Jackson had always been the baby of the group, the last to hit milestones. A week ago, he'd turned 18, catching up to Benjamin, Nicholas, and Jeremiah. They were inseparable, the kind of friends who shared everything-secrets, laughs, even the occasional prank. But that afternoon, as Jackson rummaged through the family's linen closet for a spare blanket, something felt off. The small room was cozy, lit by a single bulb that cast warm shadows over stacks of folded sheets and towels. He heard the door creak open behind him, but before he could turn, it clicked shut.

There they were: Benjamin, Nicholas, and Jeremiah, standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking the exit like a human wall. Jackson blinked, his brain struggling to process what he saw. They weren't in their usual jeans and hoodies. Instead, each wore something utterly alien-feminine lingerie that hugged their bodies in ways that made his stomach twist. Long panty girdles cinched their waists, mieders corselettes sculpted their torsos, and shapewear layered over patterned pantyhose gleamed under the light. In their hands, they clutched long brunette wigs, and their faces... God, their faces. Light makeup softened their features-eyeliner sharpening eyes that now looked doe-like, blush rounding cheeks that seemed almost... pretty.

Jackson let out a nervous laugh, the sound echoing awkwardly in the confined space. "What the hell, guys? Is this some kind of joke? You look... uh..." He trailed off. They did look pretty, in a bizarre, unsettling way. But their expressions were stone-cold, no hint of the usual mischief in their eyes.

Benjamin stepped forward first, his voice low and serious, like he was delivering a eulogy. "You'll love being one of us, Jackson."

Nicholas nodded, his painted lips curving into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Yes, Jackson. Join us."

Jeremiah leaned in, his wig already perched on his head, strands framing a face that seemed softer than Jackson remembered. "You know you want to."

Jackson's heart pounded. "What are you talking about? Move, let me out." He tried to push past them, but they closed ranks, their bodies surprisingly strong. There were three of them, coordinated and unyielding, against his one frantic shove. Hands grabbed his arms, pinning him against the shelves. Panic surged as they spun a tale-some twisted destiny, a curse or a calling that hit when you turned 18. "We've all gone through it," Benjamin whispered. "It started with us, one by one. Now it's your turn. You'll see-it's liberating."