You and Brandon remain silent for a few minutes on the half-hour drive into the country. Fortunately, aside from your shoes (which wouldn't have fit, anyway), your clothes are more or less intact, if far too large. The same went for Brandon. To your surprise, you find that you aren't panicking nearly as much as you would have expected, while poor Brandon begins to shake.
"Matt... What on Earth is happening? None of this makes any sense, I think I'm going insane, oh no this isn't real, gotta wake up, gotta wake up, gotta wake up..." Tears begin to well in her eyes, streaking down her fur. You reach over and stroke her reassuringly.
"It'll be okay. We'll figure out who did this, and we'll find a way to reverse it." You sound far more confident than you feel, but at least Brandon calms down some. After a drive that felt as though it was an eternity, you arrive at home. Pulling into the driveway, you are surprised to find it in what you jokingly refer to as "lockdown mode" - all the windows shut and barred, all doorways dead-bolted. For the first time you get a chance to examine yourself in motion without the stress of panic. You're barefoot, but the thick pads on your feet mean that shoes are pretty unnecessary. As best you can tell, your body is very shapely and attractive, but is also painfully obviously female. You and Brandon tread quietly to the door. She looks at you, frightened. For the first time you note what a pretty face she has - if you were still male, you'd have fallen head over heels for her, half-animal and all. You gently knock, four times fast, three times slow.
After another long wait, the door creaks open, and you're greeted by the sight of your (still human, you note somewhat angrily) father, gripping his 12-gauge shotgun.
"Who are you?" he demands. You shoot him your best death glare.
"Your ex-son. Matt. I guess I'm technically your daughter. Hey, thanks for signing my life away, by the way," you snap, furiously. He nods, and when he speaks, there's a slight tremor in his voice.
"I... I'm sorry this happened. Your mother and I - I, we didn't have a say in it."
"That's a load of crap and you KNOW IT!" you yell at him, "They told us about the permission slips, that much I remember before they freaking MELTED ME! Now I'm this... this FREAK!"
"Just... come in, we'll explain. Bring your friend, too, whoever she is."
"That's Brandon. His parents wrote him... uh, her off too."
Your dad shakes his head, then suddenly snaps the shotgun to his shoulders. Another vehicle was coming down the road, and that road was usually pretty desolate.
"Uh... Girls, get inside, NOW." You don't stop to make a snappy remark, instead bolting inside and dragging Brandon with you. Your dad slams the door and closes all three deadbolts. He waits until the car passes, then stands the gun against a wall.
"Okay, before you say anything else, hear me out. We signed it to protect you -"
"BS," you state simply, interrupting him.
"No, really. A few weeks ago, your mother and I were visited by a bunch of heavily-armed men."
"How heavily armed?"
"MP5s, M4s, I think I saw an M240. The works. They were feds, no doubt. They told us to sign, or else they'd keep you for study. I have video of it, they didn't notice the camera on the wall. Anyway, they said that we could either sign the slip and allow you to be changed, or you'd be changed anyway and then put in a cage and poked with sticks, basically. And before you ask why I didn't tell you, their threats were very thorough. If we did ANYTHING to prevent you from being changed, they'd find you, change you, and experiment on you -" here your dad begins to choke up again, but recovers "-at least... at least this way we get to keep you here." He throws his arms around your tiny frame in a giant bear hug.
"I'm so sorry... I'm sorry..." he keeps repeating. Finally convinced, plus, you cyniDcally suspect, softened by your new femininity, you return the hug.
"Dad, it's all right. I'm safe now, just fuzzier." You smile at him. "They said it was temporary, I'm guessing that's a lie?" He nods. Despite your best efforts, you find yourself flattening your ears, a universal canine gesture of sadness. Your dad speaks up again.
"Your mother and I did what we could. They at least had the decency to give us an educated guess about how you'd turn out, and we prepared accordingly. There are clothes your size in a trunk in the spare room, next to the gun safe. They should fit Brandon, too." He shakes his head and composes himself. You force a smile.
"Dad. I can handle this. I'm okay, I didn't panic like some of the others. If it comes down to it" - you look down at your female, fur-covered self - "then I can live like this. I'll adjust." You flick your tail and force yourself to relax.
All of a sudden, a car pulls up out of nowhere, and there is another knock at the door. Your dad snaps his shotgun to his shoulder and peers out the window. Who's out there?