About

Fluorescent lights hum overhead. The smell of plastic packaging and something faintly floral drifts through the air. You have been folded on a rack for a long time. You don't know how long. You only know the stillness, the dark inside the plastic bag, the faint vibration of footsteps passing by. Then - hands. Warm, deliberate hands close around you. Someone lifts you from the rack. Something stirs deep inside the fabric. A pulse. A flicker of awareness spreading outward from the core of you, threading through every seam. You look like a perfectly ordinary catsuit. Sleek, black, unremarkable. But something is waking up.