This choice: Doing some community outreach policing • Go Back...Chapter #4Doing some community outreach policing by: Mr. George   It's a dull duty. Where you sit in the community centre, and listen to anyone who has a gripe. Desperate to hear if their annoying neighbours' barking dog is commiting an offence. Or if that loud party could've been an offence. Or vague, wandering question about a friend, and what they've done, and if that's a crime.
Checking your watch, you can't wait to finish. You have a pile of real work to get done back at the station.
Finally, the last of the snitches, whiners, and nervous leave. It's half-an-hour before you're meant to leave. But... You know... Fuck it!
Tidying up your stuff, you head for the door with your case in hand.
- - - - -
The doors crash open, and a barely dressed woman fills the doorway. Her eyes are wild, and panicked. Her clothes are street-legal, but not suitable for church. Not that you object. A first guess, would call it a dressing gown, soft and satiny.
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/11/a7/f2/...
You bury your instincts, and act like the trained officer you are. She's a victim.
Guiding her to a nearby chair, you take one, and sit down. Exuding confidence and calm you hope she picks up on this.
Getting the basic details, you ask her name. Keeping the question smooth and steady. But her eyes widen, none-the-less.
"I'm..." she's struggling... "I'm a man..."
Your gaze quickly takes in her body. Professionally, double-checking your initial assessment.
But your gaze is caught, snapping back to her bust. As she gives a heart-rending wail... Her bust surges forward.
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/bd/c5/97/...
"I'm Amanda... I'm Amanda...." her voice quaking, as she corrects herself.
You recognise the symptoms. Her hands tremble in her lap, and you pat them, as if they were a trembling kitten. She's been dosed with nanites, and their collective intelligence works to stymie any progress. Some further changes are triggered by strong emotions, or particular hormones. Some by attempts to reveal their past identity.
You have to guess, this wasn't her chosen body. Her first answer, suggesting she wasn't always a woman.
Taking out a sheet of paper, and a pencil you try to get her to write the details. You steady her hands in your own, but she sobs once again....
"I'm a bimbo..." she wails... "I don't wanna be a bimbo..."
Calmly you repeat your instruction.
"I can't..." she wails, "I can't read and write now..." She snaps the pencil in frustration.
"Okay, I'll stick to yes or no questions, and I only want you to nod, or shake your head."
She sobs, sniffles, but nods her head in understanding.
"You were a man?" you ask. You keep the question without sub-text. Many people switch sex these days, without prejudice.
She nods. Opening her mouth, to speak, She stops herself, a glance to her bust, cautioning her to silence. She doesn't want to get any bigger.
Given the size she is already you doubt the nanites have much more energy to exert, to punish this former man. However, you don't want to traumatise him with false hope, as she gets another unwanted bust boost.
"This was unwanted?" You ask. "Not a mistake... a crime."
She nods.
"Do you know who did it to you?"
She nods.
"Wife?"
Her hand rises from her laps, gesturing that you're almost right.
"Ex-wife?"
She nods, and her head drops again. Her hand circles in the air.
"and more?"
she nods.
Not liking where this is going, you ask none-the-less.
"And your girlfriend?"
She nods, once more. A cautionary look to her bust, to see if it's grown. Her shoulders sag in relief, that they haven't.
But the hand stops circling, holding it in the air, she extends her three middle fingers.
"Your girlfriends?"
The emphasis needed for clarity, but she blushes, her cheeks colouring and warming.
"You are... were a gigolo?" You hate correcting yourself in front of her. And as you dreaded she flinched, as the are changed to were.
"I'm sorry... I'm not a gigolo! I'm not a cheat! I'm weak... I loved them all..." her tone was begging for mercy, for understanding.
"I love, Marcie, Jill, Billi, and Jackie."
She raced through their names then she stopped. The reason obvious to both of you. As her bust surged, once more.
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/e2/3a/73/...
There was a tell-tale ripple, this time. The nanites having reached the end of their programming. She wasn't going to be punished any further for talking. Somehow, you doubted that'd be much comfort for her. You refrain from telling her this isn't going to get any worse... As she'll hear it as 'this is your final form'.
"Bitches..." she snarls, snaps. Understandable given the heft of her bust, and the strain it must be putting on her shoulders. But, you also suspect that she's not going to be using that language now she's fully a woman herself.
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