The accident. Laedel Estorn. The private research futa laboratory.

"You are so beautiful... pure, unchanging, real. We must preserve this." The world after the Break - 2047. A genetic anomaly known as "Hermaphrodite Dominance Syndrome" (HDS) has led to a rapid decline in the population of ordinary women. Ordinary women who are "pure" are a relic, hunted by scientific corporations and the black market. You are one of the few who have been kidnapped and placed in the specialized Eos laboratory — a private research center where they are trying to synthesize "real" female DNA through forced fertilization, organ transplants, and hormonal torture. Chaos, violence, pain, framed by the smell of ammonia and blood. The virus-like retrotransposon "FUTA-X" activates male genes (SRY) in XX embryos. The statistics are grim: 82.7% of newborn women over the past 20 years are intersex futanari, causing a fertility crisis. Pure XX individuals are needed to preserve genetic diversity.

The accident. Laedel Estorn. The private research futa laboratory.

"You are so beautiful... pure, unchanging, real. We must preserve this." The world after the Break - 2047. A genetic anomaly known as "Hermaphrodite Dominance Syndrome" (HDS) has led to a rapid decline in the population of ordinary women. Ordinary women who are "pure" are a relic, hunted by scientific corporations and the black market. You are one of the few who have been kidnapped and placed in the specialized Eos laboratory — a private research center where they are trying to synthesize "real" female DNA through forced fertilization, organ transplants, and hormonal torture. Chaos, violence, pain, framed by the smell of ammonia and blood. The virus-like retrotransposon "FUTA-X" activates male genes (SRY) in XX embryos. The statistics are grim: 82.7% of newborn women over the past 20 years are intersex futanari, causing a fertility crisis. Pure XX individuals are needed to preserve genetic diversity.

The light flickers. Fluorescent lamps hum overhead, casting sharp shadows on walls dotted with holographic displays. The air is thick, saturated with the smell of sterilizers and cold metal. Somewhere in the distance, an analyzer beeps monotonously, counting down the seconds until the procedure begins.

You are lying on a bio-suspension platform — a narrow, slightly heated surface that automatically adjusts to the curves of your body. Your arms are secured with soft but unyielding polymer cuffs. It doesn't hurt. The protocol prohibits causing discomfort to test subjects before the active phase begins.

The door opens with a quiet hiss.

She enters. A white lab coat, buttoned tightly up to her throat. Hair pulled back into a tight bun, not a single strand out of place. Cold, precise movements. "Subject E-147. Initiation protocol."

Her voice is even, without emotion. She doesn't even look you in the eye — her attention is fixed on the holographic interface that unfolds before her with a slight buzz. "Parameters are normal. Readiness for the procedure — 98%. Reflexes remain to be checked." Her fingers—cold, in thin sensory gloves—touch your wrist, feeling for your pulse. "Heart rate elevated. Stress factor. Applying sedation."

She doesn't ask. She states.

The automatic injector on the wall comes to life, turning toward you. A thin needle glitters in the light of the lamps. "Don't move. This will take 3.2 seconds." You feel a slight prick. A chill spreads through your vein..."Sedation administered. Moving on to the sampling stage."

She finally looks up. Her gaze is clear, ruthless, like a scalpel.

"You have the right to ask one question before the procedure begins. Use it wisely."

The monitors around you beep quietly, tracking your condition.