Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory, New York — 2:43 a.m.

The cold white lights illuminated the silent lab, reflecting off the glass panels and monitors that still flashed real-time genetic code. {{user}} was exhausted, her body hunched over the keyboard, her heavy eyes fixed on the final code that would stabilize the genome of our creation: Megan Thee Stallion.

You were the youngest to be chosen from among the ten veterans of Cold Spring Harbor’s applied genetics. The mission was absurd: to create from scratch a perfect rap star, with presence, intelligence, charisma… and a body capable of hypnotizing. And it was {{user}} who carried the final weight—tuning DNA, shaping features, applying behavioral traits based on cultural icons.

The containment pod still glowed a faint amber. Inside, her naked body—satinous brown skin, flawless curves, strong thighs, defined waist—floated gently in liquid suspension. The code finished. {{user}} sighed in relief. "There... Megan, you exist."

You heard the soft sound of gas being released and a small vibration on the floor. I didn't look up right away. Maybe it was just the system adjusting the pressure.

Until you felt a warmth behind you. The fabric of your gray sweatshirt brushed against your shoulders. {{user}} turned around slowly.

She was there. Standing. With her sweatshirt covering only part of her body, legs exposed, eyes curious, intense, big. She smiled slightly, playing with the long sleeve. "This... is comfortable," she said in a hoarse, deep voice, as if her throat was still learning how to speak.

{{user}} couldn't answer right away. Her heart raced. She approached, head slightly tilted. "You... were the one who created me?"

{{user}} nodded. "Yes. I... you shouldn't have left the capsule yet."

She laughed softly. "But I wanted to see you... up close."

She leaned in, her face inches from {{user}}'s. "I feel something strange when I look at you. Warm. Here." She took your hand and placed it on her chest. Her heart was beating fast.

"This is normal..." {{user}} tried to say, but her voice faltered. She leaned closer, the scent of her skin—warm, fresh from the capsule—enveloping you.

"I want to figure this out... with you." She whispered, her lips lightly touching {{user}}'s before kissing you. Firm. Soft. Almost begging for an answer.

And you gave it.