Chapter 23: The Switch
I slept poorly, waking up several times as my mind replayed the events of yesterday. At one time, I dreamed about kicking that orderly in the face… though I wasn’t wearing Dr Martens boots, but high-heeled ones, and I had impaled him in the neck! I woke up in a fright as the dream had the police officers throw me into a cell at that awful place… it took some time to fall asleep after that.
The alarm’s whine woke me up, and I seriously considered taking a sick day. But no, I was going to have to write a report about what had happened, call the boss… what a mess. This certainly was going to end up in courts, for years probably. But it was worth it to see Beth out of that hellhole, not to mention the other patients.
Not too long later I stood in line with other patients at the Institute, waiting for the dressing procedure. It was going to be good to be covered in latex again. I couldn’t deny that wearing it soothed my mind – a strange thing to say considering how arousing it was, but … I was beginning to feel a lot more comfortable with that feeling than I ever thought possible.
Normally the line was pretty quiet. The majority of patients disliked having to spend time out of latex. River had once told me that she felt that once she was outside her outfit, she didn’t fully exist. The notion was strange, but the sisters’ identity was often very strongly tied to their latex, with layers of meaning given to every detail – in a way their outfit choices were a declaration about who they were. Most of them were wearing plain black spandex suits, and I was told those were called “blanks”. So, I didn’t expect much chit chat until they were back in rubber.
But today one of them began to sign to me, and within a few moments I realized I was talking to patient 115. Normally she wore a black maid’s uniform with silver piping. She was one of the “new drones” – a patient who no longer was kept in the cube, but hadn’t really returned to full awareness yet. Her behavior was controlled by the programing, which directed her to perform various chores. However, the program was designed to slowly coax initiative and independence out of the drones. Given enough time doing this, patients often experienced a major transformation, the emergence, where the old personality would break through the programing and return… or something like that. The process was a bit unpredictable. River had emerged, and yet remained a drone, for example.
And patient 115 was definitely giving signs that she would emerge soon. I had met her in sign language class, an activity she had spontaneously decided to engage in – and drones weren’t “supposed to” be able to do that. She wasn’t… quite there yet, but perhaps this conversation could help her make the final leap?
I got so involved in the strange discussion with her that I didn’t realize we had switched places in the line.
This would never have happened when I was getting dressed individually. But dressing all the patients was a big process, almost like an assembly line, and it worked great when everything was orderly, one patient after another, each receiving their own treatment… and we had just messed up the sequence.
I stepped in innocently – well that wasn’t really true, I was looking forward to being washed and dressed in the dark, caressed by dozens of latex-clad hands, and that wasn’t quite innocent, was it? How many jobs started the day like this, ha! And at first, it seemed like everything was fine. I was stripped naked, washed, teeth brushed, all in the dark. But then I was fitted with a gag, and by the time I realized it, it was too late.
I think if I had “fought” they certainly would have stopped. But I was so surprised and perhaps… intrigued. First hand experience, this was a form of inspection, right? How did it feel for the patients to go all the way? I let them proceed.
I moaned as my vagina and ass were plugged – they weren’t huge, but I definitely felt their presence. The catheter was… less fun, but the gag suppressed my yelp. Some aspects were quite similar – the chiller, the base layer catsuit - but others were not. The sensor device they installed was much longer than the one I usually wore behind my neck, reaching all the way down my spine. It was connected to what seemed to me like a more elaborate system of bone conducting headphones, more sensors and pads that were installed over various sensitive areas… electrostim? The plugs were also connected to the long-segmented device.
A few more minutes, and I staggered out of the dressing/hygiene processing line. I looked at myself – I was wearing high heeled booties, a black catsuit, over which was a black maid outfit with silver trim and puffy sleeves. Not a single piece of skin visible. My face was fully covered with a black latex hood with micro perforations allowing me to see – the vision was decent, although it was a bit like wearing shades indoors. I was wearing patient 115’s outfit! We happened to be about the same height and body type, so it made sense her outfit fit me fairly well – the dressers would have realized something was amiss had the fit been bad, but it just so happened…
I looked around. I was about to inform someone of the error – I couldn’t speak at all with this gag, but by now my mastery of sign language was sufficient to alert the others. But then noise erupted in my head – the bone conducting speakers suddenly turned on at once. I froze as I was suddenly bombarded by layered hypnotic programming. One layer seemed to be very … fetishistic, and sexual, chanting about how latex was incredibly arousing, accompanied by regular pulses as my anal and vaginal plugs started vibrating. Another audio layer was focused on obedience, how obedience was pleasure, how obedience was my very essence, how deep into trance I was. Also playing in the background was the repetitive sounds of the coordination song.
I moaned and staggered, breathing heavily. Oh my god. I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist this for very long. I had to tell someone… but then I remembered my idea about “firsthand experience” … what better way than this accident? Part of me was so curious… and aroused. Yes, I wanted to do this. And as consent was key to effective hypnosis, I just … let myself be engulfed.
There was another audio layer, a bit distinct somehow, which started giving me instructions. Go to the supply closet and grab the equipment. I started walking in a direction, hoping it was the right way, but after maybe 20 feet I got a small zap. Ouch! Were sensors measuring my position? Two more wrong turns, and I finally seemed to be headed the right way.
On my way, I saw… myself. It was so surreal – it wasn’t me of course, it was patient 115 dressed in my pale grey-blue outfit. She looked very confused. Normally I would have intervened, but I was in too deep. I had to trust the others would realize something was wrong and look after her.
A few other cleaning drones were also heading in the same direction, and I was able to find the supplies. The instruction layer then ordered me to mop the 2nd floor, which I headed towards – I wasn’t zapped again, so I seemed to be doing the right thing.
As I mopped, I was periodically instructed to press a button, located on my shoulder. Every time I did so, I was rewarded with a pleasant burst of vibrations and delightful tingly stimulation. This was odd. I realized that … I had managed to somehow “hide myself” within the multiple layers of audio conditioning. My own inner voice was just another layer, one that observed but did not control. Huh. It seemed that the sensors weren’t that … precise. There was no big AI watching my every move. Instead, I was being programmed to well, watch, control, reward myself. I knew far better when I had done a good job of mopping yet another segment of corridor than some AI system ever could have. I could only activate the reward button when I actually had earned it. And on top of all that were the other layers – the coordination song, telling me I was forever in latex. The other audio layer telling me how much I loved latex, how conditioning was obedience, how obedience was pleasure, with the plugs and electrode pulsing. And this was very effective – I was essentially programming myself. And I wanted to do it, I wanted to see what the patients felt. I wanted… to be a patient?
After some time, I saw Red walking hurriedly towards me. “Oh my god Judith, we’re so sorry! Are you ok? Let me bring you back to the changing room!”
I looked at her and moaned. I then tried signing to her – I was a bit shaky from the constant stimulation, but I managed to say that I was okay, and that I wanted to continue for now, to see how it was like.
Red’s demeanor changed. “Oh, so you’re inspecting, are you? And perhaps having fun too?” she asked slyly. I nodded in reply and then moaned again. She chuckled and said, “well I’ll leave you to it then, I’ll get you at the end of the day. Oh and don’t worry, Patient 115 is fine, although it was kind of funny seeing her trying to be you!”
She was trying to be me? Weird… but that was for later. I vaguely waved at Red as she stepped away and sunk deep into the experience. I vaguely remembered being ordered to take breaks to ingest nutrition fluid, which only made me more spacey and aroused. This was fiendishly effective. I was pretty sure I could stop if I had wanted to, but… a few weeks of this and I would probably have completely disappeared. Already I was getting used to the notion of my inner voice just being… a passenger, of not having any control. I didn’t have to figure anything out, take decisions. Just let the programming do the thinking for me...
But was that true? The instructions were a bit… high level. Like I was being ordered to mop, but I wasn’t told exactly how to do so. I remembered Dr Reed saying how she had modified the drone programming to be a bit vague, forcing the drones to fill in the missing details, to think, to form a connection between the inner self that had been suggested to years of conditioning and locked in pergasm, and the programmed drone “outer self”.
At some point, Dr Reed and Renee showed up and guided me back towards the dressing area. I yelped as I was shocked for leaving the designated work area.
“Oh shit,” said Renee, and she pressed a series of buttons on the controller unit on the back of my neck. And the stimulations, the shocks, and the chorus of voices all stopped. I staggered as the almost overwhelming levels of stimulations all stopped, leaving a … terrible void behind.
I groaned. Oh god. I felt myself becoming more… present… my inner dialogue somehow growing. No longer a mouse riding on the back of an elephant, but back in charge. I tried to sign but Dr Reed shushed me. “It’s ok, it’s ok. Just remain calm, we will have you out of this in no time.”
As I entered the dressing room, patient 81 started signing rapidly at me – after I signed at her to slow down, I realized they were apologizing. They should have known it was me and not patient 115 due to my hair, but they had missed it – there were a lot of patients to dress every morning, so they had rushed a bit. I signed back that it was ok, and within a few more minutes, I was back in my “sister Judith” self, covered in latex still of course, but very much not gagged, plugged and controlled. The sister Judith outfit, despite covering me head to toe in latex, was far more…mild than what the drones were wearing!
“Are you ok Miss Judith?” inquired Dr Reed.
I moved my jaw around; I was not used to being gagged and it was a bit sore. “I, uh, a little shaken but not too bad. That was quite the experience!” I replied, my voice a bit thick. “But never mind me, how is patient 115? I really hope she’s ok! It must have been so confusing. I wanted to warn you but…”
“Her reaction was certainly interesting. She went around pointing at things spouting gibberish. She seemingly believed she was you, which is… quite something. I think her emergence is very close, perhaps this will help it happen… although I hope this won’t result in a permanent delusion. This should never, ever have happened.”
“Is this the first time a patient ended up in the wrong outfit?” I replied, leaning against the wall.
“It’s quite rare, but … maybe once or twice a year?” replied Renee. “Some patients do it voluntarily by the way from time to time, but almost never accidentally. We usually realize pretty quickly that something is amiss.”
I chuckled weakly “well it was certainly a novel way to, uh, inspect. The entire day flew by.” Not to mention, I suddenly realized, a great way to avoid the paperwork and reports…
Renee and Dr Reed looked at each other. “It’s only mid afternoon. There is, ah, something you should see,” said Renee in a guarded tone.
As I cocked my head in confusion, Dr Reed added “I think Patty will be able to explain it better. But it seems you’ve gone viral.”
“Viral? For wearing the wrong outfit? That doesn’t make any sense?!”
“I meant your performance yesterday,” said Patty, “the video of the kick is all over the web. Congratulations, you are now an internet celebrity,” she added wryly.
“WHAT?!” I almost shouted. “HOW?!”
“People started sharing it, and then news agencies started contacting me for licensing. This is the most famous piece I’ve ever done. I’ll be donating half the proceeds to the Institute, probably close to five grand,” she explained. “The story isn’t what’s getting attention, it’s the kick – oh and your looks. The Italians are going gaga over it for some reason, their media has dubbed you “La Draga Bianco” – the white dragon. They love our style.
I looked at her, dumbfounded. “Oh god… what do I do?”
“Luckily for you,” replied Patty, “I also do PR and social media management. You aren’t the first person going internet-famous I’ve helped. First, let’s go lock down your social media…”
Turning everything private took mere minutes – but it took hours to comb through my posts and delete any objectionable material. Thankfully, I hadn’t posted that much, so the task was manageable.
Then Patty suggested that I create a new profile, a public facing one. “The debacle at the Recovery Facility isn’t over. There are going to be court cases, an inquiry or three, parliamentary committees… like it or not, you’re going to be a public figure now, not just a meme.”
“I never wanted this! Can’t I just, I don’t know, do my job in private?” I protested.
“You should have thought of that before pulling ninja moves in front of the camera,” retorted Patty. “But don’t worry – we’ll manage this.”
“My boss is going to be so mad… I’m pretty sure civil servants are not supposed to gather attention,” I said glumly.
“Had they given you media training? No? How could you have known? We’ll manage this, don’t worry – how many civil servants have their own PR assistant – for free!? Very economical,” replied Patty confidently. “Besides, you’re essentially irreplaceable at this point. Do you think the Institute would be ok with the government replacing you?”
I nodded cautiously. I realized that Patty too had once become a celebrity; and probably had learned much from her mistakes. She hadn’t had anyone to help her then, so I was pretty fortunate to have some assistance now.
We made a single Instagram post, of a pretty decent shot of me looking pretty serious, but not too serious (do you know how hard that is to pull off?!), along with an introduction text of some sort. I explained I hadn’t expected this level of publicity, and that my goal was not to kick people in the face, but to help protect women from violence of all kinds, and to help build better systems to enable this. I concluded the post with a white dragon emoji.
“I hope I don’t get too many trolls, shitposting,” I said dubiously.
“Oh, that can’t be helped,” replied Patty. “You dared being a strong woman in public, and for some that’s inexcusable. That’s the world we live in, sadly.”
“Perhaps we can make it a little better,” I replied.
The rest of the afternoon was spent at Gabby’s sign language class, where she announced she would be starting a beginner class soon – for Patty and myself, but also Michelle, Nadia’s sister, who had expressed interest in learning the language.
I headed home not too long after that… What a strange day – becoming a drone, then an internet celebrity? What was next, heading to space?