You wake up to a strange pressure emanating from your chest. A groggy glance at your alarm shows you’re up early, but not by much. You idly move a hand to correct whatever is causing this pressure, and your blood runs cold when you bump into something far too soon, and you feel it on both ends.
Looking down, your breasts have ballooned! How could this have happened?! Worse yet, your shirt is soaked and it stinks of milk! You shake off the lethargy and heave yourself upright. As you fully awaken, the pressure coming from your tits graduates into outright pain, forcing you to peel off your shirt just for some relief.
You curse as your breasts begin to leak freely onto the floor. Snagging your cell phone and galloping to the kitchen sink, you use one hand to dial your workplace while you knead milk out with the other.
“Employee. ID is 7-5-4-5. Emergency time off.” As you waded through the automated call-handler, your adrenaline further spiked upon realizing your coat was no longer the brown you’d chosen, but it was black and white instead. You shake it off, you need to finish the process. “Calling in sick today. Gene mod has had an adverse reaction and I’m going to a clinic to get it diagnosed.”
“Thank you for notifying us of your emergency. As a reminder, please provide evidence of the emergency to retain paid time off days.”
Good enough. Your right tit seems to have stopped leaking, though it’s clearly still full of milk. You dial up the New You parlor nearest to your home, then switch hands to start working the left.
Thankfully, there was a human at the other end. She sounded tired, but it’d help a lot more than trying to explain to a bot. “Hello? This is New You.”
“Hello. I have an emergency related to a Future Farms modpack your parlor provided, and I need to figure out what happened so it doesn’t keep happening.”
There was a pause on the other end. “That, uh, sounds above my paygrade. Do you mind if I put you on hold so I can figure out where I should send your call?”
“Yes, sure, but I need this fixed today.”
Switching the phone to hands free, you focus on removing what you can in earnest. This was nothing like getting your udder milked. Maybe it was the stress of the situation or your lack of technique, but this was more like pressure relief that was hurting your nipples.
A minute or so later, she reconnects. “Can you explain the nature of your emergency?”
“Yes. I got the Future Farms modpack done in your parlor last Friday, and everything turned out fine. When I woke up this morning, I learned my breasts had grown and started lactating. Also, my fur is no longer the color I selected.” You shuffle in place. “I can’t sit in my room all day, I need to use a relief station and if I’m already down there, I might as well head to your shop until I get answers.”
“Understood. I’ll forward this to the right people and tell them where you can be found. We’ll have a room ready.”
“Okay, bye.” With that done, you end the call. Looking at the massive orbs on your chest, you know that all of your normal shirts won’t fit. Thankfully, you did buy a baggy sweatshirt which still managed to fit. With your immediate needs met, you venture into the elevator.
As you approach the relief station, you’re met with an unfamiliar klaxon. Confused, you step back, then step forward onto the mat for the alarm bells to go off once more. You feel your face grow hot under your fur as people start to turn and look more than usual, then you feel a chill as you realize the problem. The door uses genetic ID, and these changes your body went through last night meant you were no longer on the list.
Almost as if your udder could read your mind, you feel a pang of pressure that told you it was definitely ready to be milked. You turn, then start walking down the street to get to the clinic.
That was the longest 20 minutes of walking in your life. You wanted to run, but your at-capacity udder was getting bumped with each step and you didn’t want to draw more attention to your already-outrageous ensemble. Thankfully, you made it.
The woman at the front desk perked up at your entry. “Ah, you’re the, uh, emergency, correct?” You nod. “Please, follow me.” As she gets up and opens the operation area’s doors, she continues. “There will be a few representatives coming to speak with you in an hour. I’ll need to man the front desk, but we have the doctor who applied your modpack available to give you an update on the situation. Is there anything we can do to help in the meantime?”
“I need to be milked. The relief station didn’t recognize my modified body.”
She flinched. “Ah, hmm. Yes, I’ll ask around and see if there’s anything we can do.”
After leaving you in the room, a familiar face walks in. He seems to relax upon seeing you. “Oh, thank god. You still look stable.”
“You recognize me?”
“Of course I recognize my own work. Painting it a different color and slapping some tits on it won’t hide my bodywork. So, I’ve heard whispers about what probably caused this, but just to make sure you didn’t get greedy after a measly 4 days, you didn’t opt for any additional genework done during your instability period, correct?”
“Of course not!”
“Yeah, not a soul alive would believe you’d risk your life to change stuff this minor, this early. You said this happened overnight, right?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s get to the meat and bones of it. There was an automatic update pushed from Future Farms last night. Even microscopic modifications can cascade this early, which is why New You tags every unstable ID to ensure updates are ignored. According to all of our systems, you’re flagged as unstable and shouldn’t have received an update. According to their database, you’re correctly flagged as well.”
“Then how did it happen?”
He shook his head. “So, both databases use encryption to make sure identifying data can’t be accessed as easily by hackers. Each user has a unique encryption key. The guy who made the automatic updater decided to not decrypt before searching IDs, which has worked so far because they never had a duplicate entry where one was unstable. Unfortunately, you’re the first person to have a duplicate entry, which was what caught this bug.”
You couldn’t believe it. All of this was caused by some automatic update and an incompetent programmer? “What the hell do I do, then?”
“Well, I have some good news, some bad news, and some worse news. Which do you want first?”
“Just give them all.”
“The good news is that, once this is all over, you’re going to end up pretty well off regardless of what you choose to do. I guarantee the bean counters in corporate are going to refund your modpack and make the reversion or reversal session free as well. You basically have Future Farms by the balls since their negligence could’ve easily cost you your life. As long as your pricetag isn’t too outrageous, they’ll be forced to settle or have the court rule in your favor.”
The door opened, revealing the lady again. “Hello, we found a portable milker in storage. Should I bring it over?”
Before you could respond, the doctor spoke up. “Yes, get it fast. She looks a little over capacity.” After the door closed, he continues, “That’s another bit of good news. Now, for the bad news." He takes a quick breath. “Instability is no joke, and making changes while unstable increases the delay before they become stable once more. We’ll need to do some bloodwork to determine how much more time you’ll need to remain as-is.”
“That’s not so bad.”
“It becomes bad due to the worse news. Your wetware is necessary to ensure you remain healthy despite changes to your various bodily functions, but it’s going to run a post-update verification phase tonight, and we have no idea what it will determine your breasts are, or how it will attempt to correct them. Best case, it fixes itself. Worst case? It's best you don't think about it.”
“Wait, you’re telling me I’m going to go through something like this again, tonight?!”
“Yes, and there’s nothing we can do about it since the process is entirely self-contained. Well, we can fry ‘em, but you’d almost certainly die due to your suppressed immune system losing their support. Thankfully, it’s only going to happen once because it’s only triggered by applying an update.”
With that, the clerk enters with a relatively small machine. It’s little more than a motor, 4 tubes, and a canister. “This should work fine, but it’s going to be slower than usual.”
You nod. “That’ll be fine.”
The doctor deftly hooked you up since there was no way you could reach your own udder. Turning it on, you’re shocked by how weak the pull feels. You barely feel your udder losing milk at all. After a few minutes, the doctor spoke up. “Well, that’s about all I’ve got. Do you have any questions, or are you willing to wait for the reps?”
“How long should I let this run? I don’t think that canister is big enough.”
“Oh, right.” He turns off the machine and unhooks you. “Can you go over there? I’ll have it go into the drain. As to how long, this piddling thing will probably still be running by the time they get here." With nothing left to contribute, he nods and excuses himself from the room.