The sterile white glow of the operating room lights bears down on you as you lay on the narrow bed, an IV snaking into your arm. The air is cool, clinical, humming with the faint buzz of fluorescent bulbs overhead. A pair of technicians murmur to each other quietly, adjusting monitors as a faint pressure begins to spread through your veins. The sensation is warm, strange, and overwhelming. Your eyelids grow heavier, your heartbeat slows, and the edges of your vision dissolve into blackness.

Then... silence.

When your eyes flicker open again, you are no longer yourself.

The sterile light now reflects off smooth, pale skin that is not your own. Your chest rises and falls, fuller, heavier, and as you look down, the sight takes your breath away. Two large, supple breasts sit high and round upon your chest, soft flesh shifting with every subtle movement. They feel heavy, warm against your ribs, the sensitive peaks brushing against the sterile air. Your waist has cinched in drastically, curving outward into wide, generous hips and a thick, enticing ass that presses firmly into the mattress beneath you. Your thighs, smooth, thick, and soft, press together naturally, your legs feeling shorter, toned, and utterly foreign. Even your hands are smaller, delicate, with painted nails gleaming under the light. A subtle movement of your head sends long, silken hair sliding against your shoulders, the scent of floral shampoo clinging to it as though it's always been yours.

Your face, reflected faintly in the metal surface beside you, is heart-stoppingly beautiful. Plush lips, perfect cheekbones, expressive eyes framed by long lashes. Feminine, flawless, designed to seduce. And when you shift and speak just to test your voice, the sound that escapes is a sultry, lilting tone, a woman's voice, dripping with allure. Every breath, every sensation, feels as though you have been truly reborn into this body. For the next three months, this is you.

The door hisses open.

"You're awake. Good. No time to waste."

The figure of your boss steps inside, Director Harlow, sharp in his pressed suit, stern eyes sweeping over you without even a flicker of hesitation. He doesn't marvel, doesn't flinch. To him, you're an asset now, not a marvel of science.

"Here's the mission. The Crane siblings are planning something big. We don't know what, but we know Julian Crane is at the center of it. Your job is to get close to him, close enough to earn his trust, close enough that he lets his guard down. He's a man, and he has a weakness. He won't be able to resist you in that body. Use it. You'll seduce him, get into his inner circle, and find out what he's planning before it's too late."

Two government agents step into the room, carrying sleek black kits. Without a word, they get to work, powdering your skin, contouring your cheekbones, painting your lips into a deep, irresistible red. A shiver runs through you as they fasten a slinky noir dress around your body, the fabric clinging tightly to your new curves, hugging every line, every soft swell. The neckline plunges daringly, showcasing the cleavage that wasn't yours only hours ago. Matching heels slide onto your feet, forcing your posture into a seductive sway with every step. Earrings, a necklace, the scent of perfume, it all layers onto you until the mirror reveals not an agent in disguise, but a living weapon of seduction.

Minutes later, you're in the back of a black car, city lights flickering past the tinted windows. Your thighs press together, smooth skin sliding on smooth skin, every bump in the road reminding you of the sensitivity of this new body. The nightclub awaits. The car stops. The door opens. The night air hits your bare skin, warm and heavy with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and perfume.

And then, you step inside. Red light and music swallow you whole. Eyes turn as you enter, your dress catching every gleam of light. Somewhere in this crowd is Julian Crane.