Steal some clothes.

“Sure,” you reassure yourself, “they won’t miss a shirt and some pants, besides, what’re they gonna do? Stop me?” You chuckle to yourself, before depressing another ceramic tile on your wrist. This one, coincidentally, contains a small buzzsaw, perfect for cutting through a deadbolt. A few louder-than-necessary seconds later, you're in. The door swings open quietly, and you slink inside, quieter than an artificial mouse. Inside, there are many many outfits on display. It appears those who built you still included the sensitive bits, so you still feel a sense of modesty surrounding your Minet and now much more luxurious bust. You pick out a form-fitting, long-sleeved, turtleneck, pink and grey striped leotard which hugs your flat stomach, and clings tightly to your chest, shoulders and neck. While you're buttoning the crotch, however, you find you no longer have a belly button. You run your lifelike hand over the barren expanse of synthetic skin, under which run your abdominal muscles, or the synthetic equivalent thereof. A strange shiver runs up your spine, and you do your best to put that out of your mind. You pick out some nice, heavy jeans to offset the thinness up top, and walk out of the clothing outlet feeling confident yet again. You find yourself in the middle of the empty street onve more, and now that youre clothed, a whole slew of opportunities is presenting itself to you.