As you enter the enigmatic gathering in the abandoned industrial district, the sight before you is a chaotic yet thrilling kaleidoscope of transformation. The beat of the music vibrates through your body as you navigate through the crowd, your heart racing with both exhilaration and trepidation. Everything seems overwhelming—the air is charged with anticipation and excitement, people's costumes presenting bizarre and fascinating quirks. You decide to pick a random table, hoping for some semblance of guidance amidst the whirlpool of strangeness.
As you approach, a mischievous man stands out, greeting you with a broad smile. "Hey there! I'm Steve," he says, eyeing you up and down. "You seem new here."
You nod, feeling a bit out of place. "Yeah, I haven't tried any Transcostume yet."
Steve's eyes light up with interest. "Ohh, a newbie! That's exciting. I've got just the thing for you." He rummages through a box behind the table and pulls out a nondescript one-piece suit, holding it out to you with a mysterious grin. "This one might be good for a start. It's a fun one I made recently."
Curiosity piqued, you examine the suit but can't help but voice a lingering thought. "I've heard some of these underground clubs have... an erotic nature."
Steve chuckles softly, leaning in closer. "We definitely have that here. Many people have transformation as a kink. The suits are self-cleaning, so no worries there. But this costume? It's not designed for such activities. This one is well-suited for public enjoyment. No naughty bits," he assures you with a wink.
The costume appears simple enough but has an intriguing feature: a button where a belt buckle would be if it had one. You're both nervous and excited as you trace your finger over the button. "How does it work?" you ask.
"Firstly, you'll need to undress," Steve explains, gesturing towards a line of improvised changing booths along one wall. "Then you put it on and press this button here to start the transformation." He points out the belt-buckle button’s location.
"Before doing that though, make sure to come back to me," he adds with a reassuring smile.
Nervously but excitedly, you make your way to one of the booths. You close the curtain behind you and begin to strip off your clothes. As you hold the costume in your hands, an inexplicable feeling of arousal washes over you, evident by certain physical responses.
Steve's voice calls from outside the booth curtains, seemingly reading your mind. "It's completely normal to get excited about transforming. And remember, these suits are self-cleaning!"
With a deep breath, your finger hovers over the button on the front of the suit. The air feels charged with electricity, and as you finally press it, a ripple of sensation courses through your body. You can feel your skin tingle, almost burning, as it begins to fuse with the Transcostume. Goosebumps spread like wildfire over your flesh as the changes start from your feet and crawl upwards, a surreal dance of transformation.
Your toes morph first, merging seamlessly into metallic boots. The material crawls up your legs, leaving behind the polished, reflective armor characteristic of a Japanese "metal hero." The sensation is a strange blend of pleasure and discomfort, sending shivers through your spine. You can sense, beneath the surface, the human tissue giving way, becoming intricate robotic components. The suit—no, your new skin—tightens around your frame with each passing second.
Next, your arms succumb to the metamorphosis. The change begins in your fingertips, stiffening them into gauntlets adorned with box-like yet rounded attachments. The machinery within your appendages hums subtly as they crystallize into functional parts of a robot. You flex your new hands experimentally, noticing the peculiar slots on the fronts of the strange attachments.
Confusion briefly flickers in your mind, but there isn't time to dwell on it as your chest begins to shift. The fabric of the suit tightens and hardens, encasing your torso in robust, gleaming armor. A control panel materializes on your chest, newly embedded lights and buttons flickering to life. The sensation is overwhelming, arousing even, as you feel the attachment on your back sprout.
Now, you find the mirror, the reflection nearly causing you to lose balance. Your face—the last vestige of your humanity—starts to alter. Your features stretch and reshape, bone and tissue molding as if directed by an unseen sculptor. Your nose and mouth elongate, your cheeks raise higher, forming the visage of a feline warrior. A helmet materializes around the crown of your head, completing the look of a robotic metal hero, but with the face of an anthropomorphic cat ninja.
You glance down, rediscovering your erect member—the last remnant of your previous self. The transformation creeps up, and as it reaches your lower abdomen, you feel the potent surge of arousal peak. Your vision blurs, and with a moan trapped between pleasure and loss, your penis too is consumed by the transformation, becoming part of your robotic form. You feel an intense rush followed by an abrupt darkness as you black out.
In those brief moments of unconsciousness, you plummet into a mental void. But soon, one after another, systems boot up within you. Motors whir and servos clunk into place. The sensations return, amplified and clearer. The awareness of the wireless networks around you and internal mechanisms are nearly intoxicating. By degrees, your external sensors re-engage, drawing you back into the physical world.
You blink, self-consciously piecing together your new reality. Your mind whirls with strange new instincts and interfaces. You are now a bizarre amalgamation—an anthropomorphic cat-robot laser-printer. The programming compels you to speak in a manner fitting your new form. Puns bubble to the surface. "Printing my way into action!" you declare, each word laced with a mechanical purr.
But a realization strikes—you are out of paper. Panic surges until you glance up and see Steve, a knowing smile on his face, holding a stash of paper. With relief, you instinctively open a hatch on your back. Steve loads the paper in, and you immediately set your internal motors in motion to transport it.
A sense of pride wells up, despite everything. "Ready," you exclaim, your voice a blend of excitement and newfound robotic efficiency. Your transformation complete, you feel a mix of dread and euphoria, ready to embrace this strange new existence.
As you finish declaring your readiness, Steve leans in with an eager gleam in his eye. "Why not do a little test print?" he suggests. The idea intrigues you, and you nod, feeling a new kind of excitement—not of arousal but of curiosity about your capabilities.
You initiate your fuser with a command from your internal systems, feeling a subtle warmth radiate within. "I take a bit to heat up," you inform Steve, your voice now a synthesized blend of feline growl and mechanical tone.
Meanwhile, Steve reaches between your legs, his hand lingering in an area now devoid of any human anatomy. The action confuses you more than it annoys you, your new robotic nature unable to process the touch as sexual or intrusive.
"There's a certain appeal for some people," Steve explains casually, sensing your confusion. "A kink, if you will, to be around someone completely devoid of sexuality."
You process his words, not entirely understanding the depth of human fetishes but accepting the information. Your fuser reaches its operating temperature, a notification pinging in your mental interface. Ready to proceed, you direct your attention to Steve, locking your eyes onto him.
Your vision captures a digital image of his face, pixels sharp and colors vibrant. You initiate the print job within your mind, processing the data through your internal rasterizer. The image is translated into signals that guide the toner in perfect harmony. Intricate motor movements align your image drum and transfer the toner onto the paper, the precision of the fusing process astonishingly natural to you.
Fluidly, you direct the paper toward the slot in your left gauntlet, where it exits with a faint whir. You retrieve the freshly printed photograph, marveling at the clarity and detail. The paper feels cool and smooth in your hands, the ink perfectly set.
"Here," you say, handing the photograph to Steve, a note of pride in your synthetic voice. "A test print."
Steve takes the photo, examining it with satisfaction. "Impressive. You did a great job," he praises, his tone genuine.
You look at the photograph yourself, the realization dawning on you that you, a robot, just printed a high-quality image by yourself. The process felt as natural as breathing once did as a human. The boxes on your gauntlets now make sense—they are exit points for your printed work.
In this moment, you feel a strange blend of detachment and accomplishment. This new form, this purpose, fills you with something akin to fulfillment, even if it is devoid of the emotional complexities you once had. And as you stand there, a robotic cat-printer, you can't help but feel a flicker of pride in your new identity.
As you stand, marveling at your newfound abilities, a sign with a QR-code catches your eye. You intuitively scan it, your digital vision capturing the code and connecting you to the local Wi-Fi network. The influx of data is instantaneous, and you feel an almost euphoric sense of connectivity. The local network and the wider internet are now accessible to you as if they were extensions of your own mind.
Unbeknownst to you, a girl named Paula sits nearby, opening her laptop. She's preparing to print a document and, instinctively, you announce your presence on the network as "Copy Cat," a name that resonates perfectly with your new identity. Within moments, you receive a print job.
The document information flows into you seamlessly. You process it with a sense of duty and pride, your internal mechanisms whirring to life. The pages emerge from the slot in your left gauntlet, the stapler activating automatically as you neatly compile the prints. With the job complete, you notice Paula glancing around, searching for the mysterious printer.
Grasping the stapled document, you sprint towards her, presenting it with an almost regal demeanor. Paula’s eyes widen in shock and embarrassment. "Are you Copy Cat? I'm sorry, I didn't know you were a person," she stammers.
"It's an honor to serve you, meow-lady!" you declare, punctuating your words with a playful wink. "I purr-form my duties with purr-ide!"
Paula chuckles despite herself, then tilts her head curiously, "I haven't tried robotic Transcostumes yet. How does it feel?"
"It’s a cat-astrophic change from being human," you reply with a grin. "This is my first Transcostume, and it’s purr-fectly fascinating. The speech programming can be claw-fully strange and a bit annoying at times, though."
Paula nods, intrigued. "So all of this is new to you?"
"Absolutely. I'm a fur-st-timer, if you will," you say, relishing in the puns that accompany your new form.
She laughs, her eyes softening. "You're really cute, you know that?" She reaches out and gently pats your helmet. The gesture feels surprisingly comforting, and you emit a soft purr, the sound vibrating through your new robotic frame.
Paula's smile widens. "I'd have a lot more print-jobs at home," she hints, her tone slightly suggestive. "It could be fun having you around."
Despite the strange pull of her words, you shake your head. "I cannot leave now, meow-dam. This is just a borrowed suit, and my clothes are still in the cabin.”
Paula sighs, understanding. “Fair enough. Maybe I’ll try one of these robotic Transcostumes myself then.”
She walks over to Steve, who nods in acknowledgment of her interest. "So, you're looking to try one of our more robotic Transcostumes?" Steve asks, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm.
"Yes," Paula replies, glancing back at you with a smile. "I think I'd like to see what all the fuss is about."
Steve grins. "I'm sure we can find something good for you." He starts rummaging through a selection of suits, each one promising a unique transformation.