The mall, just like she planned

The mall rose before her like a modern cathedral—glass and chrome gleaming under the late-afternoon sun. Joana parked with deliberate ease, the engine humming to silence as she stepped out. Her boots clicked on the asphalt with a rhythm that matched her calm breathing. From the outside, she looked effortless: confident posture, hips swaying subtly, hair catching the breeze like she was stepping out of a lifestyle ad.

Inside, though, her mind was alert. Calculating.

"Okay, deep breaths. You’re not just playing dress-up. This is data collection. Real-world integration testing. You’re observing cultural response patterns, memory continuity, body-language mirroring..."

But none of that showed on her face. Her expression was poised, curious, just a little playful.

The mall wasn’t busy—early enough that the after-work crowd hadn’t descended, quiet enough to control the variables. Joana walked through its cool halls like she owned them, shoulders back, chin high, scanning casually. Her body moved with ease, her new curves shifting with practiced grace she hadn't consciously developed—but they felt natural. The world seemed to bend slightly to her presence. A passing teenage boy did a double take, then looked away quickly. A pair of women at a bench gave her a brief glance, then leaned in, whispering with faint smiles.

"Reactions logged. No abnormalities. No cognitive dissonance. So far, the world accepts me without a hitch."

She took a turn down a quieter wing of the mall and spotted it: a boutique tucked between a tea shop and an artisan eyewear store. Narrow glass doors. Rose-gold lettering over soft lilac wood.

Sable & Thread.

"Minimal foot traffic. Only one associate visible. Perfect conditions."

Without missing a step, Joana pushed the door open. The soft chime above her announced her arrival. Inside, warm lighting bathed the space in golden tones. Scents of clean linen, sandalwood, and citrus oil curled through the air.

The associate didn’t immediately notice her—back turned, rearranging scarves at the rear display. Cropped black hair, oversized cable-knit sweater slipping off one shoulder. Joana let her boots tap against the polished floor just loud enough to signal presence—but got no reaction.

She let a smirk pull at one corner of her lips and lifted her voice with playful command. “Oh, excuse me!”

The woman turned around quickly, startled, eyes meeting Joana’s for the first time.

Joana met her gaze head-on, chin tilted slightly, voice honey-smooth with just a hint of sultry demand. “I need to be measured.”

The associate blinked. Then blushed—caught somewhere between off-guard and captivated. “Uh—of course! Sorry, I didn’t see you come in.”

Joana stepped forward, slow and purposeful, trailing her fingers along a rack of silky blouses as she moved closer. “That’s alright. I didn’t want to startle you.”

The associate grabbed a tape measure and waved toward a full-length mirror. “Right over here. Want a full size profile? Bust, waist, hips?” Joana turned smoothly and lifted her arms as if she’d done it a hundred times. “Yes, all of it,” she said. “Let’s get the baseline right.”

The measuring tape slid over her body with expert efficiency, but Joana remained acutely aware of every motion—each slight tug, the subtle expression of focus on the associate’s face, the quiet intake of breath when her hands passed around Joana’s bust. She seemed to exhibit a restraint that suggested she couldn't wait to get her hands on Joana's body but didn't want to show it. She caught it all and filed it away.

“I have to say,” the associate murmured, reading out measurements as she worked, “You wear this outfit very well, but I'm sure we could find something a bit better suited for you.”

Joana allowed a small, approving smile. “Well, let's see what you have then."

As the woman noted down the last number, Joana lowered her arms and turned toward the changing rooms. “Let’s try something form-fitting,” she said to the associate. “I’m in the mood for precision underwear and I trust your judgement.” She winked at the associate and disappeared behind the curtain.

The fitting room was softly lit, with a faint lavender hue glowing along the edges of the mirror. The bench was cushioned in cream velvet, and the curtain, thick and sound-muffling, closed behind Joana with a gentle swish. She hung the chosen pieces on the brass hook and turned toward the mirror, fingers already undoing the knot at the hem of her shirt.

She stripped with clinical ease, folding her clothes in neat piles on the bench. The green bra and panty set was the first thing she reached for.

Emerald, satin-sheen. Thin, structured cups with delicate lace edging that danced along the curve of the fabric. It shimmered like something between armor and ornament. As she slipped it over her shoulders and adjusted the straps, Joana felt the transformation bloom across her chest like a secret.

The fit was immaculate. Lifted just enough to be flattering without trying too hard. The lace framed her breasts with a softness that was almost indecent—yet the whole effect was controlled, precise. The kind of undergarment designed for confidence, not concealment.

She rolled her shoulders, testing how the bra moved with her. No gaping, no pinching. The support was near-perfect.

"Sensory feedback: high comfort. Structural balance is ideal. Psychological effect—positive. Very positive."

Joana smirked at her own reflection, one brow lifting.

“Goddamn, I am stacked” she whispered to herself.

It wasn’t just the cut or the color—it was the authority she projected wearing it. Like she knew something no one else did. Like she could walk through the world and watch it part for her.

She leaned in closer to the mirror, letting her eyes scan her own image.

"I'd say this was a successful test. Now, what if I tweaked the situation further?"

There was a knock—soft, deliberate.

“You doing alright in there?” came the associate’s voice, tinged with warmth and curiosity.

Joana stepped back from the mirror, making no move to cover herself. “Oh, I’m more than alright,” she called back. “This green one? Seductive. I’ll take it.”

A pause.

“I figured you’d like that one,” the associate said. “There’s a matching set, too. Shall I bring it?”

Joana smiled slowly. “Now we’re talking.”

She opened the curtain just a crack, enough to let the associate slip the matching piece inside. Their fingers brushed—intentionally or not—and Joana held the eye contact for half a second longer than was polite.

“Precision,” Joana repeated, softly.

The curtain closed again.

She turned back to the mirror and began slipping on the next piece, her movements slow and unhurried. Confidence wasn’t something she had to fake—it was growing inside her now, coiled and alive. Her body wasn’t just cooperating with the illusion—it was owning it.

"Next phase: alterations in the field."