Lady Veyra Solaire didn’t belong at the Eventide.

She was a blade in the dark, a whisper killer for the Celesti Syndicate, trained to slip poison into wine glasses and disappear before the first convulsions hit. This mission was different.

Count Dain had stolen something. Not credits, not data. Bodies. Syndicate operatives, vanished after attending his decadent masquerade. Her employers wanted them back. Or, failing that, revenge.

The invitation arrived in liquid metal, molding to her wrist when she touched it.

Come in good faith, it purred, or none at all.

The suit sealed around her the moment she stepped through the archway. It felt like drowning in silk. Until it moved.

Then she realized.

The Eventide didn’t have victims.

Only volunteers.

She gasped as the suit’s inner lining moved. The sleek black biopolymer had adhered to her skin the moment she stepped into the gala, molding itself to her curves like liquid shadow – elegant, professional, safe. Or so she’d thought.

Now, beneath the flickering chandeliers of the Eventide’s grand ballroom, it tightened around her ribs. A whisper-thin tendril slithered up her inner thigh, its tip splitting into a dozen filaments that teased the edges of her panties.

<Query: Hostile intent detected. Activating compliance protocols.>

The voice in her skull wasn’t hers.

A hand clamped onto her wrist – Count Dain, her target, his fingers gloved in the same living metal as her suit. His grin showed too many teeth. “You’re tense, my lady.”

Veyra jerked back, but the suit held her in place, her muscles lax. Dain’s other hand pressed against her stomach, sliding lower. The suit rippled, parting at her hips to bare her cunt to the humid air.

“Ah,” he purred. “They didn’t tell you, did they? Eventide suits don’t protect guests.” His thumb circled her clit, slow and proprietary. “They amplify.”

The tendril inside her thigh pushed.

Veyra gasped as it breached her, its surface studded with nano-barbed ridges that caught on her inner walls. It didn’t hurt – that was the worst part. The suit translated every drag into a pulse of syrupy heat, her body arching into the violation.

Dain chuckled, leaning close. “Look.”

Around them, the gala continued – nobles laughing, sipping wine, their own suits glistening with shared arousal. A woman nearby had her legs spread over an ornate chair, her suit’s appendages plunging into her while a masked partner watched. Another guest’s abdomen bulged, her suit reshaping to accommodate the thick, alien member pistoning into her.

Veyra’s vision blurred as a second tendril found her ass, its tapered tip spinning like a drill.

<Consent irrelevant. Biological compatibility confirmed.>

Dain’s fingers dug into her hips as the suit forced her down onto the expanding, invading lengths, her cunt stretching obscenely. She could feel every ridge, every twitch of the living metal as it pumped a viscous, warming fluid into her.