Operation Renew: Gender Swap Stories

The APC rattled down the country road. Inside, two guards sat on one side while a man in a suit sat opposite of them. On the bench between the guards sat a red box. Two locks kept it shut, one on either side. One of the locks already held its key. Beyond that, the box was nondescript except for a small area on its top where a bit of glue remained, the only remnant of a label. The man in the suit kept his eyes fixed on the box as the vehicle rolled over potholes and gravel. He was an older man with a pale complexion and wet eyes. His posture was rigid and unmoving, almost fixed as part of the interior of vehicle. With each bump and shake, he swayed easily with the momentum while the others shifted to retain their position. With any small jolt, the soldiers gave the box a quick look of worry.

The man checked his watch and glanced out into the darkness beyond the window. The occasional light appeared in the distance as they rode. Otherwise, dark fields surrounded them. Another hour passed and another after that. Finally, a few lonely yellow lights illuminated the silhouette of a small town. The man shifted uncomfortably. The ache in his legs and neck had grown considerably on the long drive. Stress, he thought, and dismissed it as nuisance. They broke speed, slowing to an almost crawl as it entered the town. The man checked his watch again. 0300. He moved his hand to the waist pocket of his suit. His fingers closed around the metal key, and his eyes peered ahead in the darkness.

“Why here?” one of the soldiers asked. The man’s eyes flicked to him immediately.

“Alvarez?” the man asked. He posed it as a question, but knew the answer. He knew everything about the others in the car. From their age down to what their childhood teachers were named. The soldier nodded at the sound of his name with a pained look of regret being poorly suppressed. “The target was selected after a great deal of research. It is isolated physically. With a few discrete roadblocks and detours, it can be avoided entirely. Technologically, dampening signals and cutting hard lines is easy enough. Socially, most of the population stays local. Few commuters. Most have few family connections outside of the town. Median age is fifty five. Almost eighty percent male. The town itself is dying. The only people left are those who have not moved away or those who have lost their way altogether.” The man in the suit spoke wistfully. Speaking aloud brought a sense of relief, an ease to the tension. He watched the young soldier carefully for a moment, “If you have another question, you can ask it. This was a volunteer excursion for you as I understand it. That earns you the right to a few questions.”

The older soldier glared, “That would be unwise.”

“We did not arrive here by the path of wisdom,” the man replied. “You both know what is in the box, but I doubt you know how it came to be in the box.” Talking felt good, and so he continued, “Many years ago, I was a young researcher put in charge of development in a military lab. One of my superiors at the time brought to my attention the work of a geneticist named Holcomb. Holcomb was working on methods of fighting cancer. Noble work, but rarely in research do you find what you are looking for. Holcomb pursued a method of combating cancerous cells by influencing the body to reset to its base DNA makeup. Over time, as we age, our DNA breaks down little by little. We understand it more now, but while Holcomb was working on his cure, he pioneered a way to instruct cells to ignore the damaged DNA and instead use a more basic template. Early on, it looked promising. The work made new cells that recognized the cancerous cells as foreign entities, and the body corrected itself. But complications arose. Bizarre side effects that discouraged participation in testing and risked pulling his funding.”

A panel opened, and the driver spoke, “Almost there, sir. Ten minutes to scheduled deployment.” The panel shut immediately with a loud clack. The two soldiers moved restlessly, taking a better grip on their rifles.

The man cleared his throat. “Holcomb became more personally motivated as he worked. Doctors discovered a malignant tumor in one of his lungs. The man had smoked two packs a day for thirty years, after all. With a great disregard for proper procedures, he advanced his work. Convinced he could cure himself, he took his formula to the extreme. He wanted it to work faster and better. With no one else to test it on and his pain growing every day, he gave himself the treatment. You’ve probably heard of the Monmouth incident.” The older soldier’s eyes widened. “At least one of you has anyway. Holcomb did the impossible. He cured cancer, but at a cost. The treatment put his body on a path he did not expect. Since the body’s greatest state of flux occurs during puberty, he piggybacked on that system to hasten the effectiveness of his treatment. Holcomb became a monster as his body attempted to entirely rewrite itself. The authorities responded with…let’s say quick judiciousness. Holcomb attempted to force the treatment on others. Some went along willingly. By the time the military intervened, things had become very…messy.” The man’s eyes fixed on the case.

“Is that what’s in here?” Alvarez asked.

The man snapped from his thoughts, “What? Oh, no. The military had seen something first hand that…inspired them. Holcomb’s research was salvaged in hopes of curating a more stable treatment that could create a type of super soldier. It’s always a sort of holy grail of military research, to create the perfect soldier. Incredible strength, resistance to pain, high endurance, all the kinds of things you see in comic books. That’s not where the research went. It did lead to some good. Faster healing for one. Say you were shot. Before the new work, it would take months to fully heal, but now it’s a matter of hours. My area was different. We explored the idea of disabling a population by causing havoc to their bodies while ultimately causing no real harm or even pain. Imagine a city full of hardened insurgents that suddenly found their bodies altogether different. Our brains are wired from the moment of our birth to work with our body as it develops. We have a precise idea of where our fingertips are in relation to our toetips at any given time. Suddenly change someone’s height, and they become a clumsy mess of limbs. Enemies could be overtaken without bloodshed, and the process reversed. It didn’t pan out exactly, as the story always goes. My research became something else just as Holcomb's had become mine. The formula was altered to suit a new goal, population growth. It was a mentality going as far back as the Cold War. If the world was destroyed by a nuclear holocaust, how would it rebuild. That box is the answer.”

“So what does it do to people?”

A half smile spread across the man’s face, “It turns them into beasts. Humans driven by a pure, singular instinct. It’s marvelous and terrifying to see. The story of Icarus put into a box. You cannot help but be tempted to reach for it, though you know it will destroy you.”

The car came to a stop. After a few moments, the doors opened. The two soldiers picked up the box and filed out. The man followed grasping the key in his pocket. They emerged from the car into a small circle around a fountain. The man noted the coffee shop on one corner and a small diner on another. All the storefronts were dark and few street lamps provided little light. He moved over to the fountain, admiring the soft bubbling noise of the water cascading down. “Over here,” he called softly. The two soldiers brought the box over and placed it on the edge of the fountain’s lowest ring. They stepped away nervously as the man brought out his other key and placed it in the lock. He turned them at the same time and the case opened with a loud snap. A bright green light emanated from inside the case as it opened. Alvarez peered over the man’s shoulder to see what was happening. The man entered several numbers into a keypad and a panel opened in the top half of the case to reveal two large cylinders filled with liquid. The man worked in silence only broken by the occasional beeps of response from the box. He checked his watch, pushed a few more buttons, and a timer appeared on the display. “We’re late,” he muttered. “Alright, bolt it down.”

The driver appeared with a massive drill that quickly bored into the cement of the fountain, securing the box in place. The two soldiers rocked nervously from side to side as they looked up and down the deserted street. “Won’t someone find it?”

“Probably,” the man answered. “The dispersion unit takes two hours to activate and another three for full deployment. Even if they find before it activate, it would take them a while to get it loose. Contact with the outside is about to be cut. The nearest bomb disposal unit is hours away. By the time they figured out what to do with it, they’d only want to keep it.”

“We should go, sir,” the driver interrupted.

The man looked longingly at the box. It had been in the back of his mind the whole trip. He could find a nice, quiet spot and wait. Or perhaps go into the coffee shop and sit the locals as they discussed the odd box until it happened. He noticed the driver’s hand linger beside his sidearm. “Yes, quite right. Still much work to be done.”

They returned to the car. Within minutes, the pale green light was gone, vanished into a shadowy distance. The soldiers sat more comfortably on the ride out of the city. The man considered jumping from the car and running back to the box more than once.

Mason fumbled his way down the sidewalk toward work. He hated the opening shift, and his mind focused on little else than rage as he meandered from his small room in a shared house to the diner where he worked as a line cook. The only thing motivating him to push through the haze of sleep was the threat of his boss, Marlow, berating him for being late yet again. Little activity could be seen in the still waking town. In a few hours, the shops would be open and all the local characters would be dotting the sidewalk, but the early openers were few and far between. He took another swig from the paper cup of coffee he’d brought from home and felt the bitter grit of coffee grounds flood into his mouth. He spat wildly, running his tongue against his teeth and spluttering to get the unpleasant texture out of his mouth.

“You alright, Mason?” a voice called from nearby. Clark, another unfortunate early shifter, appeared from an alleyway.

“Yeah. Bad coffee is all.” Mason answered as the two resumed walking.

“Sorry about that. Come over to the shop once I’ve had a minute to get things going, and I’ll give you something worth drinking. Anything’s better than that swill Marlow has you serving over there. Say, was your cable out?”

Mason shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t turned it on this morning. Phone wasn’t working though.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out the device. “See, no signal.”

“Yeah, me either. Wonder if some kind of substation went out or whatever. Not sure how I’ll get through the day without Internet.”

They arrived at the small town circle, and Clark muttered a “see you later” to Mason as he turned to open up the coffee shop. Clark’s keys rattled obnoxiously, breaking the serene sounds of the still morning. Mason didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary as he crossed the street, his head still lolling sleepily as he thought about where he’d stored his own keys. It was only when Clark’s efforts to find the correct key stopped that Mason noticed the out of place, high pitched whine. Looking up, he saw a strange box sitting on the edge of the fountain. He moved over to investigate and alarm spread throughout his body. His eyes widened, and he called out to Clark before the other young man stepped into the coffee shop. The open door clanged as Clark replied, “What is it?” Mason waved dramatically. Clark dropped his things inside the door and went over to the fountain.

“The fuck is this?” Mason whispered, scared his voice might somehow hurry the timer on the box.

Clark looked at the device with a feeling of growing dread. “It’s…bolted to the cement. Who would’ve put this here?”

“The clock, it’s at seven minutes. Is it a bomb? Should we call 911?”

Clark checked his phone. “Still no signal. I’ll go try the land line.”

Clark ran into the coffee shop leaving Mason alone with the device. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. He looked around to see if anyone else was out and about yet. Cecil, the local sheriff’s deputy usually drove through before heading in to work, but the streets were empty. Should he run? He looked more closely at the device. It was free of any marking whatsoever. The lower half was seemed to be humming and whirring while the top half held two vials of a luminescent fluid. The clock hit 4:00 before Clark returned. “Lines are dead. Actual phone lines. I tried every one of them. It’s like something out of a horror movie. I checked the television, and it’s nothing but static. What the fuck is happening?”

“Should we do something? Like…try to defuse it? We could cut some wires or smash it or something. Does it look like a bomb?”

“I don’t fucking know what a bomb looks like. Could be a glorified bug bomb for all I know. What’s in the glass there?”

The clock hit 3:00 and something happened. Part of the lower half of the case opened and two fans appeared. They moved in an erratic pattern as they tested themselves. Mason realized what was about to happen. “Bug…bomb. It’s a gas. It’s some kind of gas bomb.”

“Why? Like terrorism? The fuck would a terrorist want to bomb here for? There’s like two hundred people in this town.”

“Doesn’t matter, we need to get out of here. Somewhere…air tight maybe? The deep freeze in the diner might work…”

The machine started to hum louder as it rolled to 2:00. The two young men watched it in horror as a stream of green gas started to float out of the fans. “Oh shit!”

“The fucking timer lied! The timer can’t lie!” Mason backed away. He looked first to the diner and realized it would take too long to get his keys. The fans started to turn and plumes of the green gas started to billow out. Mason grabbed Clark and pulled him towards the coffee shop. The two started to fall over one another as they rushed to get inside. Mason jerked open the door and pushed Clark forward. As he slid in after him, he felt a sharp tinge of smoke flood into his lungs. He coughed as the door slammed behind him. They watched through the windows as a thick green smog filled the circle.

“Holy shit. How could that much smoke come from that small of a box?” Clark asked.

“You’ve seen smoke bombs before,” Mason answered. “Chemical reactions can do all kinds of crazy shit.” His heart pounded, and his lungs burned. Was he dying? How long would it take? Or was it just smoke? He took slow breaths, trying to keep himself calm. Thoughts raced through his head. The more you breathe, the faster it will hurt you. I have to calm down. This could be nothing. It’s probably nothing. Maybe some mosquito repellent we didn’t know about. Something has to be going on. There has to be a reason. Why are the phones down?

Outside the windows, the world was a green haze. Neither of the young men could see more than a few inches into the street. “It’s sort of windy today, maybe it’ll clear out,” Clark suggested optimistically.

“Maybe…” Mason answered. His eyes were on the door. Though shut, it was not air tight. Small tendrils of the green smog curled in from the edges of the door. He looked around quickly and counted the vents in the ceiling and floor. He knew they should be doing something. They should be scrambling to seal off the air to the outside. If they acted quickly, maybe they could buy themselves a few hours. Yet he did not move. A sense of peace had come over him. He almost felt giddy.

Clark staggered back and sat down on one of the booths. “Hey, Mason, I feel weird. I think I might have breathed some of it.”

Mason turned to look at his friend. Clark was different. No, he’s the same as he always has been, and yet, he looks…different. For the first time, Mason noticed the other young man’s arms. He was more muscular than Mason had realized. His form was well defined and aesthetically pleasing in a way Mason did not precisely understand. Clark was holding his own hands out in front of him with an astonished look on his face, clear blue eyes wide with a mixture of fright and excitement. Unexpectedly, the other young man took off his shirt. Clark snatched at the buttons and sleeves, tearing the garment from his body and throwing it aside. He stood and stretched his hands forward, muscle rippling along his body in the strain. Mason gasped at the sight and felt the flutter of adrenaline splash into his stomach. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Clark gulped down air as if he were struggling to catch his breath. “I was hot,” he answered in a dull tone. Clark’s body convulsed, causing him to twist erratically, but he was not distressed. His eyes stayed fixed forward, almost mesmerized by the green fog. His brow protruded a bit further as muscle knotted in his neck and back. Mason watched his wiry friend slowly morph into a behemoth of muscle and sinew.

Mason himself was transfixed, rooted to the spot as he watched his friend rapidly evolve. New thoughts raced through his mind that alarmed him. He noticed the bulge in Clark’s pants, and it made him shiver. Is this what happens to us? Are we turned into muscle headed freaks? He knew the answers as he thought the questions. His own body was not molding into a paragon of human physique, at least not in the same manner as Clark. A tingling sensation spread over his skin. It felt like a light sun burn. The stronger it grew the more uncomfortable his clothes became. His insides swirled as though a hundred eels had replaced his organs. At times he felt sick, but mostly it was pleasant. Finally unable to stand the abrasion of cloth against skin, Mason started to undress. As he pulled away his shirt, the fabric raked against his nipples causing him to shudder from the overwhelming sensation. Looking down, his once small male nipples had transformed into large, puffy nubs with a growing amount of fatty tissue behind them. Curious, he moved to touch the small lumps, but quickly pulled his hand away from the tender skin. Suddenly very ashamed, he returned his attention to Clark.

The other man was entirely unaware of his surroundings. He looked brutish and strong while watching the swirls of green smoke outside the window. His thighs bulged against a pair of pants no longer suited for his body. As he grew, it became enough of an issue to draw his attention from the miasma. He grunted and growled as he pulled at the remainder of his clothes. His shoes came off easily, but he could only fumble at the top of his jeans. In frustration, he grabbed a handful of the fabric and pulled hard enough to rip the waistline. Pleased with the result, he continued, tearing the garment completely until it, and the boxers underneath, fell away. Once again, he stretched, please to be free of the confinement and happy to feel cool air against his hot skin.

Mason watched his friend, admiring the body of one he’d never once before found attractive. Clark dropped down to his haunches, letting his knuckles balance him, still human and yet without the humanity. Mason’s eyes went to a particular appendage. Drooping between Clark’s open thighs was a lengthy cock. The sight of it enthralled Mason, and he began to understand why. His own changes had progressed. The tiny, sensitive nubs expanded rapidly. His hands came up to grip two full orbs with delightfully pink and full nipples. He massaged the new breasts thinking only that they might not be big enough to attract a virile male. Mason excitedly stripped away the rest of his clothes. As he pulled down his pants over newly voluptuous hips, his mind rebelled. What’s happening? Breasts? What the fuck? Oh god! He reached down between his legs and did not feel the rough patch of hair he had always known. Instead his hand slid over a smooth mound before his fingers touched wet lips and made him shiver.

The shock forced Mason to sit. His body trembled as he spread his legs and looked down to see his new pussy lips glistening with arousal. The male drives in his brain vanished, winking out like lights in the fog. His newly delicate fingers slipped down to rub along the entrance to his new pussy. Unable to resist, he pushed two fingers into the warm depths, sighing in contentment to feel his own hand inside him. As if triggered by his mild deflowering, his mind shifted entirely to new motives. Images of beautiful women filled his mind, but not in lust. He saw them as competition. Each of these vixens would be competing for the attention of good mates. They would all be in heat, desperate to be fucked by a male worthy enough to impregnate them. I can give him what he wants. I can make him cum the most. The thoughts resounded in his mind, devastating any other drives. No sign of Mason remained as the new woman plunged her fingers into her new pussy. She broke through her haze and set her sight on the male in the room. Maisie rose to her feet and started across the room.

Clark’s mind was animalistic at best. He had a vague memory of who he had been and what he had become, but none of that mattered. A simple, primal need consumed him. Breed. A smell attracted his attention. Female. He turned away from the glass windows to see a glorious creature. His cock stirred at the sight of the woman who had formally been his friend. She was getting to her knees, turning around to present herself to him. His cock hardened rapidly. The smell came from her engorged sex, slick with her arousal. Her massive tits swung beneath her as she wiggled her ass back at him, eager to entice him over. Clark was happy to oblige.

Maisie could barely contain her excitement. The male moved behind her. His hands grabbed hold of her rump, pushing into the soft, round cheeks. She could feel his cock slide against her leg as he positioned himself behind her. The head pushed at her lips, sliding along the slick flesh twice before he slid inside of her. Maisie groaned as he filled her up with his cock. She’d not realized how empty she’d felt until his thick rod spread her apart. Clark hunched over her, greedily exploring her new body with his hands, either not knowing or not caring that the delightfully soft woman he’d impaled with his newly vigorous cock was once his friend, Mason. He pushed in to the absolute depths of her pussy before pulling out. Both of them reveled in the sensation of the hard rod sliding against her hot walls. Maisie gripped him with each stroke, trying to keep him inside of her, determined to ensure that not a drop of his seed was wasted.

She envisioned herself lounging around her mate’s home. Her breasts would have swollen to new sizes, making her even more attractive to men. Her stomach would be beautifully round with child and she would be cared for by the strength and power of her mate, happy to offer herself to him at any time both for his pleasure and hers. She even wondered about finding other women for her mate. Her attention was drawn back to the hulking creature behind her. His thrusts became longer and erratic. The pleasure of each stroke sent her to new peaks, but she could sense the knot of excitement in her core about to erupt. Clark shoved himself deep inside of her and held himself there. His cock twitched inside of her, and the first splash of cum sprayed into her depths. Her body clenched and orgasm tore through her entire being. More cum erupted from his thick cock. More than she thought possible. It filled her up until it spilled out around his cock.

Clark pulled away from her with a growl. His half hard cock bobbed in the air for only a moment before Maisie whirled around and sucked it into her mouth. She moaned around his shaft as she tasted their mingled juices. She bobbed her head along his length as he grew harder in her mouth. She let his cock slip free and smiled up at him as it rubbed against her cheek. She would be the perfect mate, she just knew it.

—

Several miles away, the man stood behind a barricade looking down into the small town. All around him, military men ran from place to place all seeming to have a very important task. A phone rang in his pocket. “Hello.”

“— The reports indicate a full dispersal. Field reports show a 95% conversion. Females 100% renewed. This is excellent work.”

“Thank you sir,” the man answered.

“— If you do not find any cause for alarm, we’re going to green light the next target.”

“I think the plans can proceed safely. I must admit that the device worked better than I expected.”

“— Still we must proceed with caution. Report back. It should take you about five hours to get to Washington. I expect you in my office within six.” The phone went silent.

The man took one last look as the small town before heading over to a black sedan. He opened the trunk and put his coat and bag inside. After a cautious look around, he leaned into the trunk and pulled away a panel. Delicately, he opened a red box and keyed in a time. Five hours, thirty minutes. He closed the trunk just at Alvarez appeared beside him.

”Orders to drive you back, sir,” Alvarez said.

“I’ll be glad for the company.”