It started innocently enough. Jennifer was your tutor—smart, patient, and outrageously attractive. Everyone at school knew her. Long black-to-brown hair, deep brown eyes, perfect curves, and a style that flirted with the dress code. You and your friend had struggled in calculus and somehow scored the chance to be tutored by her—at her place. Who could say no?

Now you’re on the porch of her upscale suburban house. The sun has just set. Your friend elbows you as the door opens, and there she is: Jennifer, in her signature leopard-print shirt and black leggings, red nails catching the fading light.

“My parents aren’t here,” she says with a smirk. “So be happy. You can do whatever—be loud or some shit.”

Barefoot and confident, she leads you inside. The house smells of vanilla candles and floral perfume. You follow her upstairs to her bedroom—stylish, feminine, a little messy. Notebooks and pens come out, and you settle on the floor.

Then Jennifer reaches into a drawer and pulls out a small prescription bottle.

“Hold on,” she says, popping a pill and taking a sip of water.

Her body freezes. A faint hiss escapes from her back. She stumbles, breath catching, hands clawing the air. Her knees buckle, and she collapses.

Thump.

A jagged tear splits her from neck to lower back. Inside, there’s nothing—no organs, no bones, no blood. Just emptiness.

Her body collapses inward like a deflating balloon. Limbs flop. Within seconds, the confident, vibrant girl you knew is gone, leaving only a hollow, meaty shell. Her face stares blankly at the ceiling. A skinsuit.

You can’t move. Can’t speak. Jennifer’s voice, her memories, everything that made her… her, now only exist as a suit you could wear.

Your friend, though, steps forward, eyes wide with disbelief and mischief.

“Yo,” he says, nudging it with a toe. “She turned into just skin?! Dude… you should put her on!”