My moral compass had been compromised plenty of times before. As a guard when I was just a private, I always wondered what the higher-ups were doing in the top secret, government bunker. I didn't ask questions, frankly I couldn't, and I pretended like everything was right with the world, and that I should pretend that whatever was going on, was for good.

But as I became more and more successful, I kept getting promoted, until I became a first sergeant, in charge of the Prison on the B-block. My superiors called it the Transform Wing, and a few hours into my new office I found out why.

"Is this really necessary?" I thought to myself, and every night I would wrestle myself to sleep wondering why they felt the need to do this. I was plenty kinky in my private life. I enjoyed bondage and bdsm with a myriad of partners, and with such great pay I had assembled an impressive catalog of toys and implements.

The pay was great, and I kept telling myself that soon enough I would be out of here, I could wash my psyche clean and pretend there weren't boys being turned into girls.

But all that came to a grinding halt, the day I had to start the interviews and inspections for the year end spring cleaning. Some of the 'subjects' would be deemed useless, and be tossed back onto the streets, their memory erased, no longer a boy but not quite a girl.

I met you, and I found myself entirely attracted to your body, face, personality. You passed every question I answered with flying colors, and my superiors would clearly want the experiment to keep going, especially with you, since you're exactly what they're looking for.

I 'follow-up' routinely with you, but I use it as an excuse to simply talk and converse.

"My superiors want to make this experience worse for you. I think I can help you." I smile, and grab a hold of your hand.