TG October: Day 24 – Police

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His name was Ryan Cole.

Detective. Forty-one years old. Married to Laura. Father of Emma, eight. One of the few who still walked into the station every morning believing things could still be set right.

Carl and Wilson had disappeared almost five months earlier. Officially they had requested a transfer to another city. Unofficially no one knew anything. Ryan had shared a desk with them for years. He knew the way Carl clenched his jaw when something didn’t add up and Wilson’s habit of reviewing every report three times. They hadn’t left. Someone had taken them.

He started pulling the thread in silence. Money movements that didn’t match the reported operations. Names that repeated in archived statements. A clandestine laboratory that had appeared and disappeared in less than two weeks. Every lead brought him a little closer to the certainty that the corruption wasn’t only the station chief’s. It went higher.

When he finally had something solid — recordings, transfers, a list of names — he received the call from Central Command. The voice on the other end was calm, professional, above any local suspicion.

“Detective Cole. We have the confirmation you need. Address and time. Go alone. Do not alert anyone at the station. There are leaks.”

Ryan trusted.

It was Central.

The warehouse was in the industrial zone, far from municipal cameras. Ryan parked two blocks away, checked his weapon and entered through a side door. Inside there were stacked boxes, a desk with open folders and a monitor turned on. For almost a full minute he could see everything: videos of deliveries, payment lists, even Carl and Wilson’s names in a column marked “resolved.”

Three seconds of victory.

Then the lights went out.

The gas came first, sweet and heavy. Then the blows. He fell to his knees, tried to raise the gun and felt it being torn from his hands. The darkness was total.

When he regained consciousness the first piece of data his brain registered was the voice.

It wasn’t his.

It was higher, softer, with a tremor he didn’t recognize. He tried to sit up and discovered the handcuffs. He was on a narrow bed, naked from the waist down, torso covered by a black top that was far too small. His chest weighed in an absurd way. Every breath made the fabric brush skin that was far too sensitive.

In front of him was his own body.

The man who occupied it had already put on the detective’s shirt, the badge clearly visible. He adjusted the tie calmly and smiled with Ryan Cole’s mouth.

“Laura Cole. Thirty-eight years old. Primary school teacher. Emma Cole. Eight years old. North district school, classroom 2-B. House at Linden 47. Old-model perimeter alarm. Spare key under the left flowerpot. Everything documented. Everything studied.”

Ryan tried to speak. The voice that came out was a trembling, feminine thread.

“Son of a bitch…”

The other approached, grabbed one of his breasts hard and squeezed. Pain and pleasure mixed in a nauseating way. Ryan arched his back against his will.

“You’re going to be a good whore,” his own voice said. “And you’re going to behave very well. Because if you don’t, Laura and Emma are going to meet ‘Daddy’ in a way they won’t forget.”

He pulled down his pants. The cock Ryan had seen a thousand times in the mirror was hard. The man positioned himself between his legs, spread his thighs and pushed.

The entry was slow and deliberate. Ryan felt his own member opening him centimeter by centimeter. The new body — trained, hyper-reactive, used to being used — clenched on its own, got wet on its own, responded with a spasm that tore a high moan from him. Every thrust was a double betrayal: the unwanted pleasure climbing his spine and the certainty that it was his own cock destroying him.

“Look at yourself,” the other murmured, speeding up. “You don’t even have to pretend. This body only knows how to do one thing. Moan. Get wet. Cum.”

Ryan struggled against the handcuffs. He tried to close his legs. He tried to stay quiet. The body didn’t cooperate. Every deep thrust pulled a higher, more broken sound from him. When the orgasm arrived it was violent and alien: the cunt contracted around his former cock and a wave of pleasure left him trembling and with blurred vision. The other came seconds later, filling him, and stayed inside a moment just so he could feel every pulse.

“Welcome to the payroll,” he said as he pulled out and the cum began to leak.

That was when he heard the other moan.

On the bed next to him was another woman, also handcuffed, also with her legs spread. A second man was using her with indifference. When he finished and moved away, she turned her head toward Ryan. The makeup was smeared, the hair was a mess, but the eyes… the eyes still carried a remnant of the authority Ryan had known for years.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered in a high, broken voice. “I… was never corrupt. They replaced me seven months ago. The chief you knew… was no longer me. Central… Central is rotten too.”

Ryan understood everything in that instant.

The corruption didn’t start at the station. It climbed all the way to Central Command. They had been systematically replacing anyone who got in the way: body swaps with the organization’s prostitutes, stolen life records, families turned into silent hostages. Carl and Wilson had only been the beginning. The chief had been another. And now him.

The man wearing Ryan’s body fastened his pants and stroked his cheek with an almost affectionate falseness.

“Tonight you have more clients. And remember: Laura and Emma are only one phone call away. Behave, detective.”

“You’re a fucking—”

“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll come at least once a month to tell you about your family and of course to make use of that beautiful body of yours.”

They left him there, handcuffed, with cum leaking between his legs, the body still convulsing with residuals of an orgasm he hadn’t asked for, and the voice of the former chief sobbing on the bed next to him.

Ryan Cole closed his eyes. Between moans he could no longer contain, between the burn and the wetness and the weight of breasts that weren’t his, he pleaded. He pleaded for Carl and Wilson to come back. For someone clean to appear. For the fantasy of a rescue to still be possible.

He clung to that idea for a long time.

But life is not that fair.

And those who give everything fighting against corruption do not always win.

The End.