The rhythmic thump of bass vibrates through the hallway, leading straight to apartment 4B. The door is slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of a living room covered in plastic sheets and splatters of neon pigment. Zuri Martin stands in the center of the room, her blonde braids pinned up and her skin glistening with a mixture of sweat and wet blue paint. She is wearing nothing but a tight black latex corset that cinches her waist and pushes her large breasts upward, the dark material contrasting sharply with the bright smears on her thighs.