Split the group

The lecturer lowered his voice, now addressing the entire room with the authority of a ringmaster.

"For the third and final phase," he announced, "we need two groups. You on the right"—he gestured broadly—"are the observers. You will observe the study subject. You on the left will observe the observers. Watch closely for any reaction: facial expressions, gestures, posture, micro-movements—everything. The success of this experiment depends on your meticulous attention."

He turned back to Cathrin, his gaze softening just slightly—or maybe that was just her imagination.

"And for you, Cathrin, to ensure the results are not contaminated, only one thing matters. Do not think. Just do it. And do it quickly. You will go into the side room, do exactly what the note on the table says, and come back out. Do not hesitate. Do not analyze. Do not think. Just do. You have twelve seconds."

He pointed to a small door to the left of the podium, half-hidden behind a curtain. Cathrin's heart slammed against her ribs. Twelve seconds. That was barely enough time to cross the room, let alone read and execute some mysterious instruction.

She looked at the two groups—the observers on the right, already leaning forward with hungry eyes; the meta-observers on the left, who were watching the observers with equal intensity. She was the specimen, the pinned butterfly under glass.

The lecturer pulled out a stopwatch. "Your time starts—now."

Cathrin didn't think. She ran. Her sneakers squeaked on the polished floor as she tore across the stage, yanked the curtain aside, and burst into the small, dimly lit side room. A single table stood in the centre, and on it lay a folded index card. She snatched it up, her hands trembling.

The note read, in blocky capital letters: "GET UNDRESSED. COMPLETELY NUDE. AND COME BACK."

Cathrin stared at the card, her blood turning to ice. For a split second, her brain tried to process—undressed? Nude? In front of two hundred people?—but the lecturer's voice rang in her ears: Do not think. Just do it. Quickly.

She had twelve seconds. Or less now.

Her hands flew to the hem of her sweater. She yanked it over her head. Jeans followed, stumbling, nearly losing her balance. Her shoes, her socks—everything landed in a messy pile on the floor. She stood there, completely bare, the cold air of the room raising goosebumps across her skin. No time to feel embarrassed. No time to cover herself. She grabbed the door handle, took a breath, and stepped back through the curtain.

The hall erupted. Not in laughter—she had expected that—but in a sharp, collective gasp, followed by a rustle of movement. The observers on the right leaned forward, scribbling furiously. The meta-observers on the left watched the observers, their pens moving just as fast. Someone in the back let out a nervous cough.

Cathrin stood frozen in the spotlight, her arms limp at her sides, her face burning. She had done exactly what the note said. She had not thought. She had just done. The lecturer clicked his stopwatch.

"Nine point four seconds," he announced calmly, as if she were wearing a business suit. "Impressive compliance."

She had wanted something practical. Now she understood: in this version of psychology, you were the practice. And she still had no idea what ENF actually meant—but she was beginning to suspect it had nothing to do with engineering.

"And now, Cathrin, the decisive question." He stepped closer. "How does it feel to be an Exposed Nude Female?"