This choice: Your Auto-Band detects your insatisfaction about your current look • Go Back...Chapter #6Your Auto-Band detects your insatisfaction abou... by: shell_shocke   You stared at your reflection in the mirror, dumbfounded. You looked like some kind of dumb bimbo Barbie doll. You tugged on your now long blonde hair and fidgeted with your acrylic nails, finding the extensions and nails firmly attached to your body. Even the heavy hoops that dangled from your ears were locked in place, and the makeup on your face wouldn’t even smudge. This nightmare was only getting worse. To top it all off, you immediately began to panic about how conspicuous you looked with these feminine features and male clothes; you were sure to draw attention in public. You didn’t want to be labeled a crossdresser on top of whatever illegal activity your Auto-Band continued to rack up.
“I have detected your dissatisfaction with your current attire,” the A.I. voice chimed in your head. “Scanning profile ‘Barbara Cooper’ wardrobe database for style recommendations.”
All of a sudden countless articles of female clothing swiped through your subconscious, from underwear to tops, dresses, skirts, jeans, and more heeled shoes than you could count. This was such a violation of this woman’s privacy, you trembled.
“Please wait!” you interjected, trying to save face. “I don’t want to look at her belongings! I just want to blend in so I can lay low and figure this out!”
“Acknowledged,” the voice responded, and suddenly all of the images in your head went blank. “Activating Chameleon Protocols.”
Chameleon? What in the hell? Your confusion was quickly answered however by an explosion of data filling your head. It was overwhelming, so much so that you lost your footing and stumbled back against the wall of the dressing room. You clutched your head in anguish as you lost consciousness, for how long you weren’t sure.
“Target acquired… overriding profile assets…” a voice echoed faintly in your subconscious.
“Miss Johnson? Please wake up.”
Miss Johnson? Who is that? You groaned to yourself as you groggily sat up from a salon bed. Your chest felt heavy, weight shifting around as your center of gravity changed. Wait, what? You looked down to see a pair of large breastforms stretching your shirt out. You feverishly pulled your shirt up to your neck to inspect yourself. Not only were they large, but they were glued on so expertly that you couldn’t even find a seam where they ended and your real skin began.
“What is all of this?!” you demanded, getting to your feet and pulling your shirt back down. You couldn’t put a finger on it right away, but something was off about your posture.
“You have acquired the profile of a Miss Stacey Johnson, local resident who according to recent travel itineraries will be out of the country for the next several weeks,” the A.I. recited as some planners and immigration records indicated a booking for a hotel in Spain. According to her data, this Stacey Johnson was actually a very successful fashion designer in her mid-30’s who lived quite lavishly not too far from here. “This absence is the perfect target for you to fill in seamlessly and obtain the resources you require.”
“Resources? So this really is some kind of con artist scammer program after all! And what do you mean seamlessly? I won’t play along with your plans!” You then notice that in your huff, you were standing there with one hand on your hip and the other on your chest in a gesture coming much more naturally from a woman.
“In order to prevent your cover being blown, your cadence and mannerisms have been overwritten from recorded memory of Stacey Johnson. We must now equip you with proper attire; would you prefer to remain at the mall and shop for some new clothing, or return home to your new residence and change there?”   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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