By FoxFaceStories

A Story Tier Prompt for Scoobert

In a future corporate dystopia, the cyberpunk antihero Benji survives by evading the law and keeping ahead of the corpo-industrial complex, taking merc jobs as they come with his trustworthy crew. But when their most profitable infiltration yet requires one of them to become an attractive woman, it’s time to get the bodymods on and become . . . Bonnie Billions!

First Part

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Bonnie Billions, Part 2

Benjie had been all poker face, but now that the snake eyes of his life’s die were staring right back at him, he was starting to twitch something fierce. He and his fellow mercs had agreed to Deimos’ plan, though he still wasn’t certain they’d really had the choice to walk away free; that ceiling-mounted sentry gun had been no joke. No joke at all. So here he was now, naked down to freshest pair of underwear, his brain screaming at him to hurry up and offload some illictry right into his brain stem, an act he literally couldn’t do thanks to the goddamn tampering of this jacked up jackboot of a military man.

“So what, I just get in the freakin’ tank?” Benjie asked, gesturing to the large cylindrical fishbowl in the centre of the laboratory space he’d been wheeled to.

Deimos, whose grey hair remained in a perfect military cut, nodded curtly. “That’s the up and down of it. Why, you nervous?”

“Just suspicious,” Benjie said. He turned to his partners. “What do you think, fellas? This seem as fishy as Lady Gralka’s fish soup to you?”

“With as many human fingers in the broth,” Leon said, folding his massively muscular arms, his more limited prosthesis bending into a fist. “You gonna be an experiment, brother.”

“Yeah, that’s what it feels like. Nygard? Give me your read.”

The terribly gaunt red-headed techspert was looking at the controls and gazing all around the equipment. If Benjie didn’t know any better, he’d almost think the guy was impressed.

“This is good stuff, Benjie. Real good stuff,” he said. “I - I haven’t seen tech like this in a while. This goes way beyond scrubbing and reselling Simcha Tech scrap! But . . . I thought gen-vats were illegal in the US Remnant?”

Deimos’ fact was entirely still. “It isn’t,” he said.

“W-well,” Nygard said nervously. “Then why have we-”

The man took a single step forward, his broad face illuminated by the green glow coming from the vat. “But we’re not in the US Remnant, are we? Or as I like to call it, the goddamn United States of fucking America, thank you very much.”

Nygard swallowed, then turned his face back to Benjie. “It looks legit,” he said to the dark-haired, permanent sunglass-wearing man. “At least as far as I can tell. I’d need a full diagnostic analysis to-”

“There’s no time for that,” Deimos said. “The vat takes time. You’ll be in there for two weeks. Then we need to prep you. Takana-Mayson’s patriarch is hosting a party on the Needle, and you have to be in attendance. From there, we’ll need your skills.”

Benjie eyed the vat. His heart beat a little faster. He really needed his goddamn chems. He’d visit a freakin’ fleshweaver down in the Dregs if it meant getting one little stim back into his system. Still, he kept his cool.

“Why me? Why not just hire some babe?”

Deimos smirked. “What makes you think we haven’t? But you’re the best in the business, Benjie. As are your crew, even if you don’t advertise it too loudly. We chose you. Dissolving your balls is small change compared to the rest of this op, so . . . Get. In. The. Fucking. Vat.”

Benjie narrowed his eyes, then threw the man a middle finger. Deimos stepped forward, and Benjie noted the way he walked, the man’s regular fighting stance. He filed it away for later, his implanted sunglasses taking a note of speed, reaction time, openings and weaknesses. “Fine, fine,” he said. “But I better not lose my fucking shades.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Deimos said, though without any actual humour in it. “Now get naked and jump in.”

“And I can’t keep my cock? Really?”

Leon spoke up at this point: “Can’t grow a pair of tits without busting a few balls, as they say.”

“Right. That’s exactly what they say, Leon.”

His large Polynesian friend guffawed, but turned his back respectfully. Benjie didn’t care much. He’d altered himself before. He didn’t even used to have black hair, nor had he been so tall initially. Hell, the skinjobs had done fine work on his face after his first corporate Black Notice, so why worry about this? It was just another change, for another job. One that would make him rich enough to never have to worry about Simcha or assholes like Deimos ever again. Hell, he could take the first ride out of Neon Street and right up into those dark clouds, coloured like they were tuned to a dead channel.

“Okay,” he said, throwing aside his underwear. “Let’s do this.” He stretched, bent forward, spread his ass cheeks just to make Deimos uncomfortable - and Nygard, since the man started gagging - and then ascended the ladder. The green glow of the chembath was brighter up close, and harkened back to the old stories, of industrial wrenchboys getting caught in waves of corpo runoff streams, and resurfacing with more arms than fingers.

“If you make me anything other than the world’s hottest babe, Deimos, I’m personally gonna ripe out your brain and keep it in a suspend-state jar for as long as I goddamn live.”

Deimos said nothing but: “Hurm.”

And so Benjie jumped in. The warm gel of the genevat welcomed him, and he slowly sank into it. It was porous and breathable, but the gunk got right up in his nose and mouth, its sludge creeping into his system just as it was intended to. He had holosims involving shit like this, real illegal pornvids with tentacles that went places tentacles just weren’t supposed to go. He went to activate them, only for his vision to start going funny. Even protected by his implanted glasses, the edges of which literally slid beneath the skin and left no spare space for anything to slip through, he still struggled to focus on the streams of information coming his way. The gel was powerful stuff, and the cyber-merc had no auto-stims or wrist-injectors to give him the necessary injector hit. 

The second last thing he thought about before his brain went to the dark place was that Deimos better not betray him after the job, or he’d take that thirty two megabytes of hot RAM right up the military man’s ass once he got it. 

The actual last thing he thought about was that he better wake up with a damn fine pair of sensitive tits. Or otherwise what was the point?

***

A dreamy haze. Real neon. Neon. Specced out and lit up like a tree from a long dead and forgotten winter festival. The lights danced in Benjie’s mind, free-flying neurons travelling along the livewire, receptors and beamers of information like highway traffic down the corpo-run highways. It was difficult to parse through. The glasses were no help. He tried to activate his scanners and instead got hit with the mother of all hangovers, or leastwise what felt like a hangover. By instinct, he reached out to grab a stim for his injector port. He needed less of that LSD-combine and more of the Slow-Mo, the kind of drip that paces you out.

Occasionally he summoned the mental and physical strength to open his eyes. Everywhere was green fluid. It was more liquid-like now, and he was floating in it. Sometimes he was even clutching his legs to his chest like he was a womb-grown kid back in the belly. There was, in fact, a cord. A feeder that went straight to his belly button, pumping in all those delicious chems and hormones that were needed for . . . something. A mission? It was hard to remember. All was dream. All was drug haze. All was peace and good times and dancing holo ladies in the edges of his vision.

Sleep again. Back into the resting void. Oblivion, man, it gets you. Holds out its wide arms and hugs you tight. The Grim Reaper is a vat of green chemicals and it feels just nice. Like a wave slipping back into the ocean, like stars returning to dust. Benjie made no attempt to fight it. His body was slick and floating, he was a babe in the womb again. Why not sleep? Nothing was happening.

He opened his eyes. The passage of time came in fits and starts, like he was dosed on Slow-Mo and an E-Cocaine derivative at the same time. Like he’d been plugged into the mainframe so long that reality was running at a speed that just didn’t handle the bytes he’d been downloading. He reached for sleep again, only to pause the temptation. Something was different. His body was different. Oh, that was right; he was in a genevat, wasn’t he? How did he get there? The answer eluded him, but he could definitely tell that his body had changed as he sleepily looked over his floating form. His body hair was gone, and his nipples were large and proud, a little darker than before and throbbing just a tetch. Like his old girlfriend Mila, right before they both juiced up and made sweet, chem-enhanced love to one another. Before she left him. He’d never forget her perfect nipples . . . only now he seemed to have a pair just like them.

“Hmm,” he murmured, but the fluid was in his throat, so the sound was off. He held up his hands, finding they too were altered. Thinner. Daintier. In a dream-like confusion he ran them over his own chest and shivered. He was drowning and not-drowning, and it was strangely wonderful. The smooth silkiness of his skin was remarkable, and his hair floated about him, long and dark. Like zero-grav.

Darkness.

Stillness.

The machine turned off. The engine no longer humming.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed. It could have been a week, it could have only been hours. One eye opened, followed sluggishly by its brother. Benjie blinked, and even that fragment of a fragment of dimming light nearly had him fade back into unconsciousness until he fully took in his surroundings again. The chamber was still there. He was floating in the green. 

“Hrmm,” he managed. “Unhn . . .”

It was a series of sounds that were intended to sound more like “Huh, this is interesting,” because the changes were yet more dramatic. His hair now floated outwards, thicker and easily long enough to slip over his shoulders. Said shoulders were smaller, the skin perfect. His breasts were also present, and it took him a moment for his mind to catch up on that particular detail. They were lovely, perfectly shaped, perhaps a B-cup. Was his skin a little more olive? Difficult to tell with the green light all around. But his dimensions had changed; waist pulled in, hips spread out. Legs long with dainty little feet. He kicked a little, and then heard a door open loudly outside the tank. Mind was compromised. Brainmatter on the backburner. But Benjie still had enough sense to play dead and float in the chamber. Despite the temptation to go back to sleep, he gave himself the promise that he’d get to play with his new tits soon.

‘Yeah, he’s almost ready,” came a voice that could only belong to Deimos. “Mission is on schedule. I understand sir, but these three are the best possible assets for the mission . . . Nygard is already working on infiltration specs, and Leon . . . the item will be secured and transferred immediately. National security will be ensured once . . . assets are unnecessary from that point . . . termination is recommended, yes. Benjie especially.”

The voice dimmed further as Deimos stepped away, but Benjie smiled to himself. He rotated slowly in the vat, sneaking a feel of his breasts. Mhmm, they were wonderful. Not large, but his swollen nipples left him shivering a little, his smooth thighs rubbing together.

So, they planned to terminate he and his crew when they were done? Made sense. Total military scrub mission. Real wetware plausible-deniable this-never-happened stuff. Off the grid, and all assets wiped off the map before the board could be set clean. Well, it wasn’t the first time Benji had signed on to a job where the backer wanted to pay in lead rather than banknotes. Of course, it hadn’t been against the entire US Remnant, but when you played at the high stakes poker table, you had to expect some big chips would be on the line. It was very important that Benjie not forget this coming betrayal, however. Sleep was calling him. More change. More diminishment of his manhood; his penis already felt so small between his lovely thighs. The darkness was opening its arms again. He needed stimulation.

“Mhmm,” he moaned in the genevat, little bubbles rising up from his mouth. He started to caress his breasts and feel his supple body.

Yeah, that would do it.

***

Benjie woke a few more times, and always his body was further changed. His height shrunk a little, though not too much, and his frame slimmed, his ribcage withdrawing significantly. His muscles waned during this time, but the most prominent changes were in the obvious curves he’d developed. Each time he woke he found his bust larger and larger, and the same was true of his rear, which was peachy enough to catch some dreamy self-attention. His penis withdrew, and soon he was gasping more little bubbles as he felt between his thighs. He was sure that Nygard, wearing his fed-looking bespoke suit and being neurotic as ever, was present more than once.

“Fucking hell, why’s he feeling himself up? I swear, that man - or woman - will be the end of us, Leon!”

“Can’t blame him for enjoying it. I’d do the same myself, ha!”

It left Benjie smiling, though he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d dreamed it or not. The times he saw Deimos approach, though, that damn military crewcutted cardboard cutout of a stereotype, he was certain he was awake. The man would waltz right up to the geneva tank, his hands clasped behind his back and his chest thrust out, and simply inspect Benjie like he was some toy. Some thing. Some disposable asset. Benjie liked to start slipping his fingers into his new slipstream downstairs in order to make the uncomfortable wannabe general slink off. It didn’t hurt that it felt damn nice to do, either.

But finally, the time came to exit the cocoon. Benjie’s consciousness was becoming more regular, his dreams giving way to longer periods of thought. Finally, one morning - or evening or afternoon or whenever - he finally woke up to find the tank draining. It was a loud slurping noise that jolted and confused him, like someone had just entered the room while he was painting the wall while high on LSD-combine. The vat was drained in less than a minute, leaving the man to clamber about on its floor, his body awkward and different, his muscles more atrophied than he would have cared for.

“Wakey wakey,” Deimos’ voice taunted. “It’s time to get up and smell the roses, Belinda.”

The artificial umbi-cord declamped from Benji’s belly button, a small trickle of blood painlessly following it. He staggered back as the cord retreated back into its socket, leaving the newly reborn male-turned-female to adjust. Benjie blinked several times, and then proceeded to hack up a whole barrel’s worth of vile green vat shit. He coughed and coughed, feeling his body wobble in some uncertain places. Even as he struggled, Deimos activated the ladder that descended down into the vat.

“Climb up when you’re ready and get some grub. Then you need to be on your feet, soldier. You’ve got a company head to seduce.”

Benjie groaned, almost incapable of speech. “Fuck you,” he managed, only his voice was now a mix of sweet and sultry, so that his words sounded more like an erotic come-get-me instead of a rebuke. 

Deimos chuckled. “Maybe later, Belinda. Come get yourself sorted out. There’s a shower, a towel and some clothing. You won’t like it.”

But Benjie was barely paying attention. Instead, the new woman was looking at his - no, her - new body. There was no denying that she was a ‘she’ either. Without stimulants, Benjie’s brain was only slowly catching up on her body’s changed nature. She stumbled on the floor, trying to get up, but her entire centre of gravity had changed. It was lower now, thanks to her widened hips, but it was also . . . higher? She rubbed her temple, groaned, and cleared her head.

Oh. 

Oh, yeah.

Those would shift one’s gravity alright.

Benjie actually grinned, flashing a brilliant smile as he cupped his new breasts. No, as she cupped her breasts. The femaleness was obvious. Though it would be inaccurate to call what she now possessed as simply ‘breasts.’ 

“I’ve got goddamn tits,” she murmured, still not used to the sultry tone of her voice. “Goddamn freakin’ milkers right here.”

They were large, very large, in fact, though perhaps part of that was her new perspective on them as she looked down. They were on her chest now, after all. Her skin was indeed somewhat olive now. Had the change made her part-Sino? Part-Nippon? Skinjobs like that were fairly common, and the Orient always had its admirers, especially among the Takana-Mayson clan, no doubt. Certainly her hair fell over her shoulders. She shook it and it slapped against the small of her back. She’d need it cut.

“Mhmm,” she whimpered, rubbing her nipples. “F-fuck yeah. Yeah, I can like this!”

She lowered a hand down to between her thighs, rubbing her fingers over her wet pubic hair, which was now the inverted triangle of a woman’s patch. Already, the busty woman was slick with juices, and not just the chemical vat matter still coating her form. She used it as lubricant though, squeezing her wet tits, enjoying their size and sensitivity. It left her new clitoris throbbing, and by God was she going to enjoy it.

“Way better than a freakin’ holo,” she said. Her glasses finally activated, running a quick scan on her body. Yeah, she knew where her most sensitive nerve clusters were now, and exactly how to get to them.

“Ahhh!” she wailed, sliding her fingers inside of herself. “Goddamn, that almost m-makes this black-ops wetware shit worth it!”

She squeezed her breast with one hand, pinched a nipple, and then began to simulate a thrusting motion inside of her pussy. It almost made her curious as to what it would feel like to have a dick there. She doubted Leon would be willing to try. It was almost a shame.

“What the hell are you doing?” rang a voice. “Get up that goddamn ladder now! That’s an order!”

Benjie just grinned through the glass of the tank at Deimos, and then cupped her breasts and gave a pouty smooch to the air. “You want me seductive? Then let me play? This is some good gene-work, better than the best Neon Street skinjobs. So I’m taking it for a spin!”

“I gave you an order!”

“I’m not a US Remnant jackboot, so stick your foot back in your mouth. You can watch me if you wanna though. Might make you cum too.”

Deimos stormed off, furious. It left Benjie cackling as she thrusted her slim fingers into her pussy, though her laughter was cut short as she moaned once again, high and reedy, voice cracking. She was hungry - damn hungry. But she wanted to feel the first truly new high she’d experienced in seemingly forever. She was riding the pleasure, grappled to the mag-train and not letting go. The new woman jiggled her tits, shaking her shoulders as the pleasure rose and rose and damn well rose like the needle at a badly run nuclear station about to blow.

She blew.

“OHHHHHH FUCKING A!” she cried, shaking and falling to the ground with a semi-painful clang. Her legs were jelly. Her pussy was on fire, spreading an inferno of bliss through her altered body. Wet hair slapped across her face, but she cared not; this high was better than almost any stim. God, even her ass was sensitive, and she squeezed it while continuing to rub her G-spot. Her glasses were reading endorphins levels that were off of the charts barring the red-meth sand experience straight out of the Mongolian chem-dens. 

“Hell f-fucking yeahhhh!” she screamed, on all fours now and arching her back so that her perfect teardrop breasts were thrust out to the world. She staggered up and then pressed them against the glass, her nipples sliding across the surface and causing follow up jolts. With a weary hand, her lasting orgasms finally coming to an end, she wiped the steamy glass, removing the excess moisture. 

Leon and Nygard were standing on the other side, just ten feet away. The former was grinning from ear to ear, saluting with his massive prosthetic hand. Nygard, on the other hand, looked positively scandalised, no small surprise for a man who couldn’t visit a hooker without taking a handwritten speech explaining his reasons for visitation.

“Hey there, guys,” Benjie breathed heavily, her enormous tits still pressing up against the glass, her every breath like something out of the most erotic simvid. “Miss me?”

“I didn’t,” Leon said, smirking. “But now I do. You got some top mods, brother. Or is that ‘sister,’ now? I hear you go by Belinda?”

Benjie cackled. “I guess a name change is needed. But Belinda? That don’t fly by me. I got something better in mind. Something like-”

To Be Continued . . .