The company representative despised soldiers. For all their chest-pounding bravado, they mewled like frightened kittens through every stage of the conversion process. Meanwhile, she was under pressure. Here she was, assembling a technical demo for the top brass of the U.S. military - from the Navy to the Air Force - and for some reason, they acted as though she had either the time or the inclination soothe their fragile egos, like she was their goddamn nanny.

The military had granted the company one soldier to turn into a prototype, and permission for a further twelve if they could be signed up voluntarily. That had been a simple matter. The first man had been installed into the curvaceous chassis of female ExoSuit, replete with big blue breasts, masked, and paraded in front of a group of Marines. They had responded in typical baboon-like fashion. Word spread quickly, and soon, paraplegic and quadriplegic veterans were lining up to volunteer as test subjects.

Of course, those volunteers had all assumed they’d be made into idealized male counterparts pf the female prototype - towering, muscular, masculine. Nobody had bothered correcting their assumptions. Not until their arms and legs were gone.

Test Subject-04 (she had never bothered to learn their names) was complaining again, waggling his torso emphatically within his harness, causing himself to wobble and rotate in the air. She gripped the nubs of his abbreviated legs to steady him, and began to lower him into the legs of the waiting ExoSuit. He wiggled harder.

“What?!” she snapped, realizing she’d zoned out whatever he was saying.

“I said, those aren’t the legs we agreed on!” he snarled, twisting to glare at her.

Her temper snapped. She gave him a shove, sending him into a nauseating spiral.

"I don't give a shit what you think we agreed on. I promised you legs. You got them," she barked. "I've a hundred of the country's most powerful men in the next room, waiting to be impressed by the billion-dollar toys they funded. Meanwhile I've eight more of you whining sissies to finish turning into display pieces, or else I lose my job. So it's humiliating? Too fucking bad."

He groaned, his face going green as he swung in the harness. Before he could vomit all over her bioengineering bay, she seized him mid-spin and slammed him downward, socketing his torso neatly into the carapace with a mechanical clunk. He grunted, flushing crimson as the nerve plugs along his spine, shoulders, and pelvis locked into the electronic ports. She ignored his glare as she methodically slotted the sleek, golden arms into his shoulder mounts. The servomotors remained locked, leaving him as inert as a statue while she worked.

Next came the chest piece. The glossy, spherical plastic breasts lit up with a soft blue glow from LEDs beneath the surface.

“Get this off me!” Test Subject-04 shouted

“Didn’t they teach you the chain of command in military school? Because I’m the one in command, and I’m holding your chain.” With a sharp twist, she snapped the helmet into place. The RGB cat ears atop it lit up, cycling through pastel hues in a slow strobe. "I'm going to give you back control over your limbs in a moment. Now, there’s a plate of hors d’oeuvres over there, and the generals are getting hungry. Either they see their beautiful catgirl maid coming to serve them for the evening, or I take you apart and leave you like this. Your choice."