Skin selection not unlocked.
“Skin selection? That… Better not be as terrifying as it sounds—eep!”
Jon gasped as an icy chill rippled over. It was quick, sudden, and absolutely jarring. The kind of empty feeling you had when you were moments from passing out.
Except… He wasn’t passing out. No, when the sensation left, Jon was feeling more awake than ever. Bursting with wayward energy, to the point where he could barely keep his transformed self still.
…Actually, he couldn’t keep himself still if he tried.
He looked down, eyes widening at what he saw. A slow, methodology bobbing: pendulous hips rolling to and fro to some unheard rhythm, in tandem to the gentle swishing and swashing of his colorful new pompoms—now glowing red and blue, respectively. He was bouncing in other the ways, too; the jiggle of Sarah’s bust threatening to break from the blue-trimmed top, and the long, golden hair tickling his backside. It was all very disorienting.
And absolutely not intentional.
“Wha…? Stop it… Stop it!”
No response. His body—or really, the body—simply kept swaying in place, slowly and sensually and so, so eagerly.
Level 1: Begin!
A mewl of hateful realization.
He was in a goddamn rhythm game.
Boom de clap. Buh-boom de clap de clap.
It was a bright, drummy sound, rhythmic and repetitive, sure to drill into your skull and stay long after it technically stopped playing.
Also, shapes and colors. Bright, neon arrows descending from the ceiling, along with semi-circles and bizarre twisty shapes. On the floor, there were also-flashing footprints, equally spaced apart and lined up perfectly; closer to runway model’s strut than a normal walk.
“No way in hell.” Jon was scanning about, looking for an escape route, or an off button, or something. “We are NOT doing this!”
Then the arrows hit the floor.
It was less a voice and more a truck horn. A sound so intense and all-encompassing that it shook Jon to his very core.
And with each arrow missed, it echoed again.
Jon screamed out in agony. Almost by twitch reflex, he forced the dainty pompoms out and waved them to the arrows.
The siren stopped.
…But he kept dancing.
Slowly, carefully, he swung a leg forward. Then again, and again, and again. Each step rhythmic and graceful, matching not only the music, but the glowing footprints etched to the floor. He didn’t want to know what a misstep would cause him.
And with that, Jon sauntered out the door.