This choice: On a crime-riddled frontier planet • Go Back...Chapter #4On a crime-riddled frontier planet by: Mr. George   The last memory you recall as you feel the alien Sun burning your eyes, is blacking out on the final descent. You mind feels muzzy, slow and off. You don't recall the briefing saying anything about the redness of the Sun. As you groan, try to recall the briefing pack. It was meant to be an ordinary yellow Sun, like the one around Sol. Not too oppressive and bright, and not too dull and bloated.
After another few moments, you suss that it's red from the blood in your eyelids, not the colour of the Sun. It's actually quite a pleasant warmth, once you turn your head away from the piercing brightness. Letting out a low sensual moan of pleasure, you allow your muscles to relax, to just sun bathe. It doesn't sound like anyone is nearby, just the relaxing ebb and flow of waves lapping on the shore.
To collect your thoughts, and make a plan you review what you can remember from the briefing pack. This world is a frontier world, one without too much technology, where a man survives on his wits and his skills. The sand shifts as you nod your head. Even now, you're sure this will be a perfect re-start for you. Away from all that dehumanising technology, just working with your hands, building your home literally from the ground up.
It isn't well policed or protected, without any established industries, it's value is low. But you know how to deal with criminals. You can handle yourself in a fight, at least well enough for them to move on to an easier target. Just establish a reputation, and it will spread, nobody will mess with you, once they know what a hard man you can be... Only when forced to it.
Your hand slaps your face, as you reach up. A memory of a needle and an injection surfacing. Ahh, the reason for your black-out. You scratch where you think you were stabbed in your neck, it feels sensitive, soft and smooth, tender,... or maybe your nails just need a trim. Or possibly the warm air has dried out your skin.
More comes back to you, as you flop your arm to rest limply back by your side. Something about a DNA treatment, you signed a consent form. Groaning again, you recall the questions. Apparently, the changes while not voluntary were all human, and just meant to help you on the planet.
Taking a deep breath, you wonder what you've been given as enhancements.
You don't feel any stronger as you sit-up, propping yourself up on your arms. Hell, if anything a little weaker.
A cold wave of dread fills your veins, as you make a mental leap. Snapping your eyes open, you take in your new form. Shit! Shit! Shit!
The bastards have made you a woman. A touch tanned, and with long black hair. It feels long enough to reach your ass.
Once more you feel a wave of dizziness sweeps over you, a muzzy slowness. You spot a rough fence? in front of you. Even walking to that feels off, a revelation, as your hips move automatically, instinctually, and a whole lot more than you want.
But you plunk your full ass down listening to the beam creak in protest.
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You take the sea air deep into your lungs, hoping to wake up. Either literally to discover a male body... your real body. Or figuratively, to just wake up and shake off this ditzy feeling. That too comes with it's own humiliating reminders, as your bust swells with each deep inhalation.
Your breath catches, and you feel your stomach gurgle. There's a crack from your hips, and you feel your arse swell even fuller, even rounder, and your waist pull in just an inch or two more. Unbidden, a whimpering moan slips out, both sensual and needy.
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Running your hands over your expanded hips, you wonder how much they'll piston up and down with each step. As you try to adjust to this, you feel that clutching tension, and again your stomach grumbles in protest. Again you feel the same sensations return. Once more your hips crack, and you feel pressure build. You try to press them further in, to minimise... to fight this... reverse this?...
But it doesn't feel like you've achieved anything, as the tension leaves your body.
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Desperate to find something positive, something you can build on. You thank your lucky stars nobody saw this, or knew you were originally male. The memory of a survival pack intrudes, and you want to punch the air, or yell for joy. Though, not with these tiny ineffectual fists, or with this girlish voice.
The bag looks massive, about as big as your torso. Hmmmh, so maybe not that big really. Some ID, and some survival essentials.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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