Charlie opened her eyes to the same blinding, antiseptic white.
There was no night here, no day. Just the constant, electric hum of the fluorescent strips overhead. The 24-hour cycle of artificial brightness stripped away any sense of time, making the isolated cube feel like a cell.
She tried to lift herself up, but her body protested with a stiff, grinding resistance.
"Mmh..." A low groan escaped her lips as she rubbed a deep soreness in her shoulder. "Every part of me aches..."
She extended her arms, turning them over in the harsh light. The pale skin inside her elbows was marred by fresh bruising and a constellation of red puncture marks.
"Damn... just how many tests did they run while I was out?"
She sat on the edge of the mattress, gripping the cold metal corners of the bed frame. She scanned the empty, depressing room. No windows, no personal items. She was in a solitary confinement.
"Hey! Are you guys still there?!"
She screamed at the reinforced glass wall, her voice cracking with frustration.
Silence. The room swallowed the sound instantly.
She shoved herself off the bed and marched to the partition, pressing her face close to the glass. Nothing. Just her own reflection staring back against the glare. The shadowy figures from before were gone.
Then, a glint caught her eye in the upper corner of the ceiling. A lens. A small red light, unblinking, tracking her movement.
She let out a heavy, defeated sigh. "Hah... I guess I'm still being watched."
Needing to shock her body awake, she walked to the sink and splashed freezing cold water onto her face. The water dripped from her chin as she gripped the sides of the sink, looking up into the mirror.
She froze.
Clamped around her neck was a black metallic choker. The dark, glossy finish stood out violently against her pale white skin, giving her the appearance of a leashed pet rather than a patient.
"What the—?" Her hands flew to her throat. "What is this? This wasn't here before."
She clawed at it, fingers digging under the rim, pulling with all her strength. It didn't budge. It was seamless, lock-tight, and cold against her skin.
A surge of fury boiled in her chest, hot and violent.
Who do they think they are? Collaring me like a damn dog?
She glared at the mirror, trembling with rage, but the metal ring remained unyielding. She was a weapon to them, property to be tagged and leashed, and right now, there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.
"Crap... I gotta use the toilet."
The biological urge broke through her spiral of anger, but it brought a new wave of hesitation. Charlie hadn't checked her body naked yet. Not really. She had been avoiding it. The idea of peeling back that hospital gown was terrifying.
She used to be a wall of muscle and scars, a veteran forged in the desert heat. Now? She felt fragile. Light. Like a porcelain doll that would shatter if she moved too fast.
She hesitated, her hands hovering over her lap. She hadn't even truly felt her own skin yet.
Slowly, almost afraid of what she would find, she ran her palms over her thighs and arms. The sensation made her shudder. It wasn't the rough, weathered skin of a soldier. It was impossibly soft, smooth, and sickeningly delicate.
Her hands moved upward, trembling as they reached her chest.
She cupped the weight of her breasts, testing the reality of them. They were modest but undeniably there, soft and heavy in her palms. A strange, unwanted jolt of electricity shot down her spine at the touch.
She recoiled, dropping her hands as a flush of shame burned her neck.
"Disgusting..." she hissed, her voice trembling. "That old man said they didn't turn me into a girl... so why the hell do I have these?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, took a deep, steadying breath, and prepared for the final confirmation.
She stood up and lifted the hem of the patient gown.
The skin of her lower stomach and groin was just like the rest of her—pale, smooth, and completely hairless, like an artificial construct. But there, resting amidst the feminine smoothness, was the last remnant of Charlie Mercer.
His manhood was still there. But it looked wrong. It seemed smaller, softer, shrinking in the shadow of this new, alien female form.
She let out a complicated sigh, staring down at the contradiction between her legs.
"I don't know if I should be relieved... or horrified that it's still there."
She stood up to finish her business, fumbling with the unfamiliar hospital gown. She had barely pulled the fabric up when a hydraulic hiss cut through the silence.
A seamless section of the white metal wall slid open, revealing a hidden door.
The room was instantly flooded with people. Four figures in white biological hazmat suits marched in, their faces obscured by thick respirators. They were pushing a vertical transport chair, bristling with straps and locks. Flanking them were two tactical guards in full black body armor, their faces hidden behind opaque visors, submachine guns leveled directly at her chest.
"H-Hey, wait! Can't you see I'm busy?!" Charlie yelled, instinctively trying to cover herself as she backed away.
The intruders didn't even blink. They moved with the cold efficiency of a machine.
"Get in the chair." One of the armored guards said in a demanding tone, his voice distorted by a modulator.
Charlie hesitated, but before she could even process what was happening, the lead guard closed the distance.
He didn't ask again. He lunged.
A gauntleted hand grabbed her upper arm, yanked her forward. Charlie tried to dig her heels in, but she was lifted off her feet and thrown into the metal seat like a ragdoll.
Clang.
"Secure the target."
Thick leather straps were cinched across her chest. Cold metal cuffs clicked tightly over her wrists and ankles, biting into her soft skin.
Charlie gasped, the wind knocked out of her.
What the hell?
Panic flared in her chest, but it was overshadowed by confusion. Just hours ago, she had punched a shockwave into the air. Now? This guard had manhandled her like she was a child.
I thought I was supposed to be a monster... I thought I had super strength. Why am I so weak?
The hazmat team wasted no time. They unlocked the wheels and spun the chair around, marching her out of the room as quickly as they had entered.
"Hey! Where are you taking me?!" she shouted, straining against the cuffs.
The only answer was the rhythmic thud of combat boots hitting the metal floor.
They finally stopped at a heavy steel door. It slid open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a sterile treatment room cluttered with gleaming surgical tools and monitors.
In the center of the room sat an examination chair, bristling with leather straps and buckles. Waiting for them, sitting on a stool with calm detachment, was the old scientist from the observation deck.
The guards didn't ask her to move. They hoisted Charlie up and strapped her into the reclined seat, securing her wrists and ankles with practiced efficiency. A blinding overhead lamp clicked on, forcing her to squint against the sudden glare.
"Dammit... Hey, old man! What is this? Why drag me down here?" Charlie snapped, testing the strength of the restraints. "And while you're at it, explain this damn collar you put on me."
The old man leaned back, completely unfazed by her aggression.
"Calm down, Charlie. I am here to conduct a final physical exam before your training begins. We couldn't map your entire physiology while you were sleeping."
"Oh yeah?" Charlie spat back, her eyes narrowing. "That doesn't explain the leash."
"The collar is a necessity," he replied smoothly. "The Magical Core output is volatile. That device dampens your magical energy to safe levels to protect the facility—and you." He gestured vaguely at her neck. "It also serves as a physical reminder of your current standing."
The man leaned forward, his voice dropping to a dead, cold tone that cut through the sterile air.
"I need you to understand this clearly, Charlie. You are officially the property of the United States military. The man you once were is dead. In your current state, you are not considered a human being—neither biologically nor legally."
He raised a single finger to silence her protest.
"You are simply a living weapon. My advice? Follow your orders. Resistance will only make things more difficult for you."
A chill went down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold room.
Not human?
The hopelessness of it threatened to drown her. Locked in a black site, collared like a dog, surrounded by armed guards... escape was impossible. Especially with this limiter on her neck.
She closed her eyes, forcing the panic down. She had to keep her mind sharp. No matter what they said, no matter what body she was in, she was still Sergeant Mercer.
Even if I have to play their game... I am still alive.
She swallowed her pride. She would survive this. She would find a way to break free, to find her family, to get her life back. But to do that, she had to wait.
She opened her eyes, masking the fire burning behind them.
"Understood," she said, her voice flat. "I'll do as you say... sir."
For now.
"Good," the old man replied, standing up and snapping a pair of latex gloves. "You may call me Professor Adam. We will be seeing a lot of each other. Now... let's begin the examination."
The examination dragged on for hours, a grueling marathon of physical and neurological stress tests.
Professor Adam was thorough—obsessively so. He checked her pupillary response with blinding lights, tested her nerve density by running freezing metal rods along her spine, and measured her muscle elasticity with cold, pinching calipers.
By the end of the first hour, she was stripped completely.
Charlie lay shivering in the center of the room, stark naked under the harsh fluorescent glare. She felt exposed, not just physically, but existentially. She wasn't a soldier here; she was a lab rat. A specimen to be prodded, measured, and cataloged.
"Now for the internal physiological assessment," Professor Adam announced, peeling off his gloves. He pressed a button on the comms unit. "Send in Unit 7."
The door hissed open, and the rhythmic clicking of heels echoed against the metal floor.
A woman walked in, carrying a metal tray of instruments. She was a mature beauty with a voluptuous, hourglass figure that strained against the fabric of her tight, pristine white nurse's uniform. Her cleavage was deep, threatening to spill out of her neckline, and her hips swayed with a practiced, heavy grace.
She set the tray down and offered the Professor a polite nod. "Ready for extraction, Doctor."
"Proceed, Nurse," Adam commanded, stepping back to observe with his tablet in hand.
The nurse turned her attention to Charlie. She had a soft, motherly smile that didn't quite reach her cold eyes.
"Spread your legs for me, sweetie," she purred, her voice husky and commanding.
Charlie gritted her teeth, humiliation burning in her chest, but she complied. The nurse crouched down, her ample chest hovering just inches from Charlie's knees as she began a tactile examination.
She cupped the testicles, weighing them in her soft, warm palm to check for density, then moved up, gripping the head and retracting the skin to inspect the tissue.
"Hnng..." Charlie bit her lip, forcing herself not to recoil. "Is this... really necessary?"
"Shh, relax," the nurse soothed, though her grip was firm.
To Charlie's horror, her body betrayed her. Unlike the Professor's cold touch, the nurse's hand was warm and soft. Despite the shame, a physiological reaction triggered, and she felt herself hardening in the woman's grip.
"Vascular response is excellent," the nurse noted over her shoulder. "I'm initiating the prostate check."
"Wait, what do y—?"
Before Charlie could finish the sentence, the nurse moved. She coated two gloved fingers in gel and, without warning, pressed them against Charlie's anus and slid them inside.
"Hah!"
It wasn't a scream, but a sharp, high-pitched gasp that was humiliatingly feminine.
What the hell? Why did I make that noise?
Panic flared in her eyes. The invasion was sudden and full.
"W-What are you doing?!" she yelled, her voice cracking. "Get your damn fingers out of me!"
The nurse ignored her outburst completely. She twisted her wrist, pressing her fingers deep against the walls of Charlie's rectum, massaging the prostate with a rhythmic, skilled motion.
"Stop squirming, dear. Just breathe," she whispered, leaning in closer.
She didn't remove her fingers. Instead, while maintaining the invasive pressure inside to keep Charlie pinned, she draped her upper body over the chair. She reached up with her free hand and grabbed Charlie's breast.
"To test the sensory amplification..."
She squeezed the soft flesh, her fingers kneading deep into the tissue. Her thumb circled the hardening nipple, teasing it with agonizing slowness.
"Hnn...!"
Charlie arched her back involuntarily, her legs trembling. The combination of the nurse's fingers stimulating her prostate and the heavy, warm hand massaging her breast was overwhelming. She tried to clamp her mouth shut, but a broken, needy sound escaped anyway.
Fuck... why... why does this feel good?
Her mind was screaming in protest, disgusted by the violation, but her biology was betraying her. The pleasure spiked through her brain.
This is wrong... stop it... I'm a soldier, dammit!
"Your physiological response is excellent," the Professor noted from the corner, watching the display. "You see, Charlie? The Core amplifies all sensory input—especially pleasure."
With a wet, sickening sound, the nurse finally withdrew her fingers from behind.
"The sensitivity is perfect, Doctor," she reported, wiping her hand.
Charlie slumped forward, clutching her chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her face was burning with a humiliated flush. She glared up at the woman, pure, unadulterated hatred boiling in her gut.
I'm going to kill them both, she swore silently.
The Professor didn't even notice the look. "Now, for the final part. I require a viable semen sample. Nurse?"
"With pleasure."
The nurse stepped between Charlie's legs again. She wrapped her soft, warm hand directly around Charlie's length.
She was already broken, trembling from the sensory overload. Her manhood, though diminished in size, twitched eagerly against her will in the nurse's grip.
The nurse leaned in close, her heavy breasts pressing against Charlie's thigh, the smell of floral perfume and antiseptic filling Charlie's nose.
"Let's get this out of you," she whispered.
She began to move her hand. Up and down.
The motion was slow at first, then picked up a wet, rhythmic pace. She knew exactly where to rub, exactly how much pressure to apply.
"Nngh!"
Charlie squeezed her eyes shut, her head thrown back against the leather headrest. The pleasure was amplified in this new body, turning every stroke of the nurse's hand into a bolt of white-hot electricity.
She tried to fight it, but her body was no longer her own. Her hips bucked upward, chasing the nurse's hand, her waist arching off the chair in a display of pure, animalistic need.
"That's a good girl," the nurse cooed, speeding up.
"Ah... AHH!"
A loud, humiliating moan tore from her throat. Her body convulsed, her hips jerking spasmodically as she spurted a thick, white stream into the collection cup the nurse held in her other hand.
The climax was intense, chemically spiked to be overwhelming, leaving her body shuddering in the aftershocks.
When it was over, she slumped back into the restraints, completely drained.
"Sample secured," the nurse said, sealing the cup with a satisfied smile. She patted Charlie's cheek condescendingly. "You did very well."
Professor Adam stood up. "Tests are complete. Return her to containment immediately."
As the guards began to wheel her out, Charlie looked at the nurse and the doctor with blurry, hate-filled eyes.
"Fuck... you..." she whispered.
The Professor just smirked. "Today's tests were quite... productive. Pleasurable, even. Cherish this memory, Sergeant."