That just made Doc angrier, but he didn't pull the trigger.  "Oh, yes.  How<em>clinical</em>-sounding of you.  Just reduce what you've done to the biological and chemical dimensions, and you have all the self-justification you could need, manufactured."  He was<em>pissed.</em>"Never mind what the outside world thinks of Changelings.  Never mind that there's a social stigma hanging over their head wherever they go."  He bit down further on his bad mood.  "I heard what you said.  Client.  That means someone paid for all this to her, right?  No self-respecting woman I know would sign up to be a corporate sex slave."  It was sad, but Doc knew it was true.  Many Changelings had to turn to the world's oldest profession and its cousins to make a living.<br/><br/>That was when the tech died, his head exploding in a fashion Doc knew.  Cortex bomb.  "Don't think that that changes anything.  If anything, it puts more pressure on you to give her over.  Because if you give her, then at least you can tell the man who bought her you were forced to.  If you<em>don't</em>, I<em>will</em>kill you, sure as that bomb."<br/><br/>"Clothes.  Now."