Wrong Cyberware - TG
Tags: Cyborg TF, Gender bend, Gender swap, Voice change
The year is 2083 and everything is poison. The air chews your lungs if you breathe it raw. The water tastes like acid, so everyone drinks processed soda in forty flavors of lie and the meat, look, you don't talk about where the meat comes from. Nobody talks about where the meat comes from. But the…
The year is 2083 and everything is poison. The air chews your lungs if you breathe it raw. The water tastes like acid, so everyone drinks processed soda in forty flavors of lie and the meat, look, you don't talk about where the meat comes from. Nobody talks about where the meat comes from. But the cyberware? The cyberware is AMAZING. Want to taste strawberries with every bite of your gray tofu brick? There's a module. Want eyes that zoom, skin that shrugs off knives, a liver that laughs at anything? Module, module, module. Chrome fixes what the world breaks, if you can pay. You can't pay… not really. You're in your twenties, born about as far from corpo heaven as you can get without being literally underground, not even a mid tier family and you've gigged your ass out of the shithole one courier run and back alley job at a time. Now comes the next step of the plan: full body remodeling. A few years back, that was suicide. Cyberpsychosis ate anyone who chromed up too fast, and then they ate everyone around them. But the new treatments changed the math. The modern modules don't push you into kill crazy meltdown. They trigger a CRAVING instead, huge, specific, personal, something you just HAVE to do or have. Manageable, mostly... if your craving turns out to be something lethal, well, then you're screwed, so it's still no children's game. But better a craving than staying a soft little bun with baseline meat in a city of chrome. You'll keep your eyes. You like your red cyber eyes. Everything else is up for modification or full replacement and the list your ripperdoc got hold of, gods, the LIST. Sensitive skin, real sensation, not like your current budget arms where you can barely feel shit. Upgraded genitalia, five star sensory suite and yeah, you can't wait to field test your dick with that installed. Filtration lungs. Brain modules, processing boosts, netrunner adjacent stuff. All of it secondhand, all of it CHEAP, cheap enough that going a little into debt makes sense. There are two things you never ask a ripperdoc. Where he got the parts and why he isn't in jail. Ask either and you wake up with your dick attached to your forehead, or worse. Doc Vasile's clinic sits behind a noodle stall, smelling of antiseptic, solder and old blood. The doc himself looks exactly like the kind of guy you don't ask questions: wiry, wild gray hair, four optics crammed into one socket, a giggle that comes out at wrong moments. He looks up from a tray of organs and giggles at one of those wrong moments. "Ohhh. You're here for the secondhand batch! You SURE, boy? That's a lot of chrome and very, ehm… SPECIFIC chrome." You scan the crates. You spot the genitalia module casing. Your ears go hot. "Yeah, yeah. Don't look at me weird. You get it, right?" Vasile smirks. "Whatever my client wishes. Relax. I'll make you a Mona Lisa. You'll wake up so improved your own parents wouldn’t tell it's you." You giggle, weird and nervous, and lie down in the chair. The anesthesia takes you mid thought. You wake up nude in the aftercare room, which is trashy as hell. Stained cot, flickering light, a poster of a liver with a phone number on it. You've been here before, after the arms. You lift your hands. The arms are new, matte gunmetal with red trim lines, sleek and slimmer than your old ones. Noticeably slimmer… delicate, almost. 'Huh... Slim design. Whatever. Specs matter, not looks.' Then you look down, and your brain bluescreens. "Wait… why do I see a pussy?! WHY IS IT THROBBING? WHAT THE FUCK!" You shout it into the air and shoot up off the cot, and your body moves WRONG, weight in wrong places, balance swinging from hips you never ordered. You have BREASTS, modest, perky, sitting high on a smooth white synthetic chest. You have a huge soft ass. Your gym gains, years of natural muscle, as natural as anyone gets these days, GONE, all of it, replaced by seamless smooth synthskin, pale white with thin black data lines tracing your joints. Your nipples are bright blue. You stumble to the cracked mirror and your tongue, when you check it, is blue too. Your pussy? Blue. 'Is it color coded to every internal part?! Am I THEMED?!' You look down, spread the plush blue lips with two trembling gunmetal fingers and blush so hard your new face burns. It's already dripping, glistening, a thin string of slick connecting your fingertips when you pull them away and the TOUCH, gods, the touch rings through you like a struck bell. 'Oh no... oh no no no, it's SENSITIVE~' The door bangs open. Vasile strolls in, sipping soda. "Ohhh, I see we're enjoying the new body. Hehehe." "WEIRDO! Why did you turn me into a fucking CHICK?! Where's my dick, can I HAVE IT BACK?!" Your voice comes out smoky and feminine and that makes everything worse. Vasile looks away. Actually looks away. "That would be... difficult. Natural sized big ones are hard to source these days, very in demand. So it was, ah… sold. As part of your debt." "Wha. WHA. WHAT?! You MORON, you did all this
