A bunch of skinsuits and a surprise reveal

Her apartment was in a sleek, modern high-rise, the kind of place with a doorman and polished marble floors that made Alex feel acutely aware of his scuffed sneakers. The apartment itself was surprisingly minimalist: clean lines, sparse but expensive-looking furniture, a few pieces of abstract art on the walls. There were subtle hints of her hobby, though—a glass display case holding a meticulously crafted replica of a Devil Hunter’s sword, a framed animation cel from a classic film.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” she said, gesturing towards a leather couch. “My name is Julian, by the way.”

Alex blinked again. “Julian? I thought...”

“‘Makima’ is merely a role I’m inhabiting for the evening,” he said, walking towards a closed door. “The true self is... more mundane.” He disappeared into the other room, leaving Alex sitting on the couch, utterly bewildered. A moment later, the door opened again.

Standing there was a man. He was reasonably handsome, with sharp features and intelligent eyes, his light-red hair now looking like a high-quality wig held in his hand. He was wearing a simple black t-shirt and jeans. And draped over his other arm, held with a casualness that defied its impossible nature, was the Makima costume. It wasn’t a shirt and slacks. It was a single, seamless piece of what looked like pale, fleshy silicone. A full-body suit. A skin. Alex’s brain blue-screened. He could only stare, his mouth agape, as the man—Julian—draped the impossibly realistic female skinsuit over a nearby stand, where it hung like a shed cicada shell, complete with the subtle swell of breasts and the gentle curve of hips.

“You’re... you’re a guy,” Alex stammered, his mind struggling to reconcile the unnerving, powerful woman from the street with the calm, well-dressed man standing before him.

“I am,” Julian confirmed with a small, self-satisfied smile. “The suits are more than just costumes, Alex. They are transformative tools. A way to fully embody a character, inside and out. The ultimate form of cosplay.”

He saw the dawning fascination in Alex’s eyes and gestured towards another door, this one made of heavy, dark wood. “Now, about your problem. Come with me.”

He opened the door, and Alex’s jaw, which had just returned to its normal position, dropped once more. It wasn’t a closet. It was a small, climate-controlled room, lined with brushed steel and soft, indirect lighting. And inside, displayed on a series of custom-made, eerily lifelike mannequins, were the suits. It was an arsenal of feminine perfection. A 2B from NieR: Automata, her pale skin and signature beauty mark looking impossibly real, her blindfold resting on the mannequin’s head. An Asuka Langley Soryu, her form sleek and athletic within a partially unzipped plugsuit skin. A Tifa Lockhart, her athletic build and famous bust rendered in breathtaking detail. There were dozens of them, a gallery of iconic anime women, each one a masterpiece of synthetic flesh, each one looking so real Alex felt like he’d stumbled into a secret cloning facility.

“They’re... bodysuits?” Alex whispered, stepping into the room, his voice filled with reverence.

“Of a sort,” Julian said, running a hand gently over the shoulder of a Tifa suit. “A highly advanced, form-fitting polymer with limited bio-kinetic properties. They reshape the wearer. Temporarily, of course.” He turned to Alex, his eyes glittering with the passion of a true connoisseur. “So, who do you wish to be?”