M-cycle (Patreon)
Content
The soft hum of the ultrasound machine filled the room, breaking the silence, yet the tension in the air was nearly palpable. A young woman with chestnut hair pulled into a messy ponytail nervously watched the monitor, trying to appear relaxed. She wore a simple light cardigan, buttoned only on the middle of its three buttons, hinting at both a sense of order and a slight touch of fatigue.
– "So, Doctor, no alien base showed up yet?" – she tried to joke, her crooked smile barely masking her unease as she gestured at the screen. – "Or maybe I’m already a full-fledged alien? That would at least explain my sudden love for salads and hatred for burritos."
Dr. Shane, a lean man in his forties with a strained professional smile, slowly looked up from the monitor. His expression resembled someone who had just been told they’d won the lottery—only to learn they'd need to surrender a kidney in exchange.
– "Uh, nothing extraterrestrial yet, Ashley," – he said, hesitating over her new name as if it caught in his throat, much like it did in hers every time someone used it. – "But there is, well, something... interesting."
Ashley raised an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair. Not long ago, she had been Ashton—a NASA engineer specializing in Martian rock analysis. She took a deep breath, trying not to lose her composure. It had been four months since she’d become the "new girl," whose "favorite tasks" now included sorting documents and brewing coffee for a condescending boss. NASA’s doctors insisted it was temporary. Temporary. But for nearly half a year, she’d been trapped in this body—with long legs, delicate wrists, and a cursed chest she couldn’t seem to ignore.
Back when her body was still male, her days were spent in sterile white labs filled with complex equipment and samples brought back from the Red Planet. Ashton had been one of the few entrusted to study a peculiar gray-green mineral later dubbed MH-17. It seemed harmless at first glance, but its true nature revealed itself soon enough. The morning after a long and restless sleep, Ashton had stumbled to the mirror above his nightstand—and froze. His heart stopped for a beat before it exploded in panic. Staring back at him was a young woman.
The program immediately classified the incident, crafting a new identity for him—Ashley Brooks, a "new hire" reassigned to the administrative support department. NASA fabricated everything: her documents, a fake backstory, even "relatives" no one ever asked about. Ashley loathed every aspect of this cover: the unfamiliar clothes, the need to smile and act nice, and worst of all—her boss, who saw her as a "ditzy girl" and handed out demeaning tasks that made her want to smash office equipment.
But the worst part was the uncertainty. Each visit to Dr. Shane brought more disappointment. They’d promised to find a way to reverse it. They said it was temporary. But as the months dragged on, the end of this nightmare seemed further and further away.
– "Interesting?" – Ashley echoed, crossing her arms and feeling her chest press against them, sparking another wave of irritation. She clenched her teeth, glancing away from the doctor as she forced herself to breathe evenly. Even after months, she still couldn’t get used to the sensations of this body—the slender fingers, the way clothes clung to her new form, or the way people looked at her.
– "Let’s cut the games, Doctor," – she said with a strained smile. – "If it’s 'interesting,' just say it outright."
Dr. Shane coughed nervously, his eyes returning to the screen, where an image of her internal organs was frozen in stark stillness. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly trying to steady himself, though his voice betrayed his tension.
– "Ashley…" – he began, stumbling over the name like it was a speed bump. Her lips tightened, and her gaze turned sharp.
– "Doctor, we both know I don’t get along with that name. Just spit it out already," – she snapped, unable to hide her irritation. Her voice was higher than she would’ve liked but still carried a cold determination.
Shane coughed again, took another shaky breath, and pointed at the monitor.
– "The latest scans… show changes. In your… internal organs."
Ashley frowned, her brows knitting together in an expression more befitting a NASA engineer than a "new secretary."
– "What kind of changes? This is just external, right?" – Her voice carried a hint of worry, but she masked it with sarcasm. – "What now? Did I grow some… feminine 'extras'? Ha, great joke."
The doctor shook his head and switched off the monitor, but it was too late—she had already caught a glimpse of something round, something that looked suspiciously like… ovaries. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palms.
– "Ashley," – he started again, softer this time. – "We’re observing structural changes in your internal reproductive organs. Tissue that previously resembled residual male characteristics is now transforming. Specifically, it’s…"
– "Stop beating around the bush," – she barked, sitting up straighter in her chair. – "What does that mean? Be clear, Doctor. I’m sick of your endless 'maybes.'"
He exhaled deeply, as though surrendering.
– "It means your body is completely restructuring itself. Almost all your internal reproductive organs have… disappeared. In their place, fully functioning female organs are forming. Ashley, based on the progression, you may soon…" – he hesitated, as if struggling to believe his own words. – "…start a menstrual cycle."
The room froze. The hum of the ultrasound machine, the faint whistle of the air conditioner, and her own breathing were the only sounds. Ashley could almost hear something snap inside her—perhaps the last remnants of her patience.
– "Are you telling me," – she began slowly, her voice rising with each word, – "that despite all the treatments, the testosterone injections you make me take every day, and your assurances that this is 'just external,' I’m turning into a full-fledged woman?"
Dr. Shane raised his hands as if to calm her.
– "We didn’t anticipate this kind of response. This is a unique case, caused by the effects of MH-17. We’re continuing our research, Ashley, but—"
– "I’m not Ashley! Hey! What the hell do you mean by 'menstrual cycle'?!" – she blurted, leaping to her feet, only to clutch her stomach as something twisted inside. Her face contorted, her legs wobbled, and she sank back into the chair with effort.
– "What the hell was that?" – Ashley rasped, her gaze snapping to the doctor.
Her stomach was gripped by another wave of pain—sharp, piercing, as if thousands of invisible needles were stabbing her all at once. The sensation was unbearably strange, almost alien: a burning tightness in her lower abdomen followed by a sudden chill running down her spine.
She gasped, clutching her stomach with one hand and leaning forward to quell the sudden wave of nausea. Her palm brushed against something wet. Her heart plummeted.
– "Doctor… what the hell is happening?" – she whispered hoarsely, her gaze dropping instinctively. A rapidly spreading crimson stain appeared on the white medical sheet beneath her hips. Panic surged through her, her mind refusing to process what she was seeing. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be true.
Dr. Shane leaned forward, his face even paler. He tried to speak reassuringly, but his voice wavered:
– "Ashley, this… this is likely your first menstruation. Your internal organs have fully… activated."
– "Menstruation?!" – she exclaimed, letting out a strangled laugh—a desperate, hysterical sound. Her fingers gripped the sheet as she felt the warm dampness steadily spreading. Her face twisted in pain as another dull yet powerful ache gripped her abdomen, as if something inside was being crushed.
– "What the hell?!" – her voice cracked into a scream as she gasped for air. – "You said this was temporary! You said I was still a man inside!"
– "I’ll call a nurse," – Dr. Shane said hastily, leaping from his chair. His face was ashen, his voice strained. – "Ashley, you’re no longer… you’re not a man anymore. Biologically, your body is fully female. This… this process is irreversible."
Ashley froze, her heart pounding as if it wanted to burst from her chest. She stared at the spreading bloodstain and at the doctor’s terrified face. The words "irreversible process" echoed in her head, growing louder each time, like a relentless bell tolling.
– "No… no, no, you’re lying," – her voice trembled, tears streaming down her face before she could stop them. – "I don’t want to be… this… all of this! Turn me back!"
The doctor shook his head, his voice softer now but no less devastating:
– "We’re still working on it, Ashley, but MH-17 changed you on a level we couldn’t have imagined. You’ll have to… accept this."
She wasn’t listening. The pain in her abdomen blended with waves of despair, panic, and fury. Everything inside her screamed that this was wrong, that she was a stranger in her own body, that her life was now a never-ending nightmare.
– "I can’t… I can’t do this…" – she whispered, her fists clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms.
But even then, she knew: this wasn’t a dream. This was her new reality. And there was no way out.