The air in the R&D bay was sterile and still, smelling of antiseptic and the ozone-tang of the advanced printers. Nathan and Luke stood, skin glowing pink and sensitive from the brutal, complete shave, feeling utterly exposed. A silent team of four disguise technicians in dove-gray scrubs moved around them with quiet efficiency, herding them toward the center of the room.

With a soft hydraulic sigh, two sleek, metal-framed surgical tables rose from the floor.

“On the tables. Keep your eyes closed and do not open them until we tell you,” a female technician instructed, her voice flat. “The facial laminate and dermal substrates are light-cured. Premature exposure ruins the bond.”

Nathan obeyed, lowering himself onto the cool surface. He heard Luke settle heavily beside him. The last sound was the final, whisper-quiet cycle of the large biodynamic printer in the corner, followed by the soft, careful footsteps of the techs retrieving the freshly printed components—the final pieces of their new skins.

“Initiating full application. Starting with the foundational prosthetics.”

Nathan felt the first piece—a warm, pliable sheet—adhere to his chest. It clung with a gentle, pervasive suction. Expert hands smoothed it down his torso, pressing and molding. A new weight began to bloom across his pectorals, a soft, heavy fullness that was profoundly alien.

Beside him, Luke drew a sharp, controlled breath. Nathan heard the rustle of movement. Luke had felt the soft globes being secured to his own chest. Driven by sheer instinct, his hand began to creep up from his side toward the strange, defining pressure. His fingers were inches away when another hand—firm and sure—intercepted his wrist, guiding it firmly back down to the table.

“No touching, Agent Copeland,” the female tech said, a clear warning in her tone. “The adhesive isn’t dry yet. You’ll compromise the seal. You’ll feel them soon enough.”

Luke’s arm went slack, and he let out a low grunt of acknowledgment.

Nathan, however, was overwhelmed by a curiosity that burned through the protocol. The moment the hands left his upper body to retrieve the next piece, his own fingers drifted upward. He had to know. His palm found the soft, shocking curve of a full, heavy breast. The skin was impossibly real—warm, yielding, lifelike. His thumb brushed over a nipple that pebbled instantly under his touch, sending a confusing, electric jolt straight through him.

“Holy hell!” Nathan gasped. His eyes flew …