The air in Lenard’s workshop was thick with the smell of ozone and warm plastic. Vernon stood shivering, not from cold but from a deep, marrow-deep dread, as Lenard circled him with a critical eye. A holographic projection of a young woman—Lauren Kerigan—spun slowly in the air beside them, her vital statistics glowing in soft blue text.

“Alright, let’s get the blueprint locked in,” Lenard muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. He gestured, and one of his silent, hooded assistants wheeled over a large, sealed machine that resembled a sleek industrial oven. A ‘body molder,’ Lenard called it. He tapped a sequence on its console, and the hologram of Lauren was sucked into the machine’s scanner array with a soft whirr.

“Silicon base,” Lenard explained, his voice flat and instructional as he worked. “Old Earth stock, best for plasticity. We alloy it with a bit of Myrden-spun polymer. Makes it feel less like a toy and more like… well, flesh. Heats to body temp, gives under pressure. The weight’s the tricky part.”

Vernon watched, arms wrapped around his bare torso, as the machine began to hum with a low, building power. He felt exposed, more than just naked. He was a schematic being filled in.

“Noted the chest profile,” Lenard said, glancing at the hologram’s frozen image. “Full. A D-cup, terrestrial standard. You’ll feel the pull. The color will match your natural tone—pale, delicate. We’ll blend it at the edges so it’s seamless under anything but a medical scanner.”

The humming peaked, then settled into a steady, vibrating purr. Lights danced behind the machine’s dark glass front. Minutes passed in a silence broken only by the machine’s work and the frantic beat of Vernon’s heart. Finally, a soft chime sounded.

“Fabrication sequence complete,” a smooth, androgynous AI voice announced.

Lenard hit a release, and a sealed chamber hissed open. A curl of cool, sterile air wafted out. Inside, resting on a form-fitting tray, were the prosthetics.

Two lifelike breasts, perfect and pale, lay separate. Next to them was a single, continuous piece—a bodysuit that would cover from his natural waist down over his hips and groin, sculpted with the subtle curves of a woman’s pelvis and the defined mound of a pubic area.

Lenard reached in and carefully lifted the two silicone forms. They looked terrifyingly real in his calloused hands. “Adhesive matrix on the back,” he …