Sit down and start

The chair was already waiting for me.

It reclined slightly, padded in matte black, with subtle contours that fit my body too perfectly — as if someone had scanned me in my sleep and built it to cradle every curve I tried so hard to hide. I lowered myself onto it, the cool material pressing against the backs of my thighs through my jeans. My heart was thudding so hard I could feel it in my throat, in my fingertips, even in the soft, heavy swell of my breasts beneath my oversized sweater.

Dr. Sato stood at the threshold, one hand on the control panel.

“Once this door closes,” she said quietly, “the system assumes full authority. No staff. No overrides. Your payment remains with me — not the machine. If it rejects you at any point, the session ends immediately.”

I nodded. My mouth was too dry to speak.

She studied me for one last second — not unkind, but detached, like a technician checking a final gauge.

“Good luck, Elena.”

The door slid shut with a soft pneumatic sigh.

The sound felt final, like a coffin lid settling.

Silence swallowed the room.

Then a low, steady hum rose from beneath the chair — deep, almost alive.

The overhead lights dimmed to a clinical blue.

A curved sensor array descended from the ceiling: thin metal arms, dozens of small nodes, cables trailing like black veins. It paused just above my head, waiting.

The wall screen flickered on.

WELCOME, CANDIDATE.

PROCEDURE ROOM: ACTIVE.

OPERATOR: NONE PRESENT.

My skin prickled.

No one watching. No one to stop it.

STATE YOUR FIRST NAME.

“Elena,” I whispered.

A soft chime answered — neutral, mechanical, acknowledging.

ELENA CONFIRMED.

The screen refreshed.

REQUEST: COGNITIVE ENHANCEMENT (IQ RECALIBRATION)

CONFIRM: IMMEDIATE PROCEDURE

YES / NO

My pulse roared in my ears.

This was it.

One word to fix everything — or break it forever.

I stared at YES until the letters blurred.

“Yes,” I said, voice trembling but clear.

CONFIRMED.

BEGINNING COMPLIANCE SEQUENCE.

FOLLOW ALL INSTRUCTIONS EXACTLY.

The chair shifted — subtle motors whirring.

Soft restraints slid out from the armrests and curled around my wrists, gentle but firm.

Similar bands closed over my ankles, securing my legs slightly apart.

I gasped, tugging once — the straps didn’t hurt, but they didn’t yield either.

INSTRUCTION 1: REMAIN STILL.

The sensor frame lowered further.

Cold metal brushed my temples.

Then — carefully, impersonally — robotic arms moved to my clothing.

A thin articulated tool slipped under the hem of my sweater.

I froze.

INSTRUCTION 2: DO NOT RESIST REMOVAL OF INTERFERENCE.

The arms lifted the sweater slowly over my head.

My arms were guided up, then down again once the fabric was gone.

Next came my bra — clips undone with surgical precision.

My breasts spilled free, heavy and soft, nipples tightening instantly in the cool air.

I whimpered, cheeks burning, instinctively trying to cover myself — but the wrist restraints held me open, exposed.

INSTRUCTION 3: MODESTY IS IRRELEVANT TO PROCEDURE.

The arms continued — unbuttoning my jeans, sliding them down over my wide hips, peeling away my plain cotton panties.

I was left completely naked, skin prickling, every inch of me on display: full breasts trembling with each shallow breath, soft stomach, thick thighs parted by the chair’s design, the dark triangle between them glistening faintly from nerves and fear-sweat.

I wanted to cry.

I wanted to scream.

But the voice in my head — small, frantic — kept repeating: This is for your future. Just… endure.

The helmet descended fully now — sleek, curved, studded with sensors and trailing cables.

It settled over my skull with a gentle click.

A faint vibration hummed through my scalp.

The screen changed again.

PREPARATION COMPLETE.

FINAL QUESTION BEFORE INITIATION:

WHY DO YOU DESERVE TO CHANGE?

I swallowed hard.

My voice came out small, shaking, barely above a whisper.

“Because… I can’t keep failing. I need to be better. I need to be… enough.”

A long pause.

Then a single chime.

RESPONSE ACCEPTED.

INITIATING CORE SEQUENCE.

The lights dimmed further.

The hum deepened — became a pulse inside my skull.

And somewhere in the silence, a tiny, cold voice I didn’t recognize whispered:

You just gave it permission to rewrite you.

I closed my eyes.