Not sure what appearance he deserves to wind up with, so happy to take preferences 
Part One:
![Proof of Concept - 1 [Dad to Secretary TG] by Transviscera](https://images-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com/f/87684d17-8b34-4054-a6cc-9b9e97dcb44a/dhacrum-af890d90-d416-47ae-9ae3-d9f7216a1fbc.jpg/v1/fit/w_150,h_150,q_70,strp/proof_of_concept___1__dad_to_secretary_tg__by_transviscera_dhacrum-150.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9MjEwOCIsInBhdGgiOiJcL2ZcLzg3Njg0ZDE3LThiMzQtNDA1NC1hNmNjLTliOWU5N2RjYjQ0YVwvZGhhY3J1bS1hZjg5MGQ5MC1kNDE2LTQ3YWUtOWFlMy1kOWY3MjE2YTFmYmMuanBnIiwid2lkdGgiOiI8PTQ5MjQifV1dLCJhdWQiOlsidXJuOnNlcnZpY2U6aW1hZ2Uub3BlcmF0aW9ucyJdfQ.rGy2ThgcHb3hEgvTvQV7aQMQnQTn2rqJp9wzHITIRtY)
Alone in the office, Roger swiped up the interface remote from his son's desk and pointed it at the interface, jabbing buttons at random, trying to recreate the pretty girl he'd seen before. His digital reflection morphed rapidly between male templates until, by chance, he found the button to switch to the female patient preset.
"Ah, here we are!" he exclaimed. Alas, the reflection only looked like him as a woman or worse, his sister! And far too old! He pressed and pressed until the wrinkles and grey hair fell away, and kept his finger down on the button until he found himself leering at a version of himself as a girl.
"Now that's what I call a real woman," he leered. "Young, beautiful and controlled by remote control. What's not to love? All she needs is a mute button and she'd be the perfect wife," he chortled to himself, his eyes darting over the remote. "Hmm, what does 'Volume' do? ... Ahah! Of course! Breast volume!"
His digital reflection's bosom began to bloat. The rendering software attempted to compensate with on-the-fly adjustments to the shirt size based on the limited fashions in its database but ultimately the ever-inflating cup-size exceeded its parameters, and the swollen breasts tore free. He moved his arm testingly, and she did the same. He pressed his fingers against his chest, cupping empty air, and was delighted to see her lift one breast, presenting it for his viewing pleasure.
No wonder my son is broke, he thought. Why try to market this as a medical device when millions of men would pay handsomely for a make-your-own slut machine!
He leaned nearer, nose pressed to the screen, and she bent forward, her chest crushed against the glass. His fingers touched only hard, flat screen but, well, you couldn't blame a man for trying, he chuckled. He turned, gave as deep a squat as his arthritic knees would allow, and craned his neck to watch the beauty wiggle her posterior. His furtive fingers moved faster, delighted to have a limitless supply of babes at his fingertips.
The digital image began to blur faster, glitching, the AutoDoc doors snapping open and closed as they processed a rapid series of templates. His finger jabbed the volume button again, the chest swelling until it filled the screen, and he took a step back to better take in the view...
Only for his heel to come down on a fallen metal coffee pod, sending his foot skidding out from under him. He fell back with a cry, walls of gleaming, serrated surgical tools surrounding him, as the AutoDoc doors slammed shut behind him.