouldn’t rest until he got hold of that gun and returned to his life of success and happiness.

Meanwhile, Michelangelo Demetrius was having fun trying out his new body. He found he could do handstands, turn a perfect cartwheel, and jump so high he could touch the ceiling (which seemed like a great feat to him, even though it was only a few feet above his head). His aides looked at him, perplexed, as they tried in vain to get his attention.

“Perhaps we should take this firing device back and analyze it,” the woman suggested. “Maybe it did something to him.”

At that, Michelangelo looked over and reached for the weapon. “Ooh, lemme see it!” He took it in his hands and squeezed it too hard. With a crack, it crumbled into pieces. Wow, I’m so strong, he thought. He had wanted to try using it again, to see if he could become someone else. He wondered what it would be like to be a girl. Oh well, he liked the body he had. Being a girl would probably be gross anyway.

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