I was 14 when I joined. I was so young, troubled, eager to please. Looking back, I feel nostalgia, disconnect, and wonder. There was a boy. I wonder what happened him.

My name was Alex, and I was an orphan. While the rest of the nation preached discipline and the other children found their individuality in gangs, I was kept in the close watch of keepers, actually disciplined. We orphans were ostracized, jeered at while playing in our gated home, but I wore my uniforms proudly, black shorts and white socks. I promised to be the best I could be, rebellion against the rebellious gangs. There was still bullying.

I wanted to be a good child and gain the love of my keepers who came and went, but I was highly troubled. I was angry and cried a lot, but on the rare occasion I couldn’t restrain myself, I fought savagely. This was my fault, the only thing I got in trouble for. I loved Mrs. Anne, one of the teachers, but this always kept me from being her favorite. She was our teacher, a professional, but sometimes she couldn’t help but be a mother, even when I was a troublesome 12 year old.

A man from the government waited for me in the headmistress’s office. Looking back, he spoke to me like a child, told me what I wanted to hear. Our nation was the strongest in the recovering world. Our military was the strongest, but the bosses were considering a new idea: a covert branch that operated with precision and intelligence.

We began training. There were six of us, six hormonal teen boys from varying backgrounds. We became the best we could be. I did alright with languages. I gave my all in the martial training. I always learned and did my best. I loved swimming, and would sometimes lie in the pool in my free time. I liked my commander too. Major Cornell was a tough but reasonable man. He understood that we were still children, and after training was over, he seemed fatherly. I wanted to be like him when I retired.

There was a boy. His name was James. We trained ourselves not to get attached to people, but I will always remember James. He was taller than me, blonde, and a bully. I hated him. He bullied me. He bullied the other kids. During training, he would do his duty and help everyone, but I always felt bitter, taking his hand to climb. There was one time where he even tackled me out of the way of shrapnel. I was disgusted by his weight on me. There were occasions where I tried to be nice to him to get him to be nice, but it never worked. It was really uncomfortable seeing him in swim uniform. We stood in line at the edge of the pool wearing spandex underwear. His did not fit right.

These were the best years of my early life. Having grown up in a society where individuality was lost one way or another, I thought much of who I wanted to be, my identity. I, Alex, was going to be the perfect agent, an efficient, smart, and loyal man without any relationships. He would have a simple haircut, an interest in art, a taste for the old fashioned, and standard dormitory quarters furnished with pieces of his personality.

It all ended when I was 20. It was my fifth mission. The oriental nation stubbornly adhered to their ancient traditions. Their government, having learned from the records of the ancestors, commissioned research for a serum that would help population control. I was sent to retrieve a sample. All was well. I saw the dog. I aimed. I hesitated. I failed the mission. I hated being touched, and I hated being held down, but that’s what happened. I was thrown in a cell, but after a few hours, my captors decided to put me to use. They strapped me to an examination table. I was angry, uncooperative. But then I saw the doctor approaching me with a needle. I shook and begged, but I was helpless. I cried, feeling the burn of the needle sinking into my neck. I knew what it did.

My flexibility training helped, and I found an opportunity to bring my cuffed wrists in front of me. I escaped, grabbed a sample of the serum, and returned to my keepers. No one knew what had happened. The next months were terrifying. I knew my body would change and my keepers would find out, but I didn’t know what to do. I tried to enjoy the time I had left in the program.

My body ached. It wasn’t as if I was tired; I could lift my rifle, but my arms, my chest, and my legs would just hurt all the time. It felt like there was poison in my muscles. I felt lightheaded at times. I ate less and craved milk. I drank it from the carton, hiding in my dormitory, embarrassed.

My heart was changing too. During a survival exercise, my partner caught a rabbit. On previous excursions, I felt bad for our prey, but I ate it with no regrets. I caught myself imagining the poor bunny’s point of view and tried to avoid eating it. This mental change particularly horrified me. Could I be the perfect agent that I wanted to be?

In the mess hall, I noticed others staring at me. I went to the bathroom and saw that my face was changing. The fat on my face was shifting up. My lips were fuller. Tears welled in my eyes. Was I dying? Was Alex dying? I avoided eye contact from then on. It was around the same time that my voice started to crack and rise in pitch too. I opened my mouth to command my squad and I squeaked. I cleared my throat and went on, forcing my voice deeper, but everyone had already heard.

I no longer felt sexual arousal. Or so I thought. I didn’t know why, but my eyes lingered longer on my classmates, especially during swim practice. I didn’t notice at first, but it hit me when I accidently made eye contact. After much introversion, I dismissed it as curiosity about other people’s bodies which I have always avoided. But then I felt a strange pressure in my stomach, rising in my chest. I felt like my ribcage was crumpling, imploding. I felt like someone was reaching into my chest and clenching my heart. I tried to stand still at attention, but I winced at the feeling, biting my lip, raising my shoulders rose, and doubling over.

My penis shrank. As it grew shorter, I had to stand closer to the urinals. It got very moist down there. Before I knew it, folds started to form, and I pissed all over my fingers. The next time I went to the bathroom, I entered a stall. I undid my belt, unzipped the front, and bared my bottom. I sat down. I had to sit down to pee now. Sitting. Such an obedient position compared to standing. I sat down for minutes, imagining the urine coming directly out of my torso, my main body, down out of such a sensitive spot. Still holding back, it trickled out of me, splashing the water lightly.

Over the next months, I lost twenty pounds. My chest finally started to itch, and it was unbearable to wear my skintight jumpsuit. I couldn’t sleep. There was no way this could go on. My heart pulsed with adrenaline as I tried to muster the courage to come clean to my commander, my father figure whom I so desperately wanted to love me. Sometimes I fantasized that he would adopt me, even though I was an adult. We finished swim practice and I waited for everyone else to leave. I couldn’t have picked a worse day to talk to him, ending on swim practice. In my underwear, my feminine form was obvious.

I walked with my commander alongside the pool. He asked me how I was doing. He said I was doing very well and that our class would end soon, having proven the experimental program to be a success. We would go off into our separate lives working for the military and be replaced by a new class of recruits. I was to have a commendation for my outstanding performance. It was all hard to listen to. I asked him why there weren’t any girls in the program, trying to play it off casually as curiosity. He said that as strong as a girl might try to be, she will never be as strong as a man, chained to her biology. As calculating as a girl might be, on average, men will always be more suited to war. I chickened out and didn’t tell.

I forgot about our biannual medical exams. Like when a student finds out about a test they didn’t study for, my heart fell to my feet. I stripped, but I left my underwear on; I had stuffed my briefs with tissue. The doctor suspected something, having examined us naked many times, but he went on as if nothing was wrong. Blood pressure, weight, coughing with the stethoscope, blood samples, all the usual. I was dreadfully ticklish and had a terrible time trying to relax my stomach as he pressed down on it while holding in my voice. His gloved hands ran over my body, examining bruises and cuts. His fingers brushed over my breast. Yes, I had already developed breasts by then. My puffy chest might have been able to pass for muscle, but the swollen and darkened nipples were an elephant in the room. I stifled a moan. Doom settled in in an instant; it was over. But the doctor kept examining to be sure of what he had found. He pushed the mass on my chest up with his hand and pressed a finger on the center. I stood still at attention. He put a hand on my crotch. Then he pulled my underwear down. A tear rolled down my cheek and I pulled my lips between my teeth. He sat me on the table and spread my thighs, holding a light to my vagina. He didn’t go any further and the examination was over. I got dressed and went back to my room.

I stood in front of a row of four men sitting at a table, pens in hand. The buttons on my shirt strained, having been tailored for a man. My nipples poked out for my superiors to see, much to my mortification. I told them about my mission, getting caught, and why I didn’t tell anyone. I was utterly crestfallen. I was going to lose my home, my lifestyle, my dreams. But they didn’t kick me out. They were disappointed that I got caught and disappointed that I wasn’t honest, but I hadn’t done any damage and could still serve the state as a woman. All my worries washed away like salt, and I breathed calm breaths again.

How cruel fate is. I treated myself to a long hot shower that night. For the first time, I relaxed and dared to look at my body. My breasts had fully matured, though I didn’t know what size they were; I hadn’t bought a bra yet. They were strange, part of my body sticking out, yet at the same time foreign objects placed on my chest, under my skin. I couldn’t remove them or touch the muscle that lay underneath them. My genitals were fascinating. There were folds hiding a crevice, a new hole. The inside was pink, sensitive, but touching it wasn’t like touching the area under a foreskin. I was hyper aware of being touched in such an unusual place, but it didn’t hurt. But how could anyone enjoy having something as hideous as a penis inside their body? A foreign object! I still lamented the loss of my original sex, but at least things were fine; I wasn’t kicked out. I wondered about the new life I might lead. What should my name be? I felt like an entirely different person, fully female, even though I remembered being a man.

A hand covered my mouth and I was pushed against the porcelain tiles of the bathroom. It was James, of course. I tried to elbow him, but there was no room for my arm to recoil. Likewise, pressed up against the wall, I couldn’t kick his groin. His thick legs straddled around me, trapping me. I tried to keep my hands free, but he caught them like butterflies and fit them in his fist. With one hand, he held my wrists, with the other, he held my mouth. His tongue, appendage of his all-consuming mouth, tasted my breast, writhing against my stiffening nipple. I turned away, screaming muffled. I felt like my energy was being sucked out of my chest. I hated every inch of this man and every second of his rape, but my body responded without consideration for my will. He removed his hand from my mouth, but I didn’t scream. I zoned out. I surrendered, knowing the damage was already too much, it would be over soon, and there was no way I could stop it; he was just too big and strong. My jaw hung open and my eyes half closed. He lifted my thigh to his waist. And in he went. And out. And in. Each time hurt, this thick vicious worm invading me, claiming me. At last, it fertilized me.

I was discharged. I was put to a quiet office job handling the paperwork for the agents. I bought a small house and didn’t know what to put in it. I started a simple wardrobe, but my belly expanded and my engorged breasts leaked, so I put that on hold. It didn’t feel very good having my navel poke through my dress, winking at my coworkers. I cried a lot in the first months. What a ride my life had been. I did my best to pick up the pieces, collect hobbies and skills and assemble an identity, and feel clean for once, but the baby was coming and there was no time for that. I thought of Mrs. Anne and my commander when wondering how to raise my child. We didn’t struggle financially, though I was very tired, working as a single mother. My daughter is six year old now, and she’s quite a handful. We’re doing fine.

Still, when the days are over and I lie in my bed, I try to remember who I am. I can’t remember. I do, however, remember a small boy in black shorts and white socks. I wonder what happened to him.