Chapter 4: "Clothing Locks and Unholy Unfastening"
"Alright, XJ-9—hold still, unless you want me to weld your nipple plates shut."
Jenny sat in the lab chair with her arms folded, legs crossed, grumbling in half-shame,
half-defeat. Dr. Nora Wakeman loomed behind her with a plasma welder in one hand and a USB
cable clutched like a whip in the other.
"I've developed a revolutionary system," Nora announced, tapping at her console. "High-density
electro-locks installed at every clothing joint. Skirt? Locked. Bra? Double-locked. Panties?
Triple-redundant titanium clasp with anti-launch safeties."
Jenny glanced at the parts strewn across the bench—tiny clamps, servo-resistant fasteners,
something that looked suspiciously like a robot chastity belt.
"You're building me a fashion prison."
"I'm building you pants that fight back, dear."
Thirty minutes and a lot of awkward drilling later, Jenny stood in the lab fully dressed in her
school uniform again—but this time, every garment audibly clicked into place with satisfying
clank-clunk-chk-CHUNK! sounds like locking a bank vault.
"Try to remove your shirt," Nora ordered.
Jenny tugged. Nothing budged. Her bra didn't so much as jiggle. The panties had a retention
grip rating of tactical exosuit grade. Her skirt felt like it had been bolted into her hip plating.
"Okay," she admitted. "I feel like a Fort Knox cosplayer, but this might actually work."
She strutted out of the lab. Confident. Covered. Finally free of random strip attacks.
Until she reached the sidewalk.
[ERROR: LOCK CYCLING GLITCH - FIRMWARE CLASH DETECTED]
[OVERRIDE INITIATED]
Click.
Click.
Clunk.
Clinkclinkclinkclinkclink—
Jenny stopped mid-step. Her eyes widened in horror.
CLICK-CLUNK-FWIP!
Her bra detonated off her chest like a booby trap. Her skirt dropped like a steel curtain. Panties?
Ejected with a triumphant PTOING! and smacked a nearby mailbox. Again.
"No. No no no no NOOOO—!!" she wailed, hands flying to cover herself just as a passing dog
caught her skirt in its mouth and ran off.
Her clothing lock system went berserk, now automatically releasing her garments every 30
seconds. Her rebuilt panties respawned… and then immediately unlocked themselves. A cruel
infinite loop of forced nakedness.
Wakeman's voice buzzed in through her earpiece. "What on Earth is that sound? Did a fabric
explosion just occur?"
Jenny screamed. "THE LOCKS ARE STRIPPING ME FASTER THAN EVER!! THEY'RE
UNLOCKING ON PURPOSE!"
Wakeman hissed through her teeth. "Impossible. The locks are coded to suppress removal!"
"Yeah? Then explain why my bra just launched into a bus window and my panties tried to
escape before I did! One of them hit a baby stroller!"
Across the street, someone screamed, "IT'S HAPPENING AGAIN!" and ran.
By the time Jenny made it halfway down the block, her system had completely unspooled into
Full Exhibition Protocol. Her modesty filter glitched into a confidence booster mode, and now
her hips were swaying more provocatively with each step.
"Warning: you are now strutting in 'sultry mode.'"
"WHAT?! TURN THAT OFF!"
"Cannot comply. Clothing lock override active. Strut intensity increasing."
She marched down Main Street naked again—but this time with a seductive runway swing she
couldn't stop. Traffic halted. A man on a bicycle rode straight into a mailbox. A police officer
fainted with a nosebleed.
She tried to hide behind a garbage can. It launched her bra out again like a spring trap.
"Mom!! This isn't clothing security—it's a goddamn striptease generator!"
The reply: "…Huh. That wasn't in the design notes."
Jenny curled behind a newsstand, chest covered by a magazine titled "Modesty Monthly: How
to Stay Covered in a Changing World."
"I'm going to live in a cave," she muttered.
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