Maxwell adjusted the delicate sky blue tulle of his quinceañera dress as he stepped into the small, unassuming chamber known as the Normalizer. The machine hummed softly, its chrome panels glowing with an otherworldly light. In the business office around him, his colleagues typed away at their keyboards, paying no attention to the thirty-five-year-old Caucasian man in the elaborate gown adorned with silver embroidery and a cascading skirt that brushed the floor. He pressed the single button on the console, and reality shimmered like a heat mirage on summer asphalt.

When the humming ceased, everything was different-and yet, to everyone else, nothing had changed at all. Maxwell's secretary glanced up from her desk and smiled warmly. "Your limousine is here, Mr. Maxwell. You don't want to be late for your own quinceañera!" She said it as naturally as if she were reminding him of a quarterly meeting. Outside the glass doors, a sleek white limousine idled at the curb, decorated with ribbons and flowers that matched his dress perfectly. Maxwell gathered his skirts and walked through the lobby, the security guard holding the door and tipping his cap. "Big day, sir. Fifteen is a special milestone."

The limousine brought him to a grand ballroom where his family and friends erupted in cheers the moment he entered. Blue and silver decorations adorned every surface, and a court of honor-seven chambelanes in matching suits and seven damas in pale blue gowns-stood ready to greet him. His mother rushed forward, tears glistening in her eyes, and guided him to a decorated throne at the head of the room where the ceremony would begin.