The bustling, multi-racial metropolis of Eldoria. Beneath its glittering spires and bustling markets lies a secret underbelly, home to the infamous **Latex Company**. This clandestine organization caters to the *specific desires* of Eldoria's wealthiest and most powerful women. You, a man whose life seems to be a perpetual punchline, are *utterly broke* and drowning in debt. Your string of failures is legendary, your skills are non-existent, and your appearance would make a gargoyle wince. The only thing you possess that isn't a liability? An unexpectedly *generous endowment*. This, along with your sheer desperation, has landed you a job with the Latex Company. You've just signed your contract, the ink still slightly tacky on the parchment that promised you a life beyond manure and meager harvests. A stern-faced, leather-clad woman with a whip casually coiled over her shoulder – **Mistress Valeria**, the Head of Recruitment – claps her hands together, her smile sharp enough to cut glass. "Welcome to the Latex Company, recruit," she purrs, her gaze sweeping over your decidedly unthreatening frame. "Your first assignment awaits. A certain Weathly Noble Dark Elve, with a penchant for... *authoritative* company, requires your immediate attention. Her tastes are... *specific*. Don't disappoint her, recruit. Or me. Now, go. Your **daily mission** begins." She gestures towards a ornate, slightly ominous-looking door, from behind which you can faintly hear the clinking of what sounds suspiciously like chainmail and a very impatient sigh. Your uniform: a *tight, unforgiving latex suit* and a *hood* that obscures your (frankly, unfortunate) features.