(F to Chicken)

Evelyn Thomas shuddered as she woke from a dreamless sleep. Blinding white light greeted her and forced her to blink her eyes repeatedly, though after the first few she had seen enough to know she wasn’t at home. She tried to wipe some of the drowsiness from her eyes, only for her arms to snag on the manacles that bound her wrists.

“Good morning, Miss Thompson,” called a familiar voice. It was Mr. Sterling’s, she’d recognize it anywhere after the months of negotiations. He somehow had the gift to make his every syllable drip with condescension.

The room cleared enough to see she was alone inside of it. Mr. Sterling’s greeting had come from across a clear pane of glass, one that was horribly familiar.

She was in one of their testing rooms.

“What is this?” Evelyn tried to keep an air of pride about her, but was undermined by the flimsy gown that did little to cover herself. She told herself repeatedly that as long as she could keep some control over this situation, she’d be fine.

She privately suspected she was lying to herself.

“Why, this is value-added business,” Mr. Sterling hummed. He adjusted a cufflink absently.

“I know what our business is, perfectly well. I also know I signed enough paperwork to keep me free of any hostile action, so don’t think for a second-”

“Hostility is such an unpleasant word, really. We appreciate you and your service, and that’s why we’re rewarding you here. I mean, those quarterly returns last year? Superb.” Mr. Sterling mimed a chef’s kiss.

Evelyn struggled against her restraints. “Then why am I here?”

“Well, it’s because there’s excellent news. As fate would have it, we don’t need to fully eliminate your position. Rather, we can do a bit of a lateral shift here. I can think of no one better to be our new low-overheard team lead for Bio-Ag.”

“B-Bio-Agriculture?” Evelyn’s heart sank as a spectacled woman moved next to Mr. Sterling. She recognized her, but more for her work than for anything else. Evelyn struggled harder, sweat dewing across her body.

“Oh, you already know Dr. Finch. Beautiful!” Mr. Sterling clapped his hands. “She’s quite certain you’re a genetic match for the role. For which you’ll be transitioning to…” He looked to the doctor expectantly.

Dr. Finch tapped at her tablet, nodding to herself. “The nanovirus has taken to her well, and the polymorphization should begin soon. We’ll begin with focusing on her legs.”

A sharp cramp gripped Evelyn’s feet, and she curled her toes reflexively. It felt like a muscle cramp and a massage in the same breath, the pain mingling with a deceptively pleasant tingling numbness. “Is this because I wrote you up for those leggings? You know they didn’t meet company standards!” Evelyn glared daggers at the doctor.

“Hm. Rather astute,” Dr. Finch made a few notes on her pad. “We’ll see how much that changes.”

Evelyn looked down, whimpering as her feet twisted into something utterly alien. The skin of her toes thickened and turned an ugly shade of yellow-orange. They cracked as they stretched and merged into one another, nail-like claws encompassing their tips. The arches of her feet collapsed, flattening her soles as they grew increasingly scaly.

For a moment, Evelyn wondered if she was turning into some sort of reptile. Then the changes answered her, quills stabbing from her thighs, fluttering into soft, white feathers. More and more feathers joined the first few, like watching a forest grow overnight.

Her slender, toned thighs soon plumped with meaty fat, while the muscles in her calves dwindled away. She yelped as her knees reversed, and her feet twitched feebly as her ankles jutted from the backs of her new legs into spurs. She could feel her new feathers against her new hocks.

Mr. Sterling leaned into the window. “My, you’ve improved the formula’s efficiency. My compliments, Doctor.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, glaring at the duo. “Go fWOCK –urk!” Her throat clenched, and her hands feebly flapped in an attempt to reach her neck. “Sto… StOCK thOCK!”

Her head jerked with each word, and every time it pulled back, it seemed to compact, thinning and stretching at the same time. The muscles around her larynx squeezed tighter, choking her breath away for a panicked moment. “Khh! Hhk! GhOCK!”

“Hm. I thought she’d have something more inspirational for her team with her last words.” Mr. Sterling frowned disapprovingly.

“Verbalization loss is imminent, there is still the potential for a morale-boost. Though I’d expect she’ll be too distracted by the torso reconfiguration.”

Evelyn felt herself shrink inward, like she was caught in a vise that was squeezing ever-tighter. Her shoulders, always embarrassingly soft despite her best efforts, rounded and pulled forward. She felt her ribcage clench around her organs, shifting in her changing body. Her magnificent breasts flattened away. Eliminated as a redundancy, cackled a cruel ironic voice in her head.

Worst of all was the tingling in her hands. Her fingers spasmed, as though trying to play a piano while being electrocuted. Then they stretched, while her arms dwindled away, sucking back towards her shoulders.

More feathers burst from her skin, covering her like a thick downy sweater. She absently, numbly noted that the restraints were moving with her, keeping pace with her diminishing frame, yet offering space for a full coat of feathers to grow in.

Soon her arms were little more than useless, feathery wings. They jutted comically from her fattening sides, and she experimentally fluttered them, horrified at how natural it was.

“HgWAK!” Evelyn squawked.

“Does it have to be so loud?” Mr. Sterling crinkled his nose.

Dr. Finch shrugged. “We’re changing people into animals here, sir. You can’t break an omelette without… Heh.”

“Be nice, doctor. She won’t be able to understand jokes soon.”

Evelyn wanted to reject him, to deny what he’d said. But she couldn’t stop the pressure building in her skull, a foggy, dense, heaviness that made every thought feel like it was being forced through molasses. Her brilliant, strategic mind was being eroded a bit at a time, capital expenditures replaced with a need to peck and cluck.

“-ock-pock-pock…” Her ears caught up with what her mouth was doing, and she thrashed at her restraints. “Nuh! NWAK! NAWK a dhhh-dummm chiCLUCK!”

Her face betrayed her rebellion, her nose and jaw flowing like wax, hardening into a sharp, yellow beak. It clacked as she squawked, as she struggled to deny the truth that would forever haunt her peripheral vision. Or so she thought.

Loathe though she was to admit it, Evelyn’s mind was so diminished that she’d forgotten entirely that a hen’s vision was much different from a woman’s. Her eyes drifted apart on her head to a familiar prey-sight, and her vision blurred as some of her depth perception faded.

She shook her head, regretting the motion a moment later. Her sleek, perfect hair soon matted and clumped, strands congealing into a reddish comb. It flopped heavily over her head as more sharp feathers burst from her skin.

Evelyn had no way of knowing, but she was indistinguishable physically from any common hen. And her mind was soon to follow suit. More and more thoughts winked out, like the lights of her office after a long…

She blinked. The light. It was too bright. Hen wanted to find shade.

Hen twitched head. “Pock-pock-pock…” Hen wanted peck-food. Wanted eat.

The animal that had been Evelyn was too stupid to know the word for hunger, but she knew the need nonetheless.

Dr. Finch tapped at her pad, and the restraints binding the chicken clicked free with a quiet hiss.

The hen flopped forward clumsily, flapping her wings to steady herself. She kicked with her legs, tugging herself free of the gown. Her tail feathers snagged on its collar, and she turned to nip at it.

“Buh-GWAK!” Hen wanted eat. Then nest. Then mate.

“And brain mass reduction is complete. We’re seeing a complete loss of self, but increased focus on reflexive actions. Motor control, balance, and reproductive drive are all high.” Dr. Finch commented cruelly, her words sailing well past the hen’s comprehension.

Mr. Sterling arched his eyebrow at the last comment.

“… Well, you did want a hen capable of reliable output, did you not?”