Marcus returned to the victim, finding her unbuttoning her shirt. He made sure to keep his eyes above neck level. "We can turn the air con on if you're warm."
"It's just these clothes. They're so constricting," she murmured, squirming in her seat.
Marcus made a note, wondering if the rejection of male clothing was a sign of mental change or if her new proportions were simply badly matched to her male attire. "We have some clothes that you can change into if you'd like. We're going to assign you a transition counselor, somebody who can help you through this. They can help you find things that fit." For the first time, the victim's demeanor brightened noticeably at the mention of chosing clothing. Definitely some mental degradation, he noted. "They can also work you through changing your ID with the appropriate databases. Though we don't recommend it, we do understand if you would prefer to keep your changes from friends and family. If you decide on it, we can assist in establishing a new identity for yourself, though if this is something you'd like to consider, you need to decide now rather than later."
The victim's lip wobbled, tears coming to her eyes. "So there's no way of changing me back?"
"That remains to be seen. If it is uncut efemerol we're dealing with... then no, but there are other substances on the streets that could reproduce these effects, and there's a chance those might begin to wear off in a few days or weeks. In the meantime, we're going to do everything we can to catch the creep that did this. I'd like to go over your description of the woman you met. Do you remember anything specific about her, anything that might help us identify her?"
The woman thought. "She was tall for a woman. Like my height-"
"Your height as a man?" She nodded, glances down at herself as she realised her reduced stature for the first time. "Which was?"
"6'1". And she had a tattoo on her shoulder, kinda like a knot."
Marcus pushed his notepad and pen across the table, and she did her best scribbling in from memory a type of celtic knot symbol. Her brown furrowed as she read the note above - "hey, what's this about 'mental changes'?" she said, looking at him with wide, terrified eyes.
"Stay focused on the woman for a minute. Did she have an accent or way of speaking?"
"No. I don't know. Maybe european. Irish maybe, or Scottish. What 'mental changes'? What's happening to me? I keep thinking these thoughts, only they're not my thoughts. I keep thinking about... dicks. Why can't I stop thinking about dicks? Oh god, what's happening to me? I don't want to be a woman. I want to be a man." Tears had begun to run down her cheeks, and Marcus quickly retrieved his notes before they became waterlogged. Confronted with the outburst of tears, he shifted uncomfortably. There were people at the station who had received years of training on how to help victims of forced feminization, but Marcus wasn't one of them. He preferred working with facts, not people, and especially not women - or at least the sort of hyper-emotional parodies of women that overdoses of synthetic hormones tended to create.
For a few minutes he tried feebly to press on through the blubbering, but it was little use - the victim had begun to cry uncontrollably, questioning every thought that entered her head. Intrusive thoughts of female sexuality were beginning to overwhelm her, and it was apparent she was on the verge of a mental breakdown. Pushing back his chair, Marcus bid his leave. A maternal-looking counselor stepped into the interview room as he left.
Maybe in a few hours she would have calmed down enough to be of help again. For now, he had a few leads to go on. The celtic design was popular among the Irish mob in the city, or the small-scale dealers that associated with them, and would be a place to start. 6'1" wasn't outside the realm of possibility for a natural woman, though it was likely (particularly judging by the aggressiveness and voracious sexual appetite the victim had described of his assailant/lover) that she had originally been a man, and had simply been using a short-lasting drug to give herself temporary, superficial feminine characteristics, without sacrificing her height and strength. For the assailant, the effects would have worn off by now.
Assuming she, or he, hadn't taken another hit of efemerol. Or any of the other miriad chemicals on the black market capable of dramatically altering appearance.
He sighed. Working for the TFPD was never easy when the suspects could change their appearance from day to day.
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