DetransitionBaby.mp4
A Story About Adult Human Females
The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental. The views and opinions expressed by characters do not necessarily reflect those of Evil Faggot Posse.
DetransitionBaby.mp4
That’s the title of the video. You’ve been given to understand it’s an esoteric reference to a piece of sinister transgender literature, which, of course, you’ve never read.
This is your first time watching the video, although you’ve heard its contents breathlessly described so many times that you feel as if you’ve viewed it before. It dropped just this morning and instantly went viral, and now it’s the only thing anyone can talk about. Is it real? An art piece? Some kind of sick joke? As of yet, its authenticity has not been confirmed– but nobody has been able to get in touch with Deanna Hershey, either.
Since she’s an adult, it’s too early for her to be considered a missing person, a fact which has the true crime forums buzzing with indignation. “The first 24 hours are the most crucial!” “If they wait, they’re never gonna find her alive.”
Every niche community has an angle on this. Everybody has a take. It’s time for you to have one, too.
You click play.
It starts with a black screen. Red text splashes across it as thumping, sped-up music plays.
THE SACRED BAND OF THEBES, it reads, DISPATCH 1.
Cut to what looks like security footage of a nondescript room. A woman is seated on the floor. The feed is too grainy for you to make out much about her appearance. You lean towards the screen. Is that Deanna Hershey? You have only the vaguest idea of what she looks like. You pause the video, switch tabs to Google Images. This isn’t much help. Most photos of Deanna are juxtaposed with images of her back when she was a man. Since becoming a woman again, she’s gone through many changes. Short hair growing out. Trying out several questionable wigs. Gaining weight, then getting on Ozempic. A brief period of butch lesbian-style presentation, followed by an abrupt shift to modest, traditional dress. You feel for her. Poor girl, she seems so confused.
You switch back to the video. The image is blurry. You can’t tell much about her. She seems like the right height, the right hair color. Thin enough. And her figure– well yes, that could be the surgically constructed flat chest that she so famously sued over. Her clothes are a little distracting, and keep pulling your attention away from attempts at identification. She’s wearing a knee-length floral dress, frilly white socks, and Mary Janes. It’s a bit juvenile. She is leaning over some kind of book that lies open on the floor, apparently deeply absorbed.
“Don’t worry. This isn’t a sex thing.” These are the first words spoken, delivered in a voice pitch-shifted to a demonic bass. You wonder what the speaker’s voice really sounds like. Would it pass for male without the filter? Is the distortion purely to hide his–her– identity, or is it also a bit of overcompensation?
Cut to heavily filtered footage of a black-clad individual, face covered by a balaclava. Their– its– gender is impossible to determine, and might, you reflect, be just as difficult to parse were its face and body fully visible. It is seated behind a desk. Six others, dressed the same, stand silently behind it, each holding a long rifle. On the wall behind them hangs a black flag emblazoned with a red sigil. It looks like the Mars symbol, the symbol for male, however a short bar crosses the arrow, marking a plain affinity for transsexual ideology. These are probably women, then– mutilated women, devout members of the delusional cult poor Deanna Hershey thought she had escaped.
“We have Deanna Hershey. She is safe with us. Safer than with you,” the speaker continues. “In spite of what you may assume about us, as a group of avowed radical transgender terrorists, we sympathize deeply with Deanna, and care about her welfare. We have followed her story with interest. We see her as a deeply damaged person, deserving of healing, whose lived experience throws many popular dogmas into question.
“When Deanna successfully sued the surgeon who performed her double mastectomy, it prompted a heartfelt discussion amongst us. What does it mean for a woman of thirty-five to be unable, under any circumstances, to consent to a surgery? Deanna insists she was brainwashed by trans ideology. We believe her. She has been very clear that the decisions she made about her body were not made freely, but under strong, external influences she was unable to resist. This is tragic.
“Such cases are rare, but not unheard of. The rate of regret for transgender surgeries is low– far lower than the rate of regret for common, uncontroversial surgeries such as hip replacement. But that tiny percentage of people who feel they undertook transition mistakenly and under duress do exist. Our hearts go out to them.”
Is it your imagination, or do you see a subliminal flash of Elon Musk saluting quickly overlay the film?
“People like Deanna deserve to be protected,” the speaker continues, her voice rising with passion, “not exploited. Deanna has been paraded around like a circus sideshow, turned into a political football, thrust into the role of a public figure. As a delicate individual who is self-confessedly quite easy to sway, and who has already been irreversibly damaged by such manipulation, she must be spared this fate at all costs.
“Her present situation should make the dangers this life exposed her to quite clear. Imagine if poor Deanna had been taken by people who did not have her best interests at heart! Anything might have happened. The very ease with which we liberated her from her keepers betrays their negligence and lack of care.”
The video cuts back to the girl in the room. This time the footage comes not from a security feed, but a handheld camera, and the image is much better quality. Deanna is bent over what appears to be a coloring book, a crayon clenched in her fist. Strewn on the floor around her are various dolls and stuffed animals. A half-eaten sandwich sits on a plate, cut into triangles–peanut butter and jelly, the crusts trimmed. She looks up at the cameraman– camerawoman– her eyes wide, a pacifier in her mouth.
For a moment, you are certain it is really her. You feel those vacant eyes stare into your soul, crying out for help. It looks real, it feels real, and so, you think, it has to be real– but then you remember that these days, pretty much anything can be made with AI.
“Shame on you,” continues the voiceover. “This is not a woman, but a child. Deanna is not ready to make decisions about her life. Exposing her to the vicious scrutiny of the internet is cruel. What she really needs is reparenting. We will raise her with the care and tenderness she never received, protecting her innocence. If, in this way, she ever reaches maturity, then she can make decisions about her gender, her body, and her level of public visibility.”
The camera lingers on Deanna’s face. She smiles sweetly, and the pacifier falls out of her mouth.