May gives them the uniforms for the event.

The black van, with tinted windows, glided through the port area like a shadow. Inside, the silence was so dense that Magi could hear the creaking of the latex from the generic mask May had given them for the trip every time she breathed. The other four girls were motionless silhouettes, their faces hidden behind simple black eye masks. The anonymity, promised as a shield, felt like a suffocating hood.

The van stopped in a back alley, in front of an unmarked metal door. May, who was in the front seat, got out and opened the side door.

"Get out. Fast," he ordered, his voice cutting through the damp night.

The five descended, feeling the cold pavement beneath their cloth sandals. May guided them through the metal door and down a narrow concrete corridor that smelled of stale beer and disinfectant. Finally, he opened a door leading to a cold, poorly lit pantry, converted into a makeshift dressing room.

Hanging from a rack, five outfits waited. They were elaborate, grotesquely revealing costumes, designed not for swimming, but to be gazed upon.

"Your uniforms for the evening," May announced with the coldness of a stage director. "You will be living statues. The concept is 'The Lost Sirens of the Coast.' You must remain motionless on pedestals, interacting only when a client offers you a special coin from the establishment. A sudden movement, a breaking of character, will be penalized." His gaze swept over their masks. "Get dressed. You have five minutes."

He pointed to each suit by name.

For Magi: A "dress" made entirely of thin strips of interlaced black leather, revealing more skin than they covered. From the shoulders fell a heavy, transparent cape, like plasticized fishing net.

For Lara: A dark green latex torso that molded to her figure like a second skin, from which emerged a skirt made of sharp acrylic "scales" that hid nothing of her legs.

For Chloe: An ensemble that simulated seaweed, made of strips of green and brown viscose silk, tangling strategically around her body, leaving her breasts and crotch barely veiled by the knots of the fabric.

For Sofia: A "broken" design: a white corset, torn and stained with blue paint, which **** her posture and from which hung silver chains ending in rings around her wrists and ankles.

For Julia: The simplest and most obscene: two crossed bands of flesh-colored spandex knotted at the back, and a circular skirt of iridescent gauze so short and transparent it was worse than wearing nothing.

A choked sob, distorted by the mask, escaped from Chloe. Sofia took a step back, bumping into a shelf.

"No," murmured Sofia, her voice dull and metallic behind the fabric. "I can't wear that."

May didn't even flinch.

"Of course you can. Or you can go back to the van and wait there. Naked. While your companions work. And later, we will discuss the consequences of your... brittle artistry." His tone was so flat that the threat resonated more powerfully than a scream.

Lara was the first to move. With mechanical movements, she began to strip off the aquarium clothes and squeeze into the green latex torso. She didn't look at anyone.

Magi, with numb fingers, followed her example. The cold leather of the strips hit her skin. The net cape weighed on her shoulders like a slab. Every inch of her body, already familiar with exposure, rebelled against this new level of stylized obscenity.

Chloe, trembling, put on the seaweed suit. The silk strips clung to her skin, wet with cold sweat. Julia, with her attitude of perfect indifference, dressed in the gauze outfit without blinking.

They all looked at Sofia. She remained paralyzed, hugging herself. May said nothing. He just crossed his arms and waited. The silence stretched, filled with the pressure of the other four's masked gazes, silently pleading for her to obey, not to condemn them all to collective punishment.

Finally, with a tremor that ran through her entire body, Sofia began to dress. Tears slid down her cheek, meeting the bottom edge of the mask and dampening the fabric.

When they were ready, five absurd and **** creatures stood in the pantry, their forms exposed and distorted by the costumes. But they still retained the anonymous black eye masks, making them look like failed experiments, half woman, half specter.

It was then that May opened a long, narrow box resting on a table. Inside, on black velvet, lay five masks.

They were not the generic ones from the trip. They were sinister and elaborate works of art, each perfectly coordinated with the outfit they wore.

For Magi, a half-face mask of burnished silver with steampunk-style rivets, simulating a cold, mechanical face, with narrow slits for the eyes. Completely impersonal.

For Lara, a mask of green and blue peacock feathers, tied with a leather cord, extremely elegant and wild, hiding only the eye area and emphasizing the sensuality of her mouth and chin.

For Chloe, a mask made of interlaced green fibers, like a nest of dried seaweed, covering her forehead and nose, leaving only an opening for her frightened eyes and the trembling of her lips.

For Sofia, a white porcelain mask, cracked with faint gold, like an ancient treasure rescued from the sea. It held an expression of frozen pain and was held in place by satin ribbons that knotted like the ones on her wrists.

For Julia, the most disturbing: a flesh-colored gauze mask, almost transparent, that adhered to the face like a second skin. From a distance, it looked like she was wearing nothing, that her face was simply... blurred.

"The illusion is completed with anonymity," said May, handing each mask with the ceremony of a priest. "Now, yes. You are creatures. You are concepts. You are no longer anyone."

One by one, they put on the new masks. Magi felt the cold metal on her skin. The world reduced to two thin slits.

"Excellent," mused May, evaluating his work. "Now, remember: you are statues. You do not speak. You do not move. You are pieces of art." He opened the door. "Follow me. Your audience awaits."

He guided them down another corridor toward the muffled sound of electronic music and murmurs. The door opened.

"Neptune's Grotto" was a cavernous space, lit by blacklights that made the phosphorescent paintings of mermaids and octopuses on the walls glow. In the center of the room, five pedestals of different heights waited, each bathed in an overhead spotlight.

And all around, in the gloom, dozens of eyes shone—expectant, curious, hungry.

May assigned a pedestal to each with a gesture. Magi climbed onto hers. The light blinded her for a second. The murmur of the people intensified at her feet. She felt the light make the net cape and leather strips shine, transforming her into an ethereal and grotesque vision. The metal mask pressed against her cheekbones.

She stood petrified, not by discipline, but by pure, raw terror. Beneath the elaborate mask, she was no longer Magi. But she wasn't a concept either. She was just a cornered animal, hiding behind a silver disguise, exposed for everyone to look at the body the mask pretended to make impersonal, but which felt more hers and violated than ever.