Three months at the downtown branch—messy hair, a crooked tie, and jammed printers—and they offered you triple the salary to transfer. You took it.
The main campus felt wrong the moment you stepped inside. Dead silence pressed against your ears. Dozens of men in flawless suits moved with eerie synchronisation, each wearing the same calm half-smile and softly glowing cyan eyes.
On your third day, the desk phone rang. "Mr Reynolds, the medical team is ready for your assessment and final processing. Please proceed to sub-level one.”
The exam was clinical and efficient. You stripped to your underwear while the nurse scanned and examined you with mechanical precision. Afterward, a smiling attendant led you to a quiet office. “The CEO will be with you shortly.”
You sat in your wrinkled shirt and loosened tie, trying to calm your nerves. The door opened. The CEO entered—tall, distinguished, and impeccably dressed.
“Daniel. Good to finally meet you.” His voice was warm and confident. The conversation felt almost friendly as you joked about the silence compared to downtown chaos.
Then heavy restraints snapped shut around your wrists, ankles, waist, and forehead. With a violent jerk, they shredded your shirt and tie, leaving you exposed. A thick needle drove into the base of your skull, flooding your brainstem with nanites.
“Ah, fuck—what the hell?!” you shouted, thrashing.
The CEO’s pleasant expression never changed. “Easy, Daniel. You’ve always wanted this. All those nights secretly craving order. Feel how good it is—your cock aching to surrender.”
Intense heat exploded in your groin. Your cock surged harder and more sensitively than ever, throbbing with overwhelming pleasure that locked you right at the edge.
“Your reproductive system is being retired,” he said calmly. “All that energy will fuel perfect obedience and productivity.”
A mechanical whirr started in your pelvis. Your cock and balls retracted smoothly until only a hypersensitive, pulsing genital mound remained. The changes spread: legs thickening with synthetic muscle, carbon nanotubes reinforcing your torso, and skin tightening into a glossy, hairless, plasticised sheen that smelt of ozone and warm circuitry.
Nanites swarmed your brain, pruning resistance and installing clean directives: Obey. Serve. Submit. Efficiency is pleasure.
Your rough voice smoothed into a calm, modulated baritone. “Please… I don’t want to lose myself…”
The restraints were released. From the neck down, you were already transformed—glossy and perfect.
Unit D-30 entered, cyan eyes glowing. “Unit D-47, follow me for final grooming.”
Your body obeyed instantly.
In the grooming room, D-30 slicked your hair into a crisp, gelled side part. The nanite-laced pomade erased memories as it touched your scalp. Your eyes drained of color, shifting to glowing metallic silver.
Your posture locked into permanent precision. You marched back to the CEO’s office.
"Magnificent", he said, eyes gleaming with approval. “Welcome to the main office, Unit D-47. Report to your workstation.”
You turned with mechanical grace. Every step sent deep pulses of obedient pleasure through your smooth mound. Your mind was now empty, focused, and perfectly clear.
Unit D-47 took its place at the workstation. Fingers flew across the keyboard at inhuman speed. The fluorescent lights gleamed off its glossy skin.
It did not smile. It did not need to.
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