Doctor Cochrane heard the distant huff, as the police blew the garage doors on his illegal surgery. His patient already unconscious on the operating table, the injuries severe and life threatening.
Doctor Cochrane looked at the sealed tube of nanites, as his escape. Inside that phial, invisible to the naked eye were billions of microscopic machines, with a program to follow. His eyes scanned the contents of his reinforced case. His life's work safely stored in padded slots, carefully labelled to avoid mistakes. A mistake could be costly, and/or humiliating. Not all were programmed to save lives, and repair injuries.
Some were crafted for snitches, an animal form complex enough to house a human brain without damaging it's mind, but incapable of speech, and further betrayal. Personally, he'd inflicted that fate on half a dozen former men. Their battered, and abused bodies replaced with healthy animal forms.
Some sentenced to live as docile cows, milked daily, and kept quiet by a heavy hormonal cosh. Others humiliated as mares... broodmares, breeding the next generation of race horses. The sound of approaching feet, charging down the halls, was met with gunfire.
Escape would be impossible, every exit watched, you know capture is inevitable. The chaos and noise, panics one of your nurses. The term rather loosely defined. Their role purely cosmetic to please the recovering patients. Each one pneumatic, and with bare bimbo instincts.
A horrible option occurs.
Your fingers tremble as you pull the 'nurse' phial from your case. You don't want to break it just yet. Life as a bimbo working some over-inflated lips, and carrying some luscious titties, and a perfect round, full ass doesn't appeal. Certainly not the bimbo part. You can fake the mental effects, and that body will distract the most dedicated officer.
Slipping it into the EM pulse programmer, you rewrite that part of their code. Closing the case, you slap the locks closed, and type in the wrong code. Destroying the evidence, your work is hard, but necessary. It doesn't make your fingers stop shaking around the phial, as you think about what you're contemplating.
A pale grey wisp escapes the case, as the contents are vaporised. The sound of gunfire lessened, fewer people alive to fire, and the noise of the police closer... louder.
With a whimper, you clench your fist. It breaks in your palm, the glass fragments cutting you, and the nanites entering your bloodstream directly. Shaking the fragments of glass to the floor, you watch, as your hand heals.
The nanites already working their magic. Your hand looks perfect, turning it back and forth, you see the effect as your hand slims. Your fingers slender, the nails gaining a glossy coat of crimson. A permanent feature, designed to match the glossy over-inflated lips. You spent a long time perfecting her mouth. Those lips slightly apart always inviting a cock to slip between them.
Your shoulders crack, as you run your hand over that sleeve. The difference between your arms already clear. Your pulse quickens, as your torso changes. You feel the weight building before you see it. You chest narrowing, giving you a slender, more feminine body shape. Your clothes hang baggily from your shoulder. But, it's not long before your bust demands your attention. The girls firm, and sensitive topped with some impressive nipples. A whimper escapes your lips as the changes rise to your face.
At the same time, the nanites work their way lower. Your spine cracking and popping, as your bones re-align. Your waist collapsing inward, as your hips burst wider.
Wetting your lips, your tongue darting between them finds the waxy lipstick coating, and the enhanced sensitivity make you tingle. Belatedly, your hands drop to your crotch. But, it's already to late to give lil' Jack Cochrane a good-bye pat, Lil' Miss Cochrane is already there.
Tossing off your clothes, you abandon your past, and dart into the recovery room. Picking up an abandoned uniform, you join the other girls in cowering on the floor. Your terror is more real than you'd like, the act quite convincing.
The girls scream and squeak, begging for mercy, and you imitate them.
The screams rise in pitch, as the police burst in. Both doors crashing open, as they storm the last room of your former hospital. A worrying sense of arousal fills your veins, the nearness of your capture means your blood pounds in your ears. These bodies were crafted to be easily excited. A feature you didn't get a chance to remove from the code. Looking the other nurses over, you try to judge whether it's them, of the police officers you find attractive.
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