Panthera: A Thief's Legacy

Two Weeks.

It’d been two weeks since Trisha’s mom died.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, cancer, 55, came out of nowhere – or at least it seemed to. If her mom had known about it earlier she certainly hadn’t told Trisha, which to her seemed all too on brand.

To say that she and her mother didn’t see eye to eye would be a gross understatement. There was no juicy drama, no audacious scandal between them, just your usual heaping helping of parental alienation, sprinkled with a heaping side of residual ill will from a childhood without a dad and a mother who apparently felt mere financial support was all her child needed from her. Not exactly gossip fuel, but enough to keep her therapist busy.

She couldn’t even remember the last time they talked, much less had a conversation. Probably their yearly Christmas call. Even then calling it a conversation would have been a stretch, mostly it was just pre-packaged holiday pleasantries.

Until...

“So how’s the boyfriend?” Her mother said.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Mom.” Trisha replied, trying and failing to hide her irritation.

“Oh...” her mother said with performative surprise “I could have sworn I saw a picture of you with someone...”

Trisha sighed “Just because I’m in a picture with a guy doesn’t mean I’m dating him, Mom. In fact you’re gonna have to be more specific because, news flash, I’m in a lot of pictures with a lot of guys...and whose showing you my photos?”

Tisha had long since blocked her mom on all her social media.

“Oh...” her Mom gasped. Trisha could practically hear her cold, cranial gears turning “Penny showed me” she paused “anyways it’s a shame about the boy. He looked cute” Trisha knew what was coming and braced herself “You know you’re always dragging your feet with these things. You’re not getting any younger, Trish. You need to be decisive, find a good man, settle down.”

When her Mom started getting prescriptive about her life that was usually her cue to wrap things up. The woman never gave advice or insight, just told you when you were doing something wrong. At this point Trisha wasn’t even sure she was aware of when she did it. Still. better cut it off there, no need to get into another shouting match...not that her Mom ever shouted much, mostly just Trisha.

And since that was the last time they talked – or would ever have the chance to talk – she almost wished she had.

No, she shouldn’t think that. It wasn’t like her mom was abusive or anything...not obviously anyways. Still, even she was surprised with how little that late night phone call from the hospice had affected her. It’s not like she was glad she was gone, but quickly realized she needed to put some effort into not seeming like a psychopath for not being broken up about it when others came up to check on her.

Not that many people did.

If there was any residual good will for her absentee mother, though, it vanished when she learned that no arrangements had been made for her passing other than a bare-bones will that left everything to her – which at present roughly amounted to some piles of junk in a one bedroom downtown apartment and about $50.24 in the bank.

Still, no time to gripe and grouse. As an only child with no close relatives all the usual post-death duties fell squarely on her shoulders. In other words there was work to be done, even as the universe insisted on making it as difficult as possible.

Her job was the biggest hurdle. Her supervisor, being the raging dick that he was, made it excruciating for her to get time off to at least go to the funeral, even more so to snag some time to handle her mom’s affairs, but eventually, after pestering him to the point of visible irritation, he relented. It wasn’t until right after the funeral, when she went back to her job to squeeze in a few days before taking care of her mom’s stuff, that she found out it wasn’t a problem anymore. Despite assurances that she was free to use her vacation days, once she’d gotten back she found that all her logins had been blocked and her key-card access had been revoked. Very quickly she realized what happened.

She’d been fired. She’d been fired and nobody had even told her.

That night she e-mailed her supervisor about it half-heartedly, looking for some kind of explanation, but when she received no reply she resigned herself to the fact that they probably didn’t want to implicate themselves in an unlawful firing – or the more-than-likely scenario that he and her other co-workers had simply forgotten about her. After all she wasn’t exactly popular. Once one of her more outgoing colleagues had let slip that the others found her a bit standoffish, which surprised her. It wasn’t that she was like that on purpose, she just...didn’t really like her coworkers that much. It was just a job, right? It’s not like she was there to make friends.

Maybe she should have fought harder she thought, but the idea of putting any more effort into a call center data entry job made her insides shrivel. She was already thinking of quitting anyways. Maybe this was the push she needed.

That’s how she rationalized it, anyways. If she knew she’d loose her job would she have even gone to the funeral? Probably not, but what was done was done and there she was, standing frozen at yet another dead end in a life that seemed full of them.

The funeral itself was lightly attended, to say the least. Barely a dozen people. Nobody she knew, of course, mostly older folks closer to her Mom’s age all dressed to the nines in contrast with Trisha’s minimal effort attire. At one point Trisha swore she’d seen a video of one of the older male attendees before, a feeling which only got stronger when the silver-haired man – whose audacious facial hair seemed ripped straight from a pringles can – approached her after the service.

After introducing himself he kissed her hand, in what seemed like a clear effort to cement his already anachronistic aura.

“You have my deepest condolences for your loss” he said with a slight nod “I knew your mother quite well. She often spoke of you...in flattering terms, I might add.”

Trisha raised her eyebrows “Uh...well that’s news to me” she said with just a bit more acid then intended “if she did she never told me.”

The man eyed her up and down in a way that made Trisha shrink. It was like he was seeing right through her.

“Hmm...” he said “unfortunate”

Trisha didn’t know what exactly he was calling unfortunate.

The man took a deep breath “Well, you are your mother’s daughter, so I’m sure your future will be...quite bright.”

With that he gave another shallow nod, turned sharply, and made his way across the graveyard, his shoe’s clacking with pristine authority on the cobblestone path. She wished she remembered his name. It was the very first thing he said, but for the life of her she couldn’t recall it no matter how hard she tried.

With the funeral over and her employment terminated all that remained was figuring out what to do with her mother’s junk – or what was left of it. She’d asked a few of her friends (read: acquaintances) to help, at least with the heavy lifting, but found them to be...less than enthusiastic. After sorting through literal mountains of sometimes literal garbage she realized she couldn’t really blame them.

Though she started at noon, it wasn’t until 8:30pm that all the stuff was sorted. Around the living room of her mother’s apartment now sat three massive but well-ordered piles. The first and largest was the pile for donations. Next largest was the pile for things Trisha thought she could hock or sell online, while the final (and smallest) pile consisted only of things Trisha actually wanted to keep.

Sleeves rolled up, brow sweating, Trisha stood hands on hips at the threshold between the kitchen and living room, catching her breath. When she first came in the place seemed almost cramped, but now that she’d taken everything down the place seemed almost spacious. Almost. The daylight was gone, so the only light left were the ones from outside, and the bulbs built into the apartment ceiling.

“Goodwills coming tomorrow” Trisha mused to herself “and then...that’ll be it...”

A sense of finality began to sink in, one she hadn’t expected. She’d barely talked to her mother in ten years, and could count the times she’d been to this apartment on one hand, but she couldn’t help but feel like a chapter of her life was coming to a close.

Probably because she just got fired.

Then another feeling, an overwhelming sense that she missed something.

“One last look around” she muttered while stretching “just to be safe.”

First she checked the kitchen, then the living room.

Nothing.

In the coat closet she found a pair of dress shoes tucked into the corner (another item for the donate pile).

Finally she scanned the bedroom. Nothing there except for a sheetless bed and an antique vanity mirror – both of which she planned to let the goodwill folks take care of to spare her back.

Just as she turned to leave, she stopped.

The closet. She’d forgotten the closet.

Upon sliding the door open nothing seemed out of place. It seemed oddly spacious, especially for such a cheap apartment. The carpet seemed about right, though. Large gashes and tears all over made it so she knew she definitely wasn’t getting her mom’s security deposit back. She glanced up, reaching for the chain to turn on the light bulb hanging from the ceiling, then stopped.

There was something there next to the light, something so obvious she wasn’t sure how she missed it:

A panel in the ceiling left slightly ajar.

Straining to stand on her tip toes she used the tips of her fingers to push the panel up and inch it sideways until it finally disappeared entirely out of view. She couldn’t get high enough to peer inside, so she quickly sped-walked out to the living room and grabbed a small stepladder from the “donate” pile. Once she got onto the third step, her head finally breached the lip of the opening. No light, so she reached into her pocket and pinched out her phone, then turned on the flashlight and shined it in.

Nothing. Just a small storage annex sandwiched between two floors...

...or rather almost nothing.

Nestled in a corner behind layers of cobwebs and blended into the wood sat a cardboard box, moderately sized, maybe two feet wide and a foot and a half tall. Taking another step up the ladder she brought her arms up brushed the cobwebs away, and pulled the box out of it’s corner into the light. Though she tried to be careful bringing it down considering the size, she found the box and it’s contents surprisingly light.

Setting it on the mattress she brushed the dust off the top and opened the box one flap at a time. Greeting her was a thick layer of bunched up, wadded newspaper. Grabbing handfuls, she felt around to make sure nothing fragile was wrapped inside, then tossed them aside on the bed.

When most of them was gone she peered inside.

Her brow furrowed.

“What the fuck?” she muttered slowly.

Reaching in she grabbed the first thing that sat on top: a cowl, black, meant to adorn the top half of a human head with the sides extending down to what appeared to be chin straps. Other distinctive features included two oversize cat ears facing outwards, affixed and erect on the sides of the head, and a cat nose where a human nose would be. Not like a normal house cat’s nose, something larger, something wilder. The whole thing was sculpted so that the wearers brow was fixed in a perpetual look of snarling ferocity. The whole thing seemed to be made of a kind of leather, but not a kind of leather Trisha was familiar with (not that she was...). To her it almost seemed like plastic with how flawless the surface was, like a kind of thick, pliable resin. As she turned it about in the dim light the color of the material seemed to shift subtly from black to a kind of dark purple.

What kind of freaky shit was her mom into?

Trisha lifted it higher, attempting to get a look inside, but found that attached to the back edge and sides was a mane of long, wavy black hair that shimmered and glistened. When she touched it it didn’t feel dry or straw-like like an old wig should. In fact to Trisha it felt astonishingly like real, live, human hair.

Finally turning the cowl upside down Trisha peered inside. The interior shimmered even more than the outside, and she noticed an interweaving network of lines crossing and intertwining all throughout, almost like a circuit board.

Setting the strange headgear aside next to the newspaper, she fished her hands back into the box, grabbing the first thing she could. At first glance it looked like some sort of black kevlar-like fabric, which shimmered a slight purple just like the cowl. Standing up fully she held the fabric up by what seemed to be the shoulders and let the whole thing tumble open. It looked like a piece bodysuit – a really baggy one – though it did seem padded in areas. The gloves were especially so, at least along the palms, with the tips being almost...accentuated. The feet had flat-bottomed boots that had similar padding to the hands, but thicker.

Laying that aside on the bed next to the cowl she peered back inside the box to see what else was there, but only found one thing: At the bottom, nestled in the corner, sat a small, single stick of lipstick. Trisha held it up the burnished brass and opened the cap. It glistened a deep maroon sheen. Trisha sniffed it. It smelled fine, almost sweet, but she couldn’t help but wonder how old it was.

Placing it next to the rest of the stuff, Trisha stepped back. What the fuck was her mom doing with shit like this? Maybe it wasn’t hers, maybe a previous tenant had left it there and her mother just didn’t notice. Considering her mother’s anal-retentiveness she found this scenario very unlikely.

That’s when she noticed the newspapers, the ones she’d tossed aside. She grabbed one and unrolled it...

PANTHERA STRIKES AGAIN the headline blared.

...then another…

CRAFTY CAT BURGLAR CONFOUNDS COPS

This one was accompanied by a blurry photograph of an amorphous, vaguely human-shaped...thing standing on a roof a four or five stories up. Trisha couldn’t quite tell for sure, but it looked like there were cat ears on the top of the figures head...

Trisha eyed the cowl with growing suspicion. This was getting freaky. Was her Mom actually some kind of...jewel thief? No, it must have just been some cosplay bullshit. Her mother was fucking white bread, plain Jane as they come, probably the squarest person she knew. She’d never…

...

In the back of her mind doubts began to creep in. After all her mother did seem to take a lot of business trips. What even was her job? Trisha couldn’t remember. They never wanted for anything while Trisha grew up, even after her Dad died. Most of her shock with her mother’s finances and living condition had been because of how well off and normal and well off they were when she was young.

As all the conspiratorial pieces slid into place her heart beat faster.

That’s when another intrusive thought slipped in...

...maybe she should put it on.

Unlike her mother Trisha loved comic books. She never really had the figure for cosplay, being slight and wiry pretty much all her life. She’d certainly tried, even going to a local con as Catwoman once, but the results came out...less than comic accurate. It’s not that she was ashamed of her body, in fact she barely thought of it at all. It’s just she...wasn’t an exhibitionist, that’s all.

No one to judge her now, though. Fuck, she’d even just had her hair cut short so the cowl would probably fit too. She’d just put it on real quick, just to make sure nothing was broken before selling it.

A flutter rose in her stomach. With both hands she reached down to the hem of her shirt and pulled up. She’d decided not to wear a bra that day. After all nobody to impress. Next she unbuttoned her jeans, pulling them down, struggling a bit due to the sweat from the day’s exertion stiffening the fabric a bit. In her urgency she even forgot to take off her shoes, which she kicked off awkwardly with her jeans still wrapped around her ankles. Next her socks, which required the same careful peeling her jeans did.

Finally she stood up, exhaling hard once from the effort. She turned to face the mirror. It’d been a while since she looked at herself naked, at least for more than a few seconds. There wasn’t anything remarkable or unremarkable about her – except maybe her face. Her eyes shone a pale green, and her face had a pleasant, angular shape to it – both gifts from her mother along with her olive skin. When she did get complements about her body from desperate boys at bars, these things were the go-tos to the point where she often took them for granted.

Cocking her head to the side she glanced up and down her body, pursing her lips, then fixed her eyes on their reflection. In a flash of impulse she leaned over and plucked the tube of lipstick from the bed, slid the cap off and twisted the bottom until an ample amount had revealed itself. Leaning in she puffed out her lips, pressing the grease to them before she had the time to rethink. She rarely wore lipstick, even during circumstances that usually called for it, but while her technique wasn’t exactly practiced she surprised herself with how quickly and cleanly she applied it.

Turning her head side to side she inspected her work.

Perfection.

The first thing she noticed was how well the vibrancy of the color complimented her eyes. It almost made them look...fiercer? She furrowed her brow and smiled mischievously.

Who was this girl?

The second thing she noticed was the taste, an amalgam of all sorts of things, mostly berries, but all sweet, enough to make her want to lick her lips just a few more times.

“This isn’t like you” the voice in the back of her mind cautioned.

That wasn’t true, though. It was. Not her current self maybe, but her younger self...this is something she would have done in a heartbeat. Going into her mothers room, trying on her clothes and make-up, it was practically a past time sometimes. The best part was she rarely got caught thanks to mother dearest’s chronic absence, but when she did her mother’s fury was absolute. After the initial sting of anger, though, she almost liked the scolding. At least it was attention. At least for once that frigid bitch acknowledged her, even if just to punish her.

That’s what this was, she rationalized, just one last fuck you to a mother who didn’t care.

She’d barely realized she’d started pulling down her underwear until it was already halfway down her thighs. She had half a mind to pull it back up but figured she might as well go all the way. Within seconds she stood tall, entirely naked except for her lips. Her self-consciousness started to seep in. She crossed her arms underneath her breasts and she unconsciously began avoiding her own gaze. She didn’t know why, but she knew that the only way to alleviate this was to put on the suit.

Her mother wasn’t exactly “stacked,” even in her prime, so when Trisha snatched up the suit and held it up against the length of her body she wondered why it looked like it was meant to fit a much more...voluptuous woman.

Trisha opened the back slightly and sniffed the opening. It smelled clean enough, but the smells of Trisha’s own apartment had inoculated her to the idea of stench, so what did she know, really?

Pulling it fully open she peered inside. The same network of lines that lined the cowl completely coated the inside of the suit. Lifting one leg she fed it inside the corresponding hole. The suit was baggy enough that she had no trouble getting her leg in, and when her skin did brush up against the sides it seemed like there was no friction at all. In fact it almost felt...good, good enough that when she fed the other leg in she made an effort to touch as much of the inside of the suit as she could on the way down. As soon as both her legs were in she immediately pulled the suits crotch up against her own, hoping it would smooth out some of the bagginess, but it didn’t. Disappointed, but not wanting to stop, she fed her arms into their slots and fumbled to pull the back closed as much as she could. Her fingers dug around at the base of the seam for some kind of zipper, but the search proved fruitless. Because the suit hung so loose on her it wasn’t like it was going to slip off. Still she couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

“Oh well” she thought “no big deal. wasn’t gonna wear it for long anyways.”

Finally, the cowl.

She held it up against her chest, front facing out. She looked over her face one last time, imagining how the cowl would look on her. With one hand she flattened her sweat-matted mop of short, mousy brown hair, just to make the fit easier, and in one, smooth motion flipped the cowl upside-down and brought the opening up to the top of her head and pulled down with the chinstraps. It seemed loose, maybe a size or two too big, so Trisha had no trouble slipping it into position. With her gloved hands she clumsily grabbed the side of the head and shifted the cowl around until her eyes aligned with the eye holes. Once done she took a deep breath and turned to face the mirror.

The crushing weight of disappointment was instantaneous.

She looked like a child in an adult Halloween costume. The suit hung off her frame like a tarp and the cowl seemed to shift with every movement of her head. The only thing that looked good was her lips.

“Well Trish” she said tossing her arms up “Congrats, you look like a fucking...”

Suddenly the chinstraps pulled inwards and attached to one another, tugging and tightening until they were snug underneath her chin. The cowl grew tight too, like it’d shrink-wrapped itself to her head.

“What the fuck...” Trisha’s hands shot up to the chinstrap and tugged, her fingers trying their best to pry it towards her chin but it was no use.

“NEW USER DETECTED” a robotic voice announced in her ear.

Trisha yelped and jumped back from the mirror.

“INITIALIZING BIOMETRIC ACCOMMODATION” the voice continued.

“Waitwaitwait, biometric wha-”

An electrical surge shot into the back of her neck. Her muscles seized, her whole body filling with energy. It wasn’t painful, but Trisha still gasped, overwhelmed. She fumbled for the opening on her back, but found that it’d sealed shut.

“ACTUATING IDEALIZED BODY SHAPE”

Starting from her neck, the bodysuit seemed to ripple and reshape, it’s purple glow more blatant than ever. As it got to her upper arms and breasts, Trisha realized something was off. First that the suit was becoming tight – REALLY tight, squeezing her body from just about every angle. Second that the shape of her body started to look VERY different from her own. She tried to look down as the wave rolled over her belly, but a pair of massive, firm looking breasts blocked her way. She glanced down at her arms and what once were scrawny sticks were now glorious lengths of lithe musculature. Trisha shivered as the wave passed over her crotch, at once regretting and thanking herself for putting on the suit naked.

At last the suit had finished it’s...actuating, but Trisha barely had a moment to breathe when...

“FINALIZING NEURAL INTERFACING”

Trisha’s mouth went wide as the energy surge went into overdrive. She felt like she was about to orgasm, but almost as quickly as it started, it stopped. What was left was a warm feeling of...something. A tingle in her extremities.

She caught her breath, standing in the middle of the room, unmoving.

“Whoa...” her hands shot up to her mouth, eyes widening. That wasn’t her voice. It sounded deeper, huskier.

“Hello” she mumbled.

She gasped. Still the new voice. She rubbed her fingertips against her vocal cords but felt nothing wrong.

That’s when she noticed her reflection.

Looking back at her was a goddess, just as voluptuous as the suit promised, practically amazonian when it came to her muscles, her hips, her breasts, not a wrinkle in sight. The cowl, affixed tightly to her head, no longer looked ridiculous, framing her eyes and her mouth just so so that she couldn’t even recognize herself. She touched her ears and turned her head about, examining her new face.

“What the fuck...” she muttered slowly.

“Hello Trisha” a new voice said in her ear, this time a woman.

Trisha yelped again. The voice was familiar, but it took a few seconds for her to put the pieces together.

“Mom?”

“No Trisha” the voice replied “I am ANIA, your artificial neural interface assistant.”

Her artificial what?

“As my name implies” it continued “I am built into this suit in order to provide aid to my biotic host.”

“Biotic host?” Trisha didn’t like the sound of that “o.k. ANIA, why do you sound like my mom?”

“I have merely assumed the voice your subconscious has assigned to me” the voice said matter-of-factly “if I sound like your mother, then it is simply because that’s what your mind wanted to hear.”

This was freaky...was she losing it? Was there something in the lipstick?

“Can you please” Trisha said shakily “just be a different voice, please?”

“Certainly!” ANIA announced cheerily

A long silence. Trisha suddenly became aware of how hard she was breathing, to the point that she felt dizzy.

“There” a new voice said “better?”

This one sounded almost her age...chipper as hell too...a bit too chipper, but at least it didn’t sound like her mom...or anyone she knew for that matter.

“Yeah...” Trisha sighed still staring at her reflection “So...are you like...inside my head?”

“In a manner of speaking” ANIA said shifting into a less robotic, more conversational tone “While I can’t read your thoughts directly I am responsive to a number of semi-conscious commands when it comes to this suit’s functions. In other words, think what you want, and I will do my best to achieve it. Perfectly suited to provide the maximum discretion necessary for your work.”

“My...my work?”

“Yes. This suit was built custom in Cybus Labs for the express purpose of aiding my previous host in her work. If you have put me on willingly, it stands to reason that you wish to engage in the same work yourself. Is that correct?”

Trisha began pacing again “What did your previous hos—my mom use you for?”

There was a long silence, like ANIA was over-calculating it’s response.

“Your mother did many things Trisha” ANIA said almost seductively “and with me and this suit she was able to achieve them most…enthusiastically.”

Trisha’s suspicions were confirmed, though her mind still couldn’t wrap itself around it.

“So that’s it then” she said “my Mom is was this...Panthera lady.”

Another long silence from ANIA.

‘Why didn’t she tell me’ Trisha thought privately.

“You are Panthera now” ANIA finally said.

The way she said it thrilled her. Trisha’s pacing grew more frantic “This is crazy. This is...fucking crazy” she put her hands against the side of her head “I can’t be...’Panthera’, I’m not a jewel thief” she threw her hands up “In fact I’m not any kind of thief!”

“Then what are you Trisha?” ANIA asked almost childlike “I took the liberty of searching through my database on you...”

“Waitwaitwait, your what now?”

“...and it looks to me like you recently became unemployed”

Trisha stopped dead in her tracks

“That’s an awful shame” ANIA continued “losing your job like that so soon after your mom’s death.”

ANIA was right. What was she going to do. Her life was in the shitter and at her age probably wouldn’t get much better than it was now...she couldn’t even blame her Mom for that one.

“To be honest, though” ANIA mused, her tone rising “you’re probably better off not working there.”

Trisha waited for ANIA to continue, but she didn’t. Just another long silence. What was it doing?

“Oh my” ANIA said in mock surprise “looks like they were laundering money for local gangs. While I don’t usually do this kind of thing I took the liberty of sending the evidence I acquired to local authorities – encrypted, of course, so there’s no way for them to trace it back to us. I imagine they’ll be...quite interested.”

What did she mean “us,” Trisha had nothing to do with it. This was too much. How the fuck is this thing able to do that? Should she do that? What about her co-workers. Sure her boss was a bag of dicks but...

“You shouldn’t feel bad for them” ANIA said, seemingly able to sense Trisha’s discomfort “they were bad people, unlike you. They were wrong to ignore your talents”

Trisha laughed “You definitely have me mistaken with someone else. I don’t have–.”

“I disagree” ANIA snapped back immediately.

Trisha felt a flutter in her chest again. A good one. Was this what validation felt like. This thing was a computer but it seemed to see something in her that she couldn’t.

“You don’t believe me?” ANIA said “I can show you if you want. Why don’t we go out...just a test run. A way to acquaint you to your new self”

Trisha’s mental alarm bells rang loud and clear “No way, no way!” she said, pacing again “I can’t go out looking like this!”

“Why not?” ANIA said “After all you wear us so well”

Trisha felt naked, like ANIA was somehow looking at her. Judging her.

“In fact” ANIA said “I think you’re rather beautiful...more than you’re normal self if I’m being honest.”

“Really?” Trisha walked back over to the mirror and looked at her suited form again “I guess I am...” she lightly stroked the side of her cowled face, then looked down at her body.

“Hey ANIA?” Trisha said.

“Yes, Mistress”

Mistress, she liked the sound of that.

“How do I look like this?”

“The padding of this suit creates a flesh substitute which augments the hosts physical characteristics to match their subconscious physical ideal. This, combined with the neural link, provides the host with perfect one-to-one touch simulation combined with the suit’s already existing sensory enhancement”

“Sensory enhancement...” Trisha knew where this was going “Does that mean...”

“It does” ANIA answered bluntly “Go ahead” the suit whispered “touch them.”

Trisha slowly brought her left hand to her left breast, cupping it softly then giving it a careful but firm squeeze.

“Ohmygod...”

Trisha’s mouth dropped open. The surge of pleasure that erupted from the artificial nerve endings almost bowled her over. Instinct took hold and her other hand shot down to her crotch where her fingers pressed into the fabric where her clit would be. Her eyes closed. She bit her lip, tasting the sweet berry flavor of the lipstick again. The pleasure was building quick. Liberation. Liberation from herself. That’s what she craved.

“Mistress, are you all right?” ANIA said with apparent worry “Should I turn down the neural sensitivity?”

“No, no I’m fine.” Trisha gasped between moans.

Trembling, she stumbled towards the bed, toppling within two steps onto her side before quickly rolling over on her back. Her groping and rubbing became more furious as her all-to alien voice moaned and groaned, straining against the flesh and fabric that constrained her release. There was no stopping this, she had to finish. She had to. She ha…

“….haaaAAAAAAHHHH”

Trisha’s eyes shot open, the breath taken from her. The heat of her loins burst like a supernova, seizing her muscles and sending rivers of fire through her veins and into her brain. If Trisha could see the suit she would have seen it flash a brilliant purple as it tightened and embraced her body.

As her senses rebuilt themselves in the afterglow she felt overwhelmed by a sense of rebirth.

Maybe she did need to do this. Maybe she did need to be Panthera.

“Shall I...turn down the neural sensitivity now?” ANIA chimed in tentatively.

The suited woman chuckled, putting her arms languidly over her head and stretching.

“Yeah...” Panthera said “yeah, you probably should.”

She stood slowly, breathed carefully, her eyes scanning the room with watchful precision. As a teen Trisha wanted to be an actor, a dream crushed by her mother’s swift disapproval. Her middle school drama teacher said she was a natural, and standing there, holding up her gloved hand as it swayed and danced in the air, Trisha – no, Panthera knew that he was right.

“So” ANIA said anxiously “you ready to show the world the new you?”

The dance of her arm slowed. Panthera’s eyes began to dart. Trisha came crashing back in.

“You’re still hesitating” ANIA said “Why?”

“I know I look good but...I can’t go out looking like this” Trisha said “people will...see me.”

“Isn’t that the idea?” ARIA said “If it’s Trisha you don’t want people to see nobody will, it’s just you Panthera.”

That’s right, she was Panthera. She was Panthera. She was–

“Besides” ANIA interjected “if other people seeing you in any form is a problem you could always just stick to the shadows. After all one of the suit’s primary functions is to make you completely invisible in darkness”

“Well unless this thing enhances my night vision or something there’s no way I ca-”

As if on cue Trisha heard a slight click and whir, and all of a sudden the dark, unlit corners of the room were as clear as day to her. It took a second for her to think to look into the mirror again, but when she did she saw that where the eyeholes were, large, yellowish-green lenses took their place.

“Do you like them?” ANIA said “They also provide a dynamic heads-up display with access to a number of proprietary databases to aid in your...escapades.”

Trisha smiled, tapping the glass-like surface.

“Also” ANIA continued “for maximum stealth:”

Almost silently, the black material of the cowl closed in around her mouth like a shutter

“A breathing apparatus is also built in” ANIA said proudly “resistant to over 30 thousand different toxins and infectious agents”

The mouth covering retracted, revealing Trisha’s agape mouth.

“Leave Trisha behind” ANIA said decisively “You’ve had enough of her for a while. Tonight you are Panthera”

With those words her doubts seemed to evaporate in an instant.

“I am Panthera” she declared like an invocation

She struck a pose, guiding her hands down along her hips while her mouth hung open. The thought of doing this long term, of being Panthera, seemed so far-fetched until just a moment ago.

“I am Panthera...” she recited again.

“Why don’t you go to your window?” ANIA said.

Panthera did this without hesitation.

“Now climb out?”

Panthera paused.

“Climb out?” she said.

“Yes, it’s quite rudimentary” ANIA said.

Panthera hesitated, then reached down and pulled the window up in one, smooth motion. The wind from outside swept in instantly, sending the newspapers flying.

“I can’t” she said.

“Of course you can” ANIA said, encouragingly “Panthera can do it, and since you’re Panthera that means you can too.”

Panthera put one boot on the window sill and leaned her head out.

“Go to the roof” ANIA commanded.

“How?” Panthera said “I’m not fucking Spider-Man, I can’t climb walls”

Another long pause from ANIA.

“You’re about to tell me I can climb walls, aren’t you?” Panthera said.

“Mmmmmaaaybe” ANIA said mischievously “Why not...try your claws?”

“My what?”

“Just think about it. Will it to be and I’ll make it happen”

Panthera did just that, holding out one hand, closing her eyes and focusing her mind of what she wanted. With a flick of her wrists, a set of two inch long claws erupted from her fingertips. Panthera opened her eyes, saw the metallic gleam glinting in the streetlight, and laughed. After turning them about in the air, she gripped the sill with her already clawed hand and unleashed the claws on the other.

She didn’t need ANIA to tell her what to do next. Thrusting her body out the window she rolled over and plunged one of her clawed hands into the side of the building, burying it into the brick effortlessly. She shook her hand to test the hold, and once she was confident it was firm she pulled herself out further and brought her other clawed hand out, doing the same. Strength wasn’t an issue. Her ascent up the windswept side of the building was swift, and thanks to the growing amounts of adrenaline coursing through her veins absolutely thrilling.

“WOO!” she belted at the top of her lungs. She didn’t care anymore who saw her. She was Panthera, and Panthera wanted the world to see her...

A few feet from the roof, Panthera braced herself, and with a feral roar, launched herself upwards over the edge, flipped twice in the air, and landed on all fours, posed like a wild animal. She even growled, which surprised even her.

After scanning the roof for threats, she shifted back to human mode, standing and sauntering across the roof with a swing in her hips and a bob in her step.

“Take in the night Panthera” ANIA said “after all that is your home, it’s where you belong.”

She didn’t need any more convincing. After all she could feel it was true. The neuro-receptors along the surface of the suit amplified every minute detail of the evening humidity and the wind that graced her luscious form with it’s breath. Turning her palms outwards revealed even more secrets on the wind, and through her feet she could feel the vibrations of each and every footstep the other tenets made below her.

She stopped, turning her gaze upwards towards the hidden stars and the crescent moon, offering up her troubles. No more work, no more mother, no more death, no more Trisha.

Freedom.

“Ha...haHA!”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose, parsing out scent after scent from blocks away, each one distinct, and each one begging for her indulgent attention. Perfumes of the wealthy pulled particularly hard, almost crowding out the others. It made Panthera seethe. People like that were the reason she got fired simply for going to her mother’s funeral, all to shore up their bottom line. They were bigger thieves then she could ever be, living up to their noses in the spoils of the people they attached themselves to like parasites.

But now she had the power. She had the power to take it back.

“The world is yours Panthera” ANIA whispered intimately “all you have to do is reach out your claws and...take it.”

Her mouth twisted into a smirk.

With sudden speed she sprinted for the edge of the roof, bounding, arms pumping, and with a mighty, rapturous yell propelled her off the lip of the roof with her superpowered legs and flew across the ten story deep chasm. There was no doubt left, no fear. Within moments she’d cleared the gap and landed with a graceful roll on the next rooftop but she didn’t stop there. On and on she ran, with each step creating more and more distance between her old and new self, until finally she’d vanished from sight. Maybe she would return in the morning. Maybe she would take off the suit and assume a half-hearted secret identity like her mother had. Just another ordinary, young woman...

...maybe…

...maybe…

….or maybe...she’d have a little fun first.