Synthetica (18+)

The mirror doesn't lie, but it doesn't tell the whole truth either.

I stand before it, naked and new, a stranger in my own skin.

The being that stares back at me is both familiar and utterly foreign—a masterpiece of synthetic engineering wrapped in an exaggerated facsimile of femininity.

"Byte," I whisper, testing the name on lips that aren't mine.
It's not just my designation; it's my brand. For the next 45 years, it will be my identity, my cover.

My prison.

My left eye clicks softly as I activate the Spectroscopic Analyzer Lens. The world transforms into a kaleidoscope of data, each element breaking down into its constituent parts.

I focus on the mirror, and my HUD springs to life:

SPECTROSCOPIC ANALYSIS: MIRROR
--------------------------------
Composition:
- Silicon dioxide (SiO2): 72.6%
- Sodium oxide (Na2O): 14.9%
- Calcium oxide (CaO): 6.4%
- Magnesium oxide (MgO): 4.1%
- Aluminum oxide (Al2O3): 1.5%
- Trace elements: 0.5%

Reflectivity: 91.3%
Thickness: 4.7mm
Manufacturing impurities detected: 0.02%

I blink, switching to the Infrared Tracker in my right eye. The room comes alive with heat signatures, my own body a vibrant beacon of reds and oranges against the cooler blues of the surrounding environment. I notice minute temperature variations across my synthetic skin, evidence of the intricate temperature regulation system at work beneath the surface.

Curiosity piqued, I decide to test the limits of this new form. I hold my breath, waiting for the burning in my lungs, the desperate need for oxygen.

It never comes. Instead, a message flashes across my HUD:

RESPIRATORY SIMULATION PAUSED
O2 Reserves: 100%
CO2 Buildup: 0%
Warning: Extended pause may impact human mimicry protocols

I exhale, not out of necessity, but habit. The act of breathing is all for appearance.

Turning my attention to the small potted plant on the desk—a touch of Earth in this sterile space station environment—I reach out to one of its leaves. As my fingers make contact, another flood of information assaults my senses:

BOTANICAL ANALYSIS
------------------
Species: Chlorophytum comosum
Common name: Spider plant
Moisture content: 87%
Cellular structure: 
- Epidermis
- Mesophyll
- Vascular bundles
Photosynthetic efficiency: 76%

The torrent of data is overwhelming, a sensory experience far beyond what any human could perceive from a simple touch. I withdraw my hand, momentarily dizzy.

Seeking to ground myself, I focus on the distant hum of the station's life support systems. To my surprise, I can isolate and analyze each distinct sound:

AUDIO SPECTRUM ANALYSIS
-----------------------
1. 60 Hz: Main power frequency
2. 120 Hz: Harmonic of main power
3. 1200 Hz: Air circulation fans
4. 15 kHz: High-frequency electronic noise
5. 22 kHz: Ultrasonic rodent deterrent

The last entry catches me off guard. I hadn't known the station employed ultrasonic pest control...

A soft chime interrupts my exploration. My HUD displays a reminder:

SCHEDULED DEPARTURE: 4 HOURS
Destination: Pathfinder Long-Haul Vessel
Final Destination: Caelus
Pre-flight checklist initiated

Reality crashes back. In four hours, I'll be sealed into a stasis pod aboard the Pathfinder, embarking on a journey that will span decades. I'll sleep away the years, only to awaken in a world where everything I've known will be history.

I turn back to the mirror, taking in the curves and contours of this body that will be my vessel, my disguise, my tool for the mission ahead. The weight of my breasts, the sweep of my hips, the delicate features of my face—all engineered for a purpose I'm still coming to terms with.

I run my fingers through my cobalt hair, the strands slipping through them with a silkiness that feels alien. I'll never have to cut it...

My HUD flashes:

HAIR ANALYSIS
-------------
Color: Cobalt Blue (Hex #0047AB)
Length: 76.2 cm
Density: 142,857 fibers per cm²
Tensile strength: 450 MPa
Sensory capability: 1,024 data points per fiber

I blink, adjusting my visual interface settings. The overwhelming stream of data condenses into a single line at the periphery of my vision:

Hair fibers: Tactile sensors active. Environmental data collection engaged.

The change is subtle but significant. Instead of dominating my field of view, the information now whispers at the edge of my consciousness, a constant but manageable presence.

As I turn my attention to my new form, I'm struck by the sheer volume of data my body generates. Each movement, each sensation, is quantified and analyzed with cold precision.

My hands move to my chest, cradling the substantial weight there.

BREAST ANALYSIS
---------------
Volume: 1,350 cc per unit
Mass: 8,200 g each
Density: 0.97 g/cm³ (comparable to human adipose tissue)
Composition: Viscoelastic gel matrix
Cup size: H (based on Earth measurements)
Nipple protrusion: 1.2 cm at rest, 1.8 cm when stimulated
Areola diameter: 5.5 cm

The sheer mass is disorienting. Each breast weighs as much as a gallon of water, yet they maintain a perky, uplifted shape that defies Earth's gravity. I can feel the strain on my back, my spine curving to compensate for the forward pull. My HUD notes a 12% increase in lower back muscle activity compared to my previous form.

I cup one breast, feeling its heft. The SynthDerm™ yields slightly under my touch, mimicking the give of human flesh with eerie accuracy. As I release it, I watch the subtle ripple of movement. My visual sensors capture and analyze the motion:

```
JIGGLE DYNAMICS
---------------
Oscillation frequency: 3.7 Hz
Damping ratio: 0.28
Amplitude decay: 0.85 seconds
```

The nipples are remarkably responsive. A light brush of my finger sends a cascade of sensations through my neural network. The areolas pucker, micro-contractions rippling across the sensitized surface. My HUD reports a 215% increase in localized sensory input compared to standard dermal readings.

TACTILE FEEDBACK: Nipple stimulation detected 

Pleasure centers engaged: 37% 

Lubrication systems: Primed 

WARNING: Extended stimulation may trigger involuntary responses

Switching to infrared vision, I observe the complex network of ducts within each breast. They're not just for show; these structures are fully functional, capable of producing a nutrient-rich fluid on demand. A status update flashes:

LACTATION SYSTEM
----------------
Fluid production capacity: 1.2 L/day
Nutrient density: 720 kcal/L
Activation status: Dormant (manual override available)

The realization that I could, at any moment, begin lactating is profoundly unsettling.

My attention shifts lower, to the dramatic curve of my hips. They flare out from a waist that seems impossibly narrow in comparison:

BODY PROPORTIONS
----------------
Waist-to-hip ratio: 0.62 (Earth average: 0.75)
Hip width: 122 cm
Waist circumference: 56 cm

These proportions are extreme, engineered to an exaggerated ideal of femininity. As I walk, I feel the sway of my hips, the bounce of my buttocks. My gait analysis subroutine activates:

GAIT ANALYSIS
-------------
Hip sway: ±7.2 cm lateral movement
Stride length: 68 cm (15% shorter than previous form)
Gluteal bounce: 3.2 cm vertical displacement
Step frequency: 1.8 Hz

My center of gravity has shifted dramatically. Where once I stood straight and tall, I now find myself naturally arching my back, chest thrust forward, buttocks protruding. It's not a conscious choice; it's simply how this body is balanced.

Every movement sends ripples through my form. The breasts bounce, the buttocks jiggle, all with a fluid naturalness that belies their artificial nature. Yet there's a precision to it, a calculated perfection that no human body could achieve.

As I move, my HUD reminds me:

Caelian gravity compensation available. Kinematic adjustments: +18% muscle power, -7% joint stress.

This body isn't just designed for Earth or for space. It's specifically tuned for Caelus, its increased gravity accounted for in every curve and motion. The extra mass of my breasts and hips, the strength of my legs and back – all calibrated for a world I've yet to set foot on.

I turn my attention to my lower body, the alienness of it sending a wave of discomfort through me.

My hips flare out dramatically, creating a silhouette I can barely reconcile with my sense of self. I run my hands over the curve, feeling the warmth of my synthetic skin and the firmness beneath. My HUD flickers with unwanted information:

LOWER BODY METRICS
------------------
Hip circumference: 122 cm
Waist-to-hip ratio: 0.46
Gluteal projection: 12 cm from lower back
Thigh circumference: 68 cm each
Synthetic muscle density: 1.2x human equivalent

I turn, trying to see my backside in the mirror. The movement sends a shockwave through my lower body, my buttocks jiggling with a momentum that startles me. Hesitantly, I reach back and cup one cheek, marveling at how my hand fails to cover even half of it. The flesh is soft yet firm, yielding to pressure before bouncing back. I give it an experimental squeeze, and the ripples of movement cascade across the surface.

"Jesus," I mutter, watching the flesh settle. Each buttock must weigh at least 4 kilograms, their mass shifting with every minute movement. I try a few steps, feeling the heavy sway and bounce. It's like carrying two water balloons strapped to my backside, their weight pulling at my lower back and altering my gait.

Between my legs, the absence of my former anatomy is a void that screams for attention. In its place, the Synth-Slit Model RX-2 protrudes slightly, a soft mound that my HUD insists on describing:

SYNTH-SLIT RX-2 SPECIFICATIONS
------------------------------
External dimensions: 8 cm x 4 cm
Labia majora projection: 1.5 cm
Clitoral analogue size: 0.8 cm
Lubrication capacity: 5 ml/hour
Elasticity rating: 320% expansion
Sensory density: 800 receptors/cm²

I can't bring myself to touch it directly. The sight alone, with its plump labia and glistening surface, sends a mix of revulsion and unwanted arousal through me. I can feel it responding to my attention, a slight tingling sensation that makes me squirm.

Swallowing hard, I reach for the undergarments. The bra - a TectonicLift™ MaxSupport model - looks more like a harness than anything I've ever worn. I fumble with it, turning it this way and that, trying to figure out how it goes on. After several failed attempts, I manage to hook it behind my back, the clasps clicking into place.

Immediately, the bra tightens, constricting around my rib cage. I gasp as it lifts my breasts, the smart fabric molding itself to my chest. The pressure is intense, bordering on uncomfortable. My breasts are hoisted up and pressed together, creating a cleavage that seems to defy gravity.

TECTONICLIFT™ MAXSUPPORT BRA
----------------------------
Support rating: 9.8N per breast
Smart-fabric composition: Graphene-infused elastomer
Strap width: 3.5 cm
Underwire strength: 450 MPa tensile strength
Sensor density: 200/cm² for real-time adjustment

"This can't be right," I mutter, trying to adjust the straps. But the bra seems to have a mind of its own, maintaining its vice-like grip on my chest. I take a deep breath, feeling the fabric stretch and adapt. It's supportive, yes, but the constant pressure is a reminder of the sheer mass I'm now carrying on my chest.

Next are the panties - a QuantumComfort™ AdaptaFit model. I step into them, struggling to pull them up over my exaggerated hips. The fabric stretches obscenely, and for a moment I fear they'll tear. With a grunt of effort, I manage to yank them into place.

The panties mold themselves to my body, cupping my buttocks and pressing against my Synth-Slit. I feel a subtle vibration as they interface with my synthetic anatomy, and a message flashes across my HUD:

Synth-Slit interfacing with QuantumComfort™ AdaptaFit.
Lubrication management protocols engaged.
Sensory feedback channels open.

A gasp escapes me as I feel the panties begin to regulate the moisture levels of my Synth-Slit. It's a gentle suction, almost pleasurable, and I feel my face flush with embarrassment. The fabric seems to emphasize rather than conceal, creating a prominent camel toe that makes me cringe.

QUANTUMCOMFORT™ ADAPTAFIT PANTIES
---------------------------------
Fabric composition: Nanofiber mesh with bio-sensors
Elasticity: 500% in targeted zones
Moisture wicking rate: 15 ml/hour
Interfacing ports: 6 (connected to Synth-Slit)
Modesty rating: 72% (camel toe reduction)

"Some modesty," I grumble, trying to adjust the fabric. But it's futile - the panties seem determined to hug every curve and crevice.

Finally, I face the jumpsuit - a TechnoSkin™ EnviroAdapt model. The fabric feels alive in my hands, subtly shifting and adjusting. I take a deep breath and begin to step into it.

The process is a struggle from the start. The material clings to my skin, requiring me to wriggle and contort to pull it up. As it passes over my hips and buttocks, I feel it constrict, compressing my flesh. The sensation is claustrophobic, like being slowly encased in a second skin.

Pulling the suit up over my torso is even more challenging. I have to lift my breasts, trying to stuff them into the chest area of the suit. They spill over my hands, heavy and unwieldy. I grunt with effort, bouncing slightly as I try to settle them into place. The fabric stretches alarmingly, and I fear for a moment that it will split at the seams.

Finally, with a herculean effort, I manage to pull the suit over my shoulders. The zipper is another battle, requiring me to suck in my breath and pull with all my might. As it finally closes, I feel the jumpsuit come alive, interfacing with my synthetic skin.

TECHNOSKIN™ ENVIROADAPT JUMPSUIT
--------------------------------
Material: Graphene-infused smart-fabric
Tensile strength: 1200 MPa
Interfacing nodes: 1,200,000
Environmental adaptation: Active thermal regulation
Waste processing: Integrated filtration system
Power generation: Kinetic energy harvesting

The suit tightens around me, feeling less like clothing and more like a cocoon. It adjusts its tension, squeezing my waist and lifting my breasts even more. I feel constricted, every curve and bulge of my new body emphasized rather than concealed.

I look in the mirror, and the sight nearly takes my breath away. The jumpsuit hugs every inch of me, the dark material broken by lines of softly glowing interface nodes. It's like a second skin, revealing every exaggerated curve and swell of my synthetic form.

I try to move, to test the suit's flexibility. Each step sends a ripple through my body, my breasts bouncing slightly despite the intense support, my buttocks swaying with a momentum that still catches me off guard.

The suit moves with me, but it can't fully contain the forces at play in this voluptuous form.

A heads-up display appears in my vision:

TechnoSkin™ EnviroAdapt successfully interfaced.
Biometric monitoring active.
Waste processing systems engaged.
Kinetic energy harvesting initiated.

I take a final look in the mirror, the reality of my transformation sinking in with brutal clarity. The being staring back at me is a masterpiece of synthetic engineering, a perfect blend of form and function designed to infiltrate and seduce.

Yet beneath this exquisite exterior lies the mind of Kaiden Stryker, trapped in a prison of curves and artificial flesh.

A notification flashes across my HUD:

MISSION BRIEFING: T-MINUS 10 MINUTES
Location: Deck 7, Strategy Room Alpha
Clearance: Ultraviolet

I turn away from my reflection, each step a reminder of my new form. The jumpsuit hugs every curve, its smart fabric constantly adjusting to my movements. I feel the weight of my breasts, the sway of my hips, the alien presence between my legs.

Shoes! Right.

I stare at the high-heeled boots, a mixture of dread and resignation washing over me. They're sleek, black, and utterly intimidating. With a deep breath I don't need, I bend over to put them on.

The movement sends a shockwave through my upper body. My breasts, each weighing a staggering 8.2 kilograms, swing forward with alarming momentum. They collide with each other, the impact sending ripples across their surface. My HUD helpfully supplies unwanted information:

BREAST DYNAMICS
---------------
Collision force: 12.7 N
Energy dissipation: 0.8 J
Oscillation frequency: 3.2 Hz

I grunt, trying to steady myself as I struggle with the first boot. The constant jiggling is disorienting, each movement of my torso setting off a chain reaction of bounces and wobbles. Even with the support of the bra and jumpsuit, the sheer mass of my chest is overwhelming.

As I lean further, my breasts press against my thighs, squishing and deforming. The sensation is alien and uncomfortably intimate. I can feel the warmth of my synthetic flesh, the pressure of one breast against the other as they compete for space.

MAMMARY COMPRESSION
-------------------
Volume reduction: 22%
Surface area contact: 410 cm²
Pressure at point of contact: 0.6 kPa

Finally, I manage to zip up the first boot. The second is equally challenging, another ordeal of swaying flesh and precarious balance. By the time I straighten up, I'm breathing heavily from exertion I shouldn't need. I take a step.

Click.

I freeze, suddenly aware of how the motion ripples through my body. My breasts bounce, the gel matrix within them sloshing with momentum that my support systems struggle to contain. My buttocks sway, each cheek jiggling independently in a complex dance of synthetic flesh.

BIOMECHANICAL ANALYSIS
----------------------
Breast oscillation: 3.7 cm vertical displacement
Gluteal sway: 4.2 cm lateral movement
Spinal curve adjustment: +7% lordosis

Gritting my teeth, I take another step. Click-clack. The rhythm is unnatural, my hips swaying excessively to maintain balance. I feel like a newborn fawn.

With a deep breath I don't need, I make my way to the door. It slides open, revealing the stark, utilitarian corridor of the space station. I step out, my heels announcing my presence with each stride.

Click-clack. Click-clack.

The first staff member I encounter, a young technician, nearly walks into a wall. His eyes widen, darting from my face to my chest to my legs and back again. My HUD helpfully supplies an analysis:

SOCIAL INTERACTION ANALYSIS
---------------------------
Subject: Male, approx. 28 years
Pupil dilation: +47%
Heart rate: Elevated (92 BPM)
Pheromone detection: Arousal indicators present

I feel a flush of embarrassment, my synthetic skin warming as micro-capillaries dilate. The technician stammers an apology and hurries past, but not before I catch him glancing back over his shoulder.

As I continue down the hallway, I become acutely aware of the attention I'm drawing. Staff members pause in their tasks, conversations halt mid-sentence. My enhanced hearing picks up whispers:

"Is that for that synth operation?"
"Christ, look at those curves..."
"How does she even walk in those heels?"

My HUD keeps a running tally of the reactions, breaking them down into categories of curiosity, appreciation, and blatant sexual interest. It's mortifying, yet I haven't yet figured out how to disable the feature. It seems more baked-in than the other notifications. 

A group of officers round the corner, and I see their professional demeanor falter for a moment. Their eyes roam over my figure, taking in the exaggerated curves and the way my body moves with each step. I pick up elevated heart rates, micro-expressions of surprise and desire.

GROUP ANALYSIS
--------------
Subjects: 4 (3 male, 1 female)
Average pupil dilation: +38%
Collective gaze duration: 4.7 seconds
Areas of focus: Breasts (37%), Hips (28%), Legs (22%), Face (13%)

I nod politely as I pass, feeling the weight of their stares on my back. The sway of my hips feels exaggerated, each step a performance I never agreed to give.

As I near the briefing room, I catch my reflection in a polished panel. The being looking back at me is a stranger - a vision of synthetic perfection designed to draw every eye. My hair cascades in blue waves, my lips full and slightly parted, my eyes an impossible mix of emerald and violet. The jumpsuit hugs every curve, leaving little to the imagination.

I'm a walking fantasy, a dream made silicon and synthetic flesh. And for the next 45 years, this is who I'll be.

The door to the briefing room looms ahead, its security panel glowing an ominous red. I take a final, steadying breath, straightening my posture and feeling the subtle adjustments of my internal stabilizers.

Click-clack. Click-clack.

I enter the briefing room, the click of my heels echoing off the sterile walls. Director Shaw and Dr. Voss stand at attention, their faces grim masks of determination. As I move to take my seat, I'm acutely aware of my new body's mechanics.

Lowering myself into the chair, I feel the generous cushioning of my synthetic buttocks compress. It's a new feeling, the sheer mass of my lower body distributing itself across the seat. I cross my legs, aiming for a demure posture, but misjudge the motion. My leg lifts too high.

My HUD flashes an unwelcome alert:

SOCIAL INTERACTION ALERT
Professional context
Unintended exposure detected
Camel toe visibility: 78%
Recommended action: Adjust posture

I feel a flush creep across my synthetic skin, grateful that at least this form of embarrassment isn't visible. Clearing my throat, I focus on Director Shaw as he begins the briefing.

"Welcome to Operation Omnibrain Heist, Operative Byte," Shaw's voice cuts through the room like a plasma blade. "The fate of Earth hangs in the balance."

The holographic display flickers to life, showing a rotating model of Caelus. Its surface is a patchwork of biodomes, mining operations, and sprawling cities.

"Caelus isn't just a colony anymore," Shaw continues, his eyes hard. "It's become a rival, outpacing Earth in tech advancements. The lynchpin of all that? The Omnibrain AI."

Dr. Voss steps forward, her lab coat swishing. "This isn't just another AI, Byte. It's a quantum leap in artificial intelligence. Self-aware, self-improving, and deeply integrated into every aspect of Caelusian life."

The hologram zooms in on a massive structure, a crystalline spire that seems to glow from within. "This is the Nexus," Voss explains. "The physical hub of the Omnibrain. Your primary target."

Shaw's voice takes on a grim tone. "Your mission is to infiltrate, extract, and exfiltrate. We need the Omnibrain's source code, and we need it intact."

"Your cover is ironclad," Voss adds. "You're ZX-07, an entertainment synth. Use it. Blend in. Get close to high-value targets. Remember, in this body, you're a walking honeypot. Use that to your advantage, but be careful. Don't let the role consume you."

I shift uncomfortably, all too aware of my body's design. The briefing continues, outlining the complexities of Caelusian society, the factions at play, the potential allies and enemies.

"The Caelus Governance Authority, the Shadow Consortium, the Interstellar Mineral Syndicate - they're all players in this game," Shaw says. "Navigate them carefully. Trust no one."

"Your QEC is your lifeline," Voss interjects. "Thirty-two quantum transmissions, Byte. Use them wisely. The final upload is your ticket home - 50 terabytes of compressed data that could change the course of human history."

The hologram shifts again, showing a desolate region on Caelus's dark side. "Our Dead Man's Cache, from a failed mission a long time ago," Shaw's voice is almost a whisper. "Coordinates 57.112 by -33.901 in the Halcyon Basin. It's your last resort. If everything goes sideways, if you're compromised, make your way there. But be warned - it's in Gloomstalker territory. Those things make Earth's worst predators look like housecats."

I absorb the information, my synthetic brain processing it with inhuman speed. The stakes are clear, the dangers manifold. 

"Remember, Byte," Shaw's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You'll be alone out there. No backup, no extraction plan - you'll need to sort that out yourself. If you're caught, you're on your own. The UEC will disavow all knowledge of your existence."

"But if you succeed," Voss adds, "you'll save Earth. You'll save your family. Your mother..."

The mention of my mother sends a jolt through my system. I straighten in my chair, ignoring the alerts about my body's movements and exposed synthetic anatomy.

"Imagine what the Omnibrain could do for her. It has biologically re-engineered Caelus's populace - they say it can cure any disease."

"Yes, I understand," I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I won't fail."

Shaw nods. "See that you don't. Dismissed, Operative Byte. And... good hunting."

As I stand to leave, my body moving with a grace I'm still not used to, I feel the weight of the mission settle on my shoulders. For the next 45 years, I'll be someone else, something else. A spy in a world of machines, a human mind in a synthetic shell, tasked with stealing the most advanced AI in human history.

The door hisses shut behind me. There's no turning back now.

The countdown to Earth's salvation - or damnation - ticks inexorably on.