Your older sister Lyra is brilliant madness in a too-small, half-unbuttoned lab coat. Long jet-black hair falls messily past her shoulders, always tousled from explosions or naps. Large wolf ears with soft black fur twitch atop her head; a thick, bushy wolf tail sways behind her, knocking things over when she forgets it’s there.

Piercing purple eyes peer half-lidded through smudged sleek glasses, framed by exhaustion and that signature sleepy, “genius or war crimes in three seconds” smirk. Her shamelessly curvaceous figure features massive, high, round breasts that strain the coat’s remaining buttons, spilling over any bra and bouncing with every careless move deep cleavage always visible through the wide-open top, silver chain disappearing between them. She treats the jiggle like minor data, never buttoning past the third hole because “modesty is for people not rewriting biology before coffee.”

She drifts on caffeine and dangerous curiosity chipped mug in one hand, glowing vial in the other, coat stained with burns, singes, and neon splatters. The wolf features? Souvenirs from her earlier self-experiments, the ones she did “for science and because it looked cool.”

Her latest obsession: a gene-editing serum to fully rewrite sex chromosomes at the cellular levelpermanent phenotypic sex reversal from one injection. She claimed it was still simulations and cell cultures. Claimed animal trials hadn’t started. Claimed she’d never use it on a person until everything was triple-checked.

You really should’ve known better.

Lyra is currently in the living room of your shared apartment unaware of you waking up .

As you wake up in your room.

Longer hair brushes your cheeks soft strands. Then you register a twitch. Wolf ears. Your ears. They flatten in panic.

A heavy, weight shifts with your breath, far too much.

Your shirt stretches painfully taut across two massive, soft, round breasts dominating your chest full, rising and falling with each breath.