"Go down on one knee and... Excuse me?!"

"Go on," he said with an amused expression.

My mouth moved to shout obscenities at him, but it was cut off by my surprise at my legs suddenly buckling and lowering my body. Before my startled yelp even finished, I was balancing on my right knee and left foot (a pose which brought my attention again to the alien gap between my legs, bringing me to a blush), with my right palm delicately resting on my chest. I furiously attempted to resist, but my body ignored me completely; it gently brought my head to his hand, gently resting it upon his knuckle.

The instant the fabric of his gloved hand touched my brow, a wave of contentment swept my outrage away. Something about this simple ritual calmed me to no end, and I deeply exhaled a satisfied breath. With my eyes closed, it was so easy to take note of the smoothness of the glove, the solidity of his hand, the growing warmth in my loi-

My self-awareness suddenly returned to me as I involuntarily staggered backwards, away from his wretched hand, before realizing I'd just lost my balance - and fell flat on my ass. I looked back up at the dignified man, who watched my startled face with a mirthful grin... but his eyes briefly glanced downwards, and he rolled his eyes.

"Dear me, Hildegarde. I'm all for you exposing yourself to me, but only when we're in private. Have some modesty," Georg murmured, shaking his head.

Exposing myself? I followed his former glance downwards, where I found my dress riding up on my open legs.
The gears in my head clicked, and my face turned beet-red. My legs locked shut, my hands pushed my dress against my groin, and I struggled to return to a standing position while maintaining my modesty. A few moments later, I had half-succeeded; all the while, the ass in military clothing held a hand to his chin, chuckling at my plight. I fumed silently, futilely attempting to pull the edge of my dress further down my legs.

"Well, the return to upright could've been better, but your pledge of servitude was acceptable, at least," Georg mused. "Oh well. Come on, I still have some appointments to get to before I meet my crew." He swiftly turned and began walking down the well-kept concrete road. Once again, my own body's movement cut off my attempt at protest, and I was soon walking at a brisk pace behind his left shoulder, my footsteps signaled by the repeated clack of the heels I now wore.

Ah, yes. All those details I'd desperately tried to ignore since I "woke up" now came flooding into my consciousness. I couldn't even pay attention to my fantastic surroundings, which I judged from my periphery vision to be a mix of a space station and a classical European city, filled with curious passersby and high-tech floating vehicles. No, my focus was instead focused on something much more... present. Myself.

Somehow, in defiance of reality itself, I was now walking in the body of a girl; an exceptionally beautiful, feminine girl, with all the sensations that entails. The wide sway of my hips, the jiggle of *******, the tickling of hair against my bare shoulders. The feeling of stockings riding up on my thighs, and of low heels providing a boost to my now-pitiful height. Even the sway of a fluttery skirt, concealing skimpy undergarments drawn tight against my pelvis, keeping me ever-reminded of my loss of manhood. I briefly gazed at my hands; soft, delicate, womanly, with perfectly manicured nails.
And of course, there was that even more impossible detail; that all of these feelings and sensations were somehow artificial. That this body, and myself, were robotic. Even my vision was accompanied by a UI that appeared when I focused. How could this happen? How could I be flung so far ahead into the future that there existed no evidence that I ever existed, outside of my own memories? And said memories were unreliable as well, providing me with no answers to my questions. Worse still was the fact that no one I'd interacted with thus far had any inclination in helping me find out; I was completely and utterly stranded in a reality that wasn't my own.

"-expect that we'll need to put you through combat examina... Are you paying attention to me?" Georg's voice suddenly came to my attention. Shit, he'd been speaking to me this entire time, hadn't he?

I crossed my arms and looked away in defiance. "I don't see any reason I should," I declared.

Georg scoffed. "I'm your Master. Refer to me as such."

"Bite me, Master." My eyes widened in realization of what I just said, and I clamped my mouth shut.

"Better," he affirmed. "Has your mental download of necessary data finished yet?"

"How the hell would I know, Master?" Dammit. My attempt to cut myself off by biting my tongue failed.

"Well, let's review what you should know. When's my birthday?"

"Wilhelmonat 15." I blinked. The answer just came to my mouth, even though it made absolutely no sense to me. What the hell month was Wilhelmo-

"How many Netzschaft messages do I have unread?"

"Seven. Wait, what the fu-"

"Recite the twenty-third stratagem listed in Betelgeuse Rotsonne's "Wahrheiten des Schlachtfeldes"."

"The best defense against a nearby rival is a distant acquaintance." Once again, my mouth knew the answer before I could even understand the question. How the he-

"And lastly, when I request "late tea time" in my office, what should you do?"

"Discreetly position myself under your desk so as to hide myself from visitors, and undo your pants and undergarments so that I might orally ple-"

My hands moved at meteoric speeds to cover my mouth before it could finish blurting out that answer, while my Master laughed heartily at my expense.

"Good, good. Your internal database seems complete enough. I'll have to test you more thoroughly later, but for now, hurry up. We're almost to my first appointment. Come, come." His pace quickened, and my legs obeyed, no matter how much my mind wanted to curl up in a corner and die.

"Screw you, Master!"

"An excellent suggestion, but not now. Even if it might make you more agreeable."

My scream of frustration echoed through the bustling street.