“First things first: New Uniforms!”
Cordelia snorted in derision. Buffy smiled, no matter the situation thought the Slayer, you could always count on Queen C tohave an opinion about fashion.
Ms. Jenni continued with her declaration.
“These uniforms are the only outfits you’ll be allowed to wear while on school premises. This rule is absolute—violation will bring swift and proper punishment.” Ms. Jenni took a deep breath and slowly caressed the side of her podium. “Keep in mind this is all for your own good. Your old lives are finished. There will be no going back. These uniforms are the symbols of your new lives and will display it accordingly.”
“Fuck you”growled Buffy through gritted teeth.
Ms. Jenni smiled, a wide shark-ish smile,dripping with poisonous superiority. “So let us begin by casting off those old lives!” She gave a tart laugh and snapped her fingers.
The collar around Buffy’s neck started to vibrate, a gentle humming at first, but the Slayer could feel it growing in intensity. ‘Ah Jesus’ thought Buffy. There was a rising murmur of voices around her; Buffy could see that what she was feeling with her collar, everyone else was as well. Willow was holding tight onto Tara’s hand; her mom had her arms wrapped around Dawn; Anya looked annoyed and Cordelia was trying to keep that girl she had arrived with--‘Fred?’—calm. Suddenly Buffy’s collar became freezing cold against her skin; as if a witch had snapped her fingers and transmogrified the collar to a ring of solid ice. A shiver cascaded through her body from the neck down. Instinctively Buffy reached for the collar—
But instead gripped the front of her shirt and with a sharp pull, ripped it right off her body.
Buffy couldn’t believe what she just did. She watched her own hand toss the tattered remains of the shirt thoughtlessly to the ground. Buffy knew right away what it meant. ‘Oh No!’ It wasn’t her hand—it was hers’, but she wasn’t the one driving. The collar wasn’t just some shock collar! It had taken control of her body; had turned her own body against her. As if to confirm this, the traitor hand re-attacked, along with its sister. They made short work of her bra, yanked down her pants and ripped off her panties. In no time Buffy was completely naked—save for the wretched collar—standing in a pile of her own ruined clothing. And she wasn’t alone.
All around her, Buffy’s’ fellow captives had their bodies hijacked by the collars: Cordelia, Willow, Tara, Anya, Fred, her sister Dawn, her mother, the two British women she spied on earlier, everyone was ripping off their clothing. The entire auditorium became a furious symphony of tearing fabric.
It was then, in the midst of all that, that Buffy realized no one was making a sound. She saw the fear in the eyes around her, fear that she knew existed in her own eyes. But there weren’t any protesting, sounds of defiance (not even from Faith) or just hard breathing. It was all very mechanical and Buffy remembered that she herself hadn’t made a noise. Had she already been trained by the collar? Or was this wicked jewelry controlling that as well?
Than it was over and Buffy and her fellow captives were left there standing in the remains of their clothing as naked as the day they were born. A deathly stunned silence had fallen over everything. It was broken by the voice of Ms. Jenni who made one simple request.
“Look to your right ladies.”
And they did. A seam of light appeared in the right wall of the auditorium. It was door. It promptly opened, sliding apart like the bay doors on an airplane hangar. A second auditorium sized room was revealed, at the center of which was immense burning pyre.
“Gather the remains of your old lives off the floor ladies” commanded Ms. Jennie, “you will each toss that garbage into the fire and then collect your new uniforms. Your new selves.”
Each one of them did as they were told; they stooped down, gathered up as much of they could of their shredded outfits and trudged towards the fire. Once again Buffy observed no one made a sound;they simply did as they were told and as before it was all very mechanical. They all sort of ‘drifted’ into a line and made their way to the fire, one after the other tossing what Ms. Jenni called ‘the remains of their old lives’ into the fire. No one resisted the slightest—
Not that she was any different Buffy mentally scolded herself as she dumped what was left of her own outfit into the hungry flames of the fire. Buffy wanted to fight. She really did. And she had no doubt that there were others around her felt the same way. Yet she stayed her hand. There were too many things that could go wrong, especially with Dawn and her Mom here. There was also too much she didn’t know—like the collars. They were not only tools of punishment,but of control as well. What was their full strength? They worked her body like a puppet, but her mind had remained her own. Or had it? Too many questions Buffy thought; it all left her feeling boxed in.
Buffy realized that despite the size and fury of the bonfire, she felt no warmth coming from it. Standing right next to it and all Buffy could feel was cold.
Pass the fire there was a long buffet style table that was stacked with neatly, folded and ordered rows of what the Slayer bitterly assumed were their new uniforms: their‘New Selves.”
Buffy made her approach.