Spacesuit, Vol. 6: A Woman Scorned

[tirepanted3]

The morning dawned bright and early, and Bridget dawned with it. She was at the office before nine o'clock.

"Good morning, Mrs. Drake," she smiled at her editor.

"Hello, Bridget," Mrs. Drake responded. "Great work on that banking exposé. I'm amazed at how you manage to get so many good stories."

Bridget shrugged as she sat down at her desk. "Good old-fashioned shoe-leather reporting, I suppose. Nothing beats some classic investigative work."

Her boss nodded. "That's what I always tell people who ask for advice in journalism. Twenty years ago, I was something of an ace journalist myself. But you're one of a kind, Bridget. It takes some real talent to get the stories that you do."

Bridget smiled again as she turned on her computer. "Thanks, boss."

In fact, Mrs. Drake was closer to the truth than she knew. Bridget did have special talents, including an intelligence and resourcefulness that went beyond what the job entailed. But she also had other, more unorthodox talents, including her finely-honed skills of disguise, as well as the extralegal means by which she usually obtained the appropriate uniforms.

Bridget shuddered slightly as she recalled her recent encounter with Dr. Chen at Chrysalis Hall. The villainous woman had tried forcing Bridget to expose her trade secrets to her journalistic colleagues. Fortunately, that plan had failed, and Bridget had walked away with a trophy presented by her colleagues - that is, following a mix-up with Chloe and Robyn Cleary.

Bridget thought about the Cleary sisters again as she scanned her emails. The tickets to the Gosford ballet sounded tempting... but she had plans to work all day and into the night. It was hardly an ideal time for an extravagant show. But she recalled Chloe Cleary mention that she was a great ballet fan, and had been trying for weeks to earn tickets.

On a whim, Bridget decided to email Chloe and ask if she and her sister would be interested in some last-minute tickets.

Then, over the next few hours, Bridget worked steadily, typing up stories, researching sources, and double-checking her data. Although the fieldwork - the detective work and infiltrations - were her favorite part of the job, there was something refreshing and liberating about simply sitting at her desk and typing up a story.

It was just past noon when Bridget heard a voice behind her. "Hey."

She looked up to see Felicia standing over her desk.

"Hi!" She smiled at the young redhead. "What brings you here today?"

"Oh... just wanted to talk," Felicia responded, though her eyes seemed to lack their usual playful glow.

Bridget noticed. "Honey, is something wrong?"

Felicia sighed. "There is... I think there is." She looked around. "Can we talk... someplace private? There's something I need to tell you."

A concerned look crossed Bridget's face. "Of course. You can tell me anything."

She stood up from her desk. "Listen... why don't we grab some lunch and then meet in one of the private conference rooms? You can tell me what's on your mind there."

Felicia nodded. "Okay..."

**********************

Chandra tapped her foot impatiently as she stood waiting outside the gas station. This was getting ridiculous.

She wasn't asking for much. All she wanted was for a vehicle to pull up to the station for refueling, preferably with a woman at the wheel. A woman whose clothes did not naturally smell like gasoline. Was that so difficult?

But hardly any cars passed through this area - and even when they did, the drivers were usually men. So far, not a single patron at the station had been a woman.

Chandra checked her watch anxiously, then forced herself to keep calm. She was stressed, understandably, about Sonja's abduction. It had been several hours now, and she was still stranded in the middle of nowhere. But she had used the time wisely - resting, rejuvenating, and charting a course to the city. The city where - perhaps - she would find some help.

A cloud of dust appeared in the distance. Chandra squinted. A red pickup truck was cruising down the road, sputtering slightly from its hood. At the wheel was a woman who looked to be on the tall side. And she appeared to be in need of gas.

Chandra exhaled in relief. "Finally."

She put on her most professional smile as the pickup truck pulled up in front of the station.

The driver, a light-skinned woman with golden-brown hair and a dark brown cowgirl hat, rolled down the window. "Howdy," she smiled, a Southern twang in her voice. "So glad I found a fuel station out here. Think you can fill me up?"

Chandra's grin showed most of her teeth. "It would be my pleasure."

She was speculating over her next move when the driver made her choice easier. "You got a bathroom around here? I've been driving for hours."

Chandra nodded, and pointed a thumb behind her. "Just back there. You take care of business, I'll fill up your tank."

"Much obliged, ma'am." The woman opened the door and stepped out of the truck. Chandra checked her over. In addition to the hat, the brunette wore a brown woolen jacket over a plaid button-down shirt, blue denim jeans, and brown knee-high, low-heeled leather boots. And indeed, she appeared to be about the proper size.

Chandra watched the woman step past her and head to the rear of the station where the restrooms were.

The woman opened the door to the ladies' restroom and stepped inside. The room was small and not particularly clean, but it had the necessary accommodations. There were two bathroom stalls, though one appeared to be in use.

After washing up, however, the cowgirl frowned. It sounded like muted voices - some sort of moaning - was coming from the occupied stall.

She approached the stall and knocked on the door. "Everything okay in there?" To her surprise, the door swung open.

And to her greater surprise, the woman occupying the stall did not seem to be there willingly. She was stripped to her underwear, gagged and duct-taped to the toilet seat.

"For pity's sake," the woman gasped. "What happened to you, girl?"

"I can tell you that."

The woman whirled to see Chandra standing in the restroom entranceway, holding a roll of duct tape.

"Or better yet," Chandra continued as she tore off a long strip of the tape, "I can show you."

It wasn't much of a fight. Pretty soon Chandra was strolling out of the restroom, dressed in newly acquired garb, from her hat to her boots.

The real cowgirl sat on the toilet of the second bathroom stall, a confused expression on her face. She was stripped to her faded green T-shirt bra and matching hipsters, and secured to the toilet with liberal amounts of duct tape, with some leftover adhesive covering her mouth.

Chandra finished refueling the pickup truck and climbed inside. To her satisfaction, the truck came equipped with radio and GPS. She would be back at the city in no time.

Chandra started the engine and pulled the truck back onto the road, leaving the smell of gasoline behind. She was back in business.

**********************

Zuhal stirred, slowly, as consciousness returned to her.

It took only a few moments for her to realize her new situation. She was in some dimly lit warehouse, tied to a chair. The sounds and smells around her suggested she was near the beach.

"Ah, good. You're finally awake."

Zuhal looked around, and her eyes fell on the woman standing in the corner. At least, she sounded like a woman, though it was difficult to ascertain beneath the beekeeper's uniform and hat.

The woman approached Zuhal, who pulled against her bonds. "So good to see you again, dear friend."

Zuhal glared at her. "You have a funny way of treating friends... whoever you are."

"You don't recognize me? I'm offended." The woman's voice dripped with mockery. "Perhaps this will help."

She reached up and removed her hat, letting her long dark hair spill around her tan-skinned face. "How's this? Recognize me now?"

Zuhal's face went pale. "...Sabira?"

"Bingo," Sabira grinned, stepping closer to her captive. "Your old coworker, your partner in crime. Boy, those were the days, huh?"

"Not really," Zuhal deadpanned. "What's going on? Did you really miss me so much that you had to kidnap me?"

Sabira chuckled. "Funny girl. I guess you're trying to warm me over with your humor." Her face turned serious. "Well, it won't work, you traitor."

"Traitor?" Zuhal blinked. "Them's fighting words."

"Don't be cute," Sabira snarled. "You turned against us. You helped that Baxter bitch and her friends. It's because of you that Karima's in jail. I was nearly arrested myself, but I managed to escape before the police arrived."

She glanced out the window. "I've been on the run for weeks... No friends, no one to turn to. Karima's gone, and I'm stuck."

"How sad for you," Zuhal replied, without sounding all that sad. "So I suppose you want me to... what? Help you break Karima out of prison?"

"Nothing so dramatic," Sabira said, turning back to her captive. "Karima's locked away in maximum security, and I have no fantasies about setting her free. It would be virtually impossible, after all."

"So what do you want?" Zuhal was growing wary.

"I want Bridget Baxter dead," Sabira responded. "I'm going to kill her. And you're going to help me."

Zuhal laughed. "I'm past that part of my life, Sabira. Bridget's actually not a bad woman, once you get to know her."

"She ruined my life," Sabira said coldly. "So it's only fair that I end hers." She strolled over to the table. "I just need you to give me some information about her. About her job, her schedule, her personal life. Any information you may know that I can use."

"And why would I tell you any of that?" Zuhal asked.

Sabira placed the beekeeper's hat back on her head, letting the netting fall over her face. She hoisted a glass jar in her hands and approached Zuhal.

As she grew near, Zuhal could see that the jar was filled with over three dozen bumblebees. The steady buzz emanating from the insects was enough to send a chill down her spine.

"Because if you don't," Sabira said slowly, "I will open this jar, and let nature run its course."

Zuhal gulped.

"I'll be protected from any unwanted bites or stings by this uniform," Sabira continued. "But you, dear... That'll be a different story. As I recall from one of our old conversations, you're allergic to bee stings, aren't you? Perhaps one or two won't do much... but a dozen or more... I expect you'll die slowly, and very... very painfully."

Though Sabira's face was hidden by netting, Zuhal could see the icy cruel glint in her eye. This was not an idle threat.

She started to speak. "I can give you her home address... and the address of her workplace... but that's about it."

"That will suffice." Sabira placed the jar on a side table, perching it precariously on the edge. The she took out a pen and paper. "Speak quickly, though. That jar is liable to fall and shatter at any moment... I expect the little bees inside will be quite angry if that happens."

Zuhal couldn't help herself. She rattled off the address info and directions to a sneering Sabira.

Once finished, Zuhal hung her head in shame.

"You've done a great job," Sabira smiled. She pushed the jar away from the table's edge.

Zuhal felt herself growing calmer, until she heard Sabira's next chuckling words. "Unfortunately, you still have to die."

Without warning, she grabbed Zuhal by the hair, pulled out a hypodermic needle, and injected it into the side of her captive's neck.

Zuhal felt the strange liquid pulse through her body. She froze, and then her mind began to loosen. Her arms and legs slumped, her head lolled to one side.

"What..." She tried to speak. "What did you just... do to me..."

"Just a harmless paralytic agent," Sabira explained. "It freezes all your muscles and speaking abilities. It should wear off in about twelve hours."

Then she held up a black metallic device, about the size of a phone book.

Zuhal recognized it - a bomb!

"Unfortunately for you," Sabira continued, sliding the explosive device beneath Zuhal's chair, "this little contraption is set to go off in about ten hours."

She stood up and smiled at Zuhal, who by now had lost all motor functions in her arms and legs. "You have the rest of the day to make peace with yourself, and all the poor decisions in your life. Then, when the clock strikes ten - BOOM! It all goes out with a bang."

"Sabira... pl... please..." Zuhal's speech functions were slurring as well.

"Sorry, Zuhal, no time to chat. I have to go kill Bridget now," Sabira said coolly. "Goodbye... forever."

She turned and exited the warehouse, her cold laughter echoing in Zuhal's ears.

As the sounds of an engine faded into the distance, Zuhal sat motionless. All grew silent, save for the hum of the bomb beneath her chair, the buzzing of bees on the table, and and the slow ticking of the clock on the wall.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, Zuhal was truly afraid.

******************

It had been a busy and chaotic few weeks, to be certain.

Over the brief period, Prema had had her life threatened multiple times. She had been kidnapped on several occasions. She had gotten her clothes stolen and been tied up. She had attacked other women, stolen their clothes, and tied them up - a practice she was still uneasy about, even as more and more women were learning to embrace it.

But at last, things were looking up. Prema had a steady job and a relatively quiet few days. According to news reports, Meredith and Lucinda, who had tried on multiple occasions to kill her, had at last been captured and arrested. And she now was - potentially - in love.

So when Moira texted her with the opportunity to attend a ballet show at the Gosford theater, Prema felt a sense of joy she had not felt in a long while. She had been a lifelong fan of the ballet, after all - it was thrilling and romantic, particularly if she could share it with a woman she now felt rather attracted to.

At lunch break, she gave Moira a call.

"Hello?" Moira picked up on the third ring.

"Hello, Moira," Prema smiled. "I got your invite for the ballet. I need to move some things around my schedule, but... yes, I'd be happy to go with you."

"Great!" Moira sounded elated. "I can pick you up at eight o'clock tonight. Wear something fancy, it's a pretty posh establishment."

"I should have something in my closet," Prema responded. "This is so exciting. I used to love going to the ballet, but tickets have become so expensive... I haven't been able to go in years..."

She paused for a moment. There was a sound in the background on Moira's end. It sounded like a woman's voice, loud yet muffled.

"Moira," she asked. "What's that noise?"

There was a pause. "Nothing," Moira replied. "I must have left the TV on."

Prema sighed. "Moira," she said with a note of exasperation, "are you currently mugging another woman for her clothes?"

"Of course not," Moira replied. "How could I do that, particularly while on the phone with you? That's ridiculous."

Prema was silent for a moment. The muffled sounds continued.

"So, I'll pick you up at eight?" Moira asked cautiously.

"...Yes," Prema replied. "Eight o'clock. See you then."

She hung up the phone.

It had been good to hear Moira's voice, and it would be great to meet her at the ballet. But Prema now felt a bit uncomfortable.

"Just get used to it, girl," she murmured to herself. "This is just how the world is now."

*******************

Moira had been telling the truth to Prema - sort of. She had not been mugging another woman during the phone call.

In truth, she had mugged the woman before the phone call, and had been in the process of tying her up when Prema rang.

The woman in question was a maid at the hotel where Moira had been working undercover. Though her concierge disguise had provided her with access to Mr. Cambron's card, Moira decided to err on the side of caution and search his room for some condemning evidence. Thus, she had lured the maid into one of the linen closets, then used some chloroform to relieve her of duty for the day.

The maid, a tan-skinned Latina with a bun of dark brown hair, now sat on the floor of the linen closet, stripped to her lavender bikini bra and matching tanga panties. Moira had used strips of linen to bind her, while a smaller strip of linen had been used as a gag.

Moira had already dressed in the woman's light blue short-sleeve uniform and comfortable white shoes. She slipped her phone into one of the uniform's pockets.

The maid, stirred awake by the sounds of the phone call, moaned into her gag, struggling to get free. Moira reached down and stroked her hair.

"I'm sorry about this, dear... and I know I might seem callous in taking a phone call while tying you up... but I promise, this call was from a very special woman."

The maid drooped her head and sobbed. Moira felt a sting of guilt, and knelt down beside her.

"Hey... hey, listen to me. Don't feel sorry for yourself. You're not the only woman I've mugged at this hotel. Just try to relax... Someone will find you before long."

She wasn't usually so personal with the women she mugged, but speaking to Prema had reminded her that a lot of women were still uncomfortable by the prospect of uniform stealing, and a bit of sympathy couldn't hurt.

"Are you cold?" Moira asked. "Would you like a pillow or something? I promise, my intention was never to hurt you. I just needed your clothes for work-related reasons."

The maid didn't respond, but she looked quite sad. Moira took a blanket from one of the shelves and covered her with it, preserving her warmth and modesty.

She kissed the maid on the forehead. "Thank you... and I really do apologize."

She exited the closet, shut the door, and began pushing the maid's cart down the hall.

She knew the maid would probably stay tied up in that closet for several hours. And she knew how Prema was no fan of mugging innocent women for their clothes. But perhaps a polite and courteous demeanor had helped soothed some of the poor maid's fears.

********************

Bridget took a sip from her thermos and smiled at Felicia.

"So, honey... tell me what's on your mind."

Felicia fiddled with the cup of coffee that Bridget had poured for her, trying to think of the right words.

"Bridget," she began, "you now I love the work you do. The work that we've done, together, these past few years."

Bridget nodded.

"And I've had fun... lots of it," Felicia continued. "Investigative reporting, going undercover, wearing disguises and sneaking into restricted areas... It's all been thrilling, and of course it's given us a lot of opportunities to expose the corrupt and bring stories to light that would otherwise be ignored."

She paused for what seemed like an eternity. "But... I don't think I can do this anymore."

Though she had been braced for a "but," Bridget still looked surprised. "Felicia... what do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," Felicia said. "All these infiltrations - mugging women, tying them up, stealing their clothes. When I was younger, it was thrilling, but the longer it goes on... the less I like it."

She stared down at her coffee cup. "I'm a grown woman, Bridget," she continued. "At some point, I want to settle down with my life... Find a husband, raise a family. But I can't keep doing that if I keep putting my life in danger with these infiltrations, and I can't be a good family woman if I spend my time judo-chopping innocent women and tying them up in their underwear."

"There's no reason you can't do both," Bridget interjected. "I'm sure there are plenty of married women whose jobs require them to engage in infiltrative tactics."

"But that's not me," Felicia replied. "What we do, Bridget... it comes at a cost. The women we mug don't just lose their clothes - they lose their sense of normality. They're just tied up in their underwear, and abandoned for hours... while we just put on their clothes and go on our merry way." She looked up at Bridget. "Don't you feel sorry for them?"

"I do," Bridget said. "But I don't try to hurt these women intentionally. Like the saying goes, it's not personal... it's just business."

Felicia visibly winced.

Bridget set down her thermos. "Is this... about Bobbi?"

Felicia hesitated, then gave a nod. "That's part of it. Bobbi has... changed in recent weeks. She's become cold... callous. She enjoys mugging women for their uniforms and feeling superior to them. I've tried confronting her about it, but... she just won't listen."

She drew a breath. "I'm the one who introduced Bobbi to this world of infiltration and disguise in the first place... and I can't help feeling responsible for how she's changed."

"That's not your fault," Bridget argued. "Bobbi's an adult woman. She makes her own choices. You can't help that."

"But I could have," Felicia responded. "Life was much simpler before we started all these uniform stealing tactics. If I keep it up, I don't know what'll happen. If Bobbi can become the way she is, what's to stop me from becoming the same? Hell, maybe I already am the same..."

"Felicia..." Bridget began.

"Don't try to talk me out of this," Felicia continued. "I've made up my mind. I want a normal life, and that means no more infiltrations. No more attacking innocent women so I can play dress-up."

Bridget stayed silent for several long moments. Then she nodded.

"I understand, Felicia. I wish you'd reconsider... but I respect your decisions."

"Thanks... I knew you would." Felicia stood up and held out her hand to Bridget. "Thank you, Bridget... for everything. You really showed me the unlimited impact that we as women can have in the world."

Bridget shook her hand. "That's all I've ever wanted to do... Make an impact."

Felicia smiled at her friend. "I'll see you around."

"I'm sure you will," Bridget replied. "Goodbye, and good luck."

Felicia exited the room, leaving Bridget quietly rotating her thermos.

She was not shocked by this decision - Felicia's growing distaste with their line of work had become apparent in recent weeks - but it was still a lot to take in. And she would need some time to absorb it.

*******************

After a few hours of long and barren dirt roads, Chandra reached the city. The pickup truck sputtered over the bridge, only a bit worse for the wear.

Chandra was appreciative of the vehicle for getting her back on track, but she knew that it would not be the ideal transport to traverse the city. Besides, its bright red color would make it stand out among the crowd, and Chandra wanted to maintain a low profile.

She found a space on a quiet side road and pulled over, scanning the area for other opportunities.

Her eye fell upon a gleaming black-and-silver motorcycle leaning against a nearby post. One of the newer models, the type that moved fast without making too much noise. Chandra smiled.

Her smile broadened when she saw the cycle's owner exit a nearby pawn shop and approach the bike. The motorcyclist was a woman in her early thirties, with a dark grey leather jacket and matching pants, silver boots, and a black helmet tucked under one arm. She had light skin and hair that was dyed a lime shade of green, close-cut on the left side and shoulder-length on the right.

The woman knelt down beside her bike and began fiddling with the lock. Chandra stepped out of the pickup truck and made her approach.

"Nice bike," she commented.

The woman looked up at her and smiled. "Thanks... It's expensive, but it gets me where I need to go."

"I'll bet," Chandra replied. She tilted her head and a look of concern crossed her face. "Only... you may want to get that rear wheel checked out. It looks kind of low."

The cyclist glanced at the wheel, a look of confusion on her face. "It looks fine to me."

"I've seen that sort of thing before," Chandra continued. "Worked on a lot of motorbikes in my shop. The chassis is too low and the suspension is off-base. Could be dangerous at high speeds."

Chandra did not actually know anything about motorcycle repair, and wasn't sure the uniform she currently wore was convincing as a mechanic's garb. But she had often learned that the tone and manner of saying words could often carry more weight than the words themselves.

The green-haired woman now looked concerned. "Are you sure? I took it to my mechanic last week, he said it was fine..."

"I'm sure he did," Chandra continued. "A lot of these mechanics try to take advantage of customers, especially young women. But you seem like a fine girl... I can give you a quick inspection, free of charge."

The cyclist looked surprised. "Really?"

"Of course," Chandra smiled. "You deserve better than what other mechanics give you." She pointed to a nearby alley. "My garage is behind those buildings. We can fetch some new parts there. Won't take more than a few minutes."

"Wow, thanks," the cyclist smiled. She stood up and followed Chandra toward the alley.

Chandra's plan was working so easily that she almost felt sorry for the woman. But now was not the time to distract herself with emotion. She suppressed a grin as they stepped down the alley.

The cyclist frowned as they reached the end of the dimly lit alleyway. "I don't see a garage entrance... This looks like a dead end."

Chandra chuckled. "I was wondering when you would catch on."

The cyclist noticed the gleam in Chandra's eye. She started to back away in concern, then turned to run.

Chandra's fingers quickly seized the collar of the woman's leather jacket, pulling her backwards and off-balance. "What's your hurry, darling?" she cooed. "Don't you want an inspection?"

Before the cyclist could voice her protest, Chandra had begun her "inspection" with some thick knuckles against the woman's skull. A few more raps and punches, and the cyclist was down for the count.

Chandra then proceeded to "inspect" the girl's clothes, removing them from her unconscious figure before donning them herself.

The cyclist looked quite lovely in her crimson sports bra and checkered blue hiphuggers, and her figure was accentuated by an artistic snake tattoo that coiled up and around her upper left leg. The woman had style, even when she didn't have clothes.

Sonja would have loved this woman's underwear. The thought of her friend made Chandra's lip tremble in fear, but she steeled herself once again.

Chandra dragged the cyclist over to a nearby dumpster, using baling twine to secure her and an old cloth to silence her. She considered dropping the woman into the dumpster, but after a second thought, decided to simply stash her behind it.

"Maybe I'm getting soft," she chuckled to herself, returning to the alleyway entrance.

Chandra hopped aboard the motorcycle, donning the helmet and gunning the engine. The vehicle roared to life, and she was quickly speeding down the block.

Now to start searching. It was a big city, but she knew she could find Bridget before long.

********************

Following their meeting at Ms. Caldwell's mansion, Evelyn and Harper had wanted to begin their planning for the Gosford mission right away. However, Jenna had mentioned the need to run a few errands before the night, and asked them to discuss plans without her.

Harper had given her a strange look, but had said nothing. Which had been fortunate, as she would probably have mocked Jenna endlessly had she known where the young woman was going.

Jenna walked up to the large, stately building of City Hall. This was the mayor's office, the central conduit of the city and the place where all the most important issues were brought to the table. Jenna had interned at the building years ago, during her freshman year of college - it was the job that had first gotten her interested in politics, and given her the inspiration to make a difference in the world. To this day, she remained politically active and determined to get more women involved in higher office - she had donated to plenty of female candidates over the years, including in the most recent mayor's race.

The current mayor, however, was a man, and Jenna knew that he probably wouldn't be interested in hearing about her issue. Nevertheless, she was strong-willed and determined, and a sense of confidence washed over her as she walked up the large marble steps of the building.

The guard at the front desk was reading a newspaper. He looked up to see the professionally-dressed woman approached.

"Good afternoon," Jenna said. "I'd like to speak with the mayor, please." She had learned over the years to be assertive in her conversations and get straight to the point.

"Do you have an appointment?" the man asked.

"Not officially," Jenna replied. "But I have to discuss an issue of utmost importance."

The man chuckled. "You and everyone else."

Jenna frowned. No matter how often it happened, it always stung when a man laughed at her. "I'm serious," she said. "Over the last few years, there's been an alarming uptick in violent incidents committed against women by other women who intend to steal their clothes and uniforms. It's become widespread here and in several other cities, and it's time the mayor got involved."

The guard was by now ignoring her and had gone back to reading his paper. "Sweetheart, I'm sure you have some important things to talk about, but you need an appointment. That's the rules."

Jenna glared at the guard, but she knew there was no use convincing him. Men were impossible to persuade, especially if they were in positions of authority.

"Whatever," she grumbled, and turned to go.

As she reached the door, she had to step back as it swung open.

"Oh! Excuse me, honey." A woman entered the lobby, carrying two large packages under her arms. "Running a bit late with deliveries."

She quickly stepped past Jenna and approached the front desk. "Hey. I've got the new office equipment the mayor ordered. Where do you want them?"

The guard gestured behind him. "Right down the hall. Just leave it by the storage room door."

"Sure thing." The deliverywoman stepped past the desk and disappeared down the hall.

A minute later, she returned. This time Jenna got a better look at her. She was tall and broad-shouldered, with light skin and chin-length brown hair. She wore a dark brown delivery uniform of short-sleeve shirt and cargo pants, plus short thick brown boots.

"I've got a few more packages in my truck," the woman told the officer. "Will be back in a minute."

"Mm-hm." The guard nodded, but didn't look up from his paper.

Jenna watched as the deliverywoman exited the building again. She could see that the woman was approximately her equal in size.

Immediately, the idea formed in her head. A delivery uniform could be the access key she needed...

Jenna quickly pushed the thought from her mind. She was taking a stand against mugging women for their clothes! She did not want to partake in the practice herself.

And yet...

Jenna sighed. "Screw it," she muttered as she quickly stepped out the door.

The deliverywoman had parked her truck at the loading dock, located behind the building. She returned to it now, humming a jaunty tune, and opened the rear doors. She hoisted herself up and climbed inside, and began rummaging through the packages strewn about the floor.

Quietly, furtively, Jenna crept up on the truck. A glance around the area told her the coast was clear. Then she swiftly climbed up into the rear of the truck, shutting the doors behind her.

The words that followed - both the deliverywoman's confused "Who are you?" and Jenna's hastily mumbled apology in return - were muffled by the truck, as were the sounds of scuffling which followed. The vehicle rocked back and forth ever so slightly as Jenna did her best to subdue the woman as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Ten minutes later, the truck doors opened again. Jenna stepped out, now clad in the delivery uniform and boots. She carried a package under her arm and held a clipboard in her hand.

She allowed herself one last, guilty look at the real deliverywoman. The unconscious brunette lay on the dusty floor of the truck, stripped to her olive green sports bra and black hipsters. She had been bound and gagged with clear brown packing tape that Jenna had located in the van.

"I'm so sorry about this," Jenna said softly. "But if my plan works, you and millions of other women will never have to worry about getting mugged for your clothes again."

She shut the van doors, then headed around to the front of the building.

Jenna held the clipboard in front of her face as she entered the building, pretending to read it while also hoping it would help obscure her identity. The gamble worked - the guard offered her little more than a curt nod as she passed.

She was in! Jenna allowed herself a smile. Even if she had not personally approved of her own tactics, there was little doubt they had worked to her advantage.

She consulted a directory on the wall. The mayor's office was on the third floor. Jenna merely had to slip in, drop off her request, and get out.

However, while the delivery disguise had gotten her past the front desk, it would not be easy for her to wander around the upper floors dressed as she was. She would probably get thrown out of the building if she tried to enter the head office this way.

As Jenna considered her options, she heard footsteps echoing down the hall. Instinctively, she ducked into a nearby supply closet.

The footsteps belonged to another young woman, whose attire suggested she was a secretary. Tall, slender, and fair-skinned, with a blonde hairbun and horn-rimmed glasses. She wore a purple blouse over white cotton shirt, pleated black skirt, and brown kitten heels.

Like the deliverywoman, the secretary was similar to Jenna in height and build. And she was certainly the sort of employee who could wander around the building without fear of suspicion.

Jenna had already hurt one woman in her quest to reach the mayor's office, and did not want to hurt another. However, she had already come this far. There was no turning back now.

As the secretary passed the doorway, Jenna leaned out and clamped a hand over mouth.

"Forgive me," she whispered as she pulled the surprised woman into the closet.

Whether the secretary was in a forgiving mood or not ultimately proved beside the point. A quick and mostly painless neck chop was all it took to render her out of commission.

Jenna was relieved to see that the secretary carried an "all access" keycard in her pocket. That would make moving around the rest of the facility easier. She would still need this woman's clothes, but promised herself that no further disguises would be necessary.

The real secretary, now dressed only in an orange comfort bra and matching bikini briefs, sat unconscious in the corner of the room, wrists and ankles zip-tied and mouth covered with silver tape. Jenna felt sorry for her, though admittedly not as sorry as she did for the deliverywoman.

She works for the mayor's office... surrounded by obnoxious men all day. Even if she gets fired for this, I'm probably doing her a favor...

Jenna pushed the thought from her mind. She knew it wasn't right to speculate on the woman's work life. She just needed the clothes, no need to rationalize beyond that, and certainly no reason to make hurtful generalizations about another woman.

After locking the closet, Jenna headed down the hall to the elevator. A swipe of the keycard allowed her to ascend to the third floor.

It wasn't difficult to locate the mayor's office - it was the room with the heavy oak frame and gold-embossed lettering. The door was ajar; Jenna peeked inside.

The mayor was at his desk, talking away on the phone. His chair was turned away from the door. Jenna slipped inside, manila envelope in hand.

Jenna had been prepping the envelope for several days now. It included multiple newspaper clippings of local stories - stories about women who had been found in closets and storage rooms, tied up and gagged in their underwear. Jenna had also included an "official" letter from the city police department - which she had typed up herself, on documents obtained from the police vehicle she and her friends had hijacked the night before - asking the mayor to deal with the new rise in female clothes thefts.

Jenna approached the pile of papers and envelopes in the mayor's inbox. She was about to slip her own addition into the pile when she noticed the name on the topmost envelope - "Gina Caldwell."

Didn't realize my boss had dealings with City Hall...

Though it made sense, given Caldwell's wealth, influence, and ability to keep her head above water.

Returning to the task at hand, Jenna slipped her envelope in midst of the inbox pile. Then she turned to go.

"Ahem!"

Jenna froze. Slowly, she turned around. The mayor was looking at her, an annoyed frown on his face.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" he asked.

Jenna gulped. "I... I was just..."

"Didn't the other girls teach you about the office?" he asked. "Whenever you come in, you gotta give me a smile!"

Jenna paused in confusion. "A...? Oh, of course."

She smiled, about as good a smile as he could muster.

"Very nice," the mayor nodded. "You're one of the prettier girls we've hired recently. Guess I'll see you around."

Jenna nodded, trying not to cringe. "Yes... sir."

She turned heel and walked out of the office.

"Men," she muttered to herself, giving a brief shudder. "Honestly..."

As she exited the building, her phone buzzed. She answered it as she stepped down the stair.

"Jen, where the hell are you?" Harper's voice did not sound happy. "You said you'd be done your work by five. It's a quarter to six."

"Sorry, sorry... took a bit longer than I thought." Jenna glanced back at the building as she headed for the sidewalk. "Where are you guys? I'll meet up with you."

"We're on our way to the Gosford now. Plan's all set."

Jenna glanced at her watch. "I'm across town. I can be there in an hour."

"Well, we're already behind schedule. Hustle your ass."

*******************

Sabira scouted the block around Bridget Baxter's workplace, confirming it was free of police or security cameras.

Engaged in this task, she wore a grey hooded sweatshirt and dark sunglasses. After all, she was still a wanted woman in connection to Karima.

Sabira sighed as she remembered Karima. Her old boss could have been moody and at times unstable, but the two women had formed a respectful bond over their years of collaboration. But now the team was gone, and Sabira was the only one still standing and ready to preserve its memory.

That was why, above all else, Bridget had to die. Sabira needed to preserve her friend's honor. No one took down Karima and got away with it.

Parked at the corner of the block was a mall green truck. The signage indicated it was the property of a phone tech company.

The truck was empty at the moment, but Sabira could see some work going on inside the adjoining building. There was a female technician working on the phone lines.

Through the foggy windows, Sabira could see that the technician was a light-skinned woman with shoulder-length sandy brown hair, dressed in olive green coveralls, rubber-heeled brown boots, and a black baseball cap. She also appeared to be about the right size, or at least a close approximation.

Sabira checked to make sure no one was watching her. Then she quietly stepped towards the parked truck.

The rear doors, thankfully, were not locked. Sabira quickly slipped inside and shut the door behind her. Then she crouched down between the tools and coils of electrical wiring, and waited.

After about fifteen minutes, the technician returned to her truck, job complete. She opened the rear doors, intent on depositing her tools before driving off.

As she bent down to secure her toolbox, Sabira made her move. She sprang up from her hiding place and quickly closed the gap between herself and her prey.

The technician was startled, and was about to scream, but one of Sabira's hands covered her mouth. The other hand closed the truck door, granting the women some privacy.

The technician started panicking, with muffled cries against Sabira's palm. Sabira quickly put a stop to that by withdrawing a small but sharp knife from her pocket and holding its tip an inch from the woman's neck.

"You seem like a smart woman," she said coolly. "Probably have some kind of degree to work in your field, eh? So I'll offer you a choice... Either hand over your uniform, or we'll see just how far I can stick this knife into your pretty little throat."

The technician stared at Sabira, eyes wide in terror. She was shaking, trying to maintain her composure.

"Tick-tock," Sabira said, a bare hint of menace in her voice.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, the technician reached up to her collar and began unbuttoning her jumpsuit.

"Atta girl," Sabira smiled. "I knew you were smart."

The technician's acquiescence had spared her her life - but not, as soon became clear, her dignity. Beneath her uniform, she wore a lavender triangle bra and matching bikini briefs - both decorated with bright yellow cheerful emojis.

"Don't you look adorable," Sabira mused a few minutes later as she donned the technician's uniform. "Wish Karima was here to chuckle at this."

The technician looked up at her assailant with frightened, pleading eyes. She wanted to speak out, but her mouth was gagged with black electrical tape, and her long limbs bound with thick green cables.

"Just relax," Sabira said, scooping up her equipment and carefully loading it into the technician's toolbox. "Someone will find you in about ten or twelve hours. And unlike some of the less intelligent women who tried to fight me in the past, you'll live to tell the tale."

Affixing the baseball cap over her head, she exited the truck and locked the door, leaving the softly sobbing technician to contemplate her fate.

Then she stepped gingerly toward the newspaper building, a sinister smile on her face.

***********************

Bobbi's brow furrowed. She glanced at her phone for perhaps the tenth time in the last hour.

Why wasn't Zuhal responding?

Bobbi had texted her first thing in the morning to set up their next training date, and Zuhal was usually quite prompt with responses. Yet it was now almost evening, and Zuhal had yet to respond to the text or its three follow-up messages. It wasn't even clear if she had seen them.

Could she be in trouble? It could be nothing, but knowing Zuhal... After all, the woman had made her fair share of enemies, on both sides of the law.

Bobbi started texting Felicia. Perhaps she could help sort out the mess.

Then she stopped herself. No, she did not want Felicia or Bridget to know that she had formed a close bond with Zuhal. Besides, the prior night's events at the lab compound told Bobbi that perhaps her friends needed a bit of space.

She would need to figure it out for herself.

Fortunately, Bridget had taught her all the tricks of phone tracing. She hopped on her computer and got to work. As long as Zuhal's phone was still on battery...

Bingo. She was registering a blip from Zuhal's number. It appeared to be coming from an island harbor, just off the coastland.

Suspicious... why would Zuhal be on a coastal island? She hated swimming, and had not mentioned any special jobs recently.

Bobbi grabbed her coat and headed for the door. She also scooped up her backpack. The pack contained her usual implements when venturing into the unknown - cables, duct tape, and chloroform pads.

It never hurt to be prepared.

*********************

Bridget finished her article, typing out a finely-worded conclusion. She leaned back in her chair and stretched.

Mrs. Drake walked over to her, a large smile on her face. "Still here, Bridget? You really are dedicated."

Bridget smiled back. "Just trying to earn my salary, boss."

Mrs. Drake chuckled. "I remember I was like that at your age... Strong, spirited, willing to do anything to finish a story." She glaced at Bridget's computer screen. "Speaking of which, is it finished?"

"Just about. I just want to go over it again for any errors, and then it'll be on your desk."

"Sounds good... I'm going to get a muffin downstairs. Want anything?"

Bridget politely shook her head. "Not very hungry. But thanks."

Mrs. Drake nodded again. "I understand. Keep up the good work."

She stepped away from Bridget's desk and past rows of other, empty desks. Nearly everyone else had gone home by now.

Needing to stretch her legs, Mrs. Drake passed the elevator and took the stairs down to the first floor.

As she stepped down the quiet hallway, she noticed another woman walking towards her. Dark hair, tanned skin, dressed in green coveralls, boots, and a baseball cap. She appeared to be a technician, carrying a toolbox in one hand.

"Hi," Mrs. Drake smiled at the woman. "Can I help you?"

The woman gave a curt nod as she stepped toward the elevator. "Just heading for the newspaper offices... We got a call that the Internet was down, so I'm here to give it a look."

Mrs. Drake's brow furrowed. "Internet down? It's been working fine all day."

Sabira froze, her finger inches from the elevator button. Shit.

"What's going on here?" Mrs. Drake placed a hand on Sabira's shoulder. "Are you really a technician? I don't..."

In a lightning-swift move, Sabira reached around and grabbed Mrs. Drake's wrist. She twisted as hard as she could.

Mrs. Drake let out a cry of pain, her knees buckling. Sabira quickly smacked a hand over her mouth and shoved her against the wall.

"Stupid bitch... you ask too many questions." Sabira pulled out her knife and held it against Mrs. Drake's neck. "I only came here to kill Bridget... but I guess you'll have to die too."

Mrs. Drake felt the cold steel of the knife against her neck. Her eyes filled with tears. "Nnmmpphhh... plmmmpphhh..."

Sabira let out a throaty chuckle. "Ah, my favorite part... I love when they beg for their lives..."

Thinking instinctively, Mrs. Drake lashed out, striking her fist hard against Sabira's waist. It was a sudden and direct hit. Sabira let out a cry of pain.

"You stupid..." Sabira grabbed Mrs. Drake by the shoulders and whirled her around, slamming her back against a nearby marble desk.

Pain shot up Mrs. Drake's spine. With a groan, she sank to the floor, nearly unconscious.

Sabira raised one of her boots, preparing to stomp down on Mrs. Drake's head. "Nice knowing you, bitch."

But at that moment, the sound of a dinging elevator alerted her. Someone else had descended to the lobby.

Shit shit shit. Sabira had already compromised her cover. She couldn't risk more trouble.

She scooped up the toolbox and headed for the nearest window. "Next time, Baxter," she muttered.

Sabira clambered out the window just in time. She was gone by the moment the elevator doors slid open.

Bridget exited the elevator, glancing around the lobby.

"Mrs. Drake? I changed my mind... maybe I'll join you for a muffin. Mrs. Drake...?"

Bridget turned the corner and gasped.

Her employer lay on the ground next to the lobby desk, her body bruised and motionless.

Bridget forced herself to stay calm as she knelt down and checked for a pulse. Mrs. Drake was alive... but badly hurt.

Bridget did not know what had happened, but she took a deep breath as she whipped out her phone and dialed a quick set of numbers.

"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

"I... I need an ambulance," Bridget stammered out, glancing down again at her boss. "Please, hurry..."

[meditions142]

Wow, what a fun chapter.

I love the comment from Felicia "and I can't be a good family woman if I spend my time judo-chopping innocent women and tying them up in their underwear." Great comment.

I really enjoyed the secretary take out. First off, I have always loved the pop out of the closet, hand gag the victim, drag her in and knock her out type of scene. And the description is great: "A quick and mostly painless neck chop was all it took to render her out of commission."

Thanks for the update to the story.

[esercito sconfitto]

many thanks for posting another installment of this tale, Tirepanted

Right now I am realizing that I didn't comment the last previous part. But this doesn't mean it not impressed me.
As matter of fact, I keep thinking about a single scene of the previous installment and fantasized about it many times

in some regards that scene hit me hard

it was the conversation between Felicia and Ellen ( Dr. Ellen Lawrence ) .
It's a moving scene, you feel a strong emotion and you are forced to face the reality of our trope and its violent and life -changing consequences and the suffering endured by the victims

no wonder if Felicia herself felt defeated and sad beyond description

and it's a well planned scene, really well written

Tirepanted, thanks for continuing the story

[tirepanted3]

Meditions: Thanks. I was hoping that Felicia's comments wouldn't sound too exaggerated - she engages in plenty of uniform thievery, but there's a human element behind it all - so it's good to hear you liked the line. Was trying to strike a balance between peculiar and sympathetic.

Jenna knocking out the secretary is the kind of quick, efficient USB scene meant to show that Jenna, despite her reservations, is more accepting of mugging innocent women than she cares to admit. But important to highlight the neck chop as "mostly painless," as she prefers not to harm her victims beyond necessary.

Esercito: Thank you, and I appreciate the comments on the previous part.

The scene between Felicia and Ellen is an important one, and a defining scene for Felicia's character. I wanted her to really face up to the consequences of her actions, and what better way than to come face to face with a former victim of hers? A difficult scene to write, but one I've been excited to craft for a while.

I also wanted to bring back Ellen for a while, since she was the very first USB victim in the first volume of the "Spacesuit" series, and thus holds a special honor in this saga. After seeing her cameo in Rufusluciusivan's "Protecting One's Lifestyle", I came up with the idea to bring her back in some form and develop her character (since she was not developed much at all in her first appearance). It was also a nice way to contrast Felicia and Bobbi of Volume 1 with where they are now.

[tirepanted3]

The Gosford theater was preparing for a larger audience than usual tonight. The main auditorium would be packed to capacity, as wealthy patrons flocked in for the new rendition of the popular ballet Swan Lake.

The theater was anticipating the large crowd to start filtering in around 8 PM. But employees, from security guards to usherettes to the performers themselves, were all expected to be present and ready at least two hours earlier. The Gosford had a reputation to keep, and wanted to ensure that all was in readiness so the audience would get their money's worth.

Thus it was that the employee parking lot beneath the theater was filled to capacity by 7 PM, and typically deserted, as most of the workers were already upstairs and preparing for the evening ahead. Occasionally, however, an employee or two would sneak down to the parking lot to catch a quick break before the night got too busy. The theater did not have security cameras in the employee wing - they had saved those expenses for the much larger patron parking lot on the next level - so there was little chance of a staff member getting in trouble.

But on this night, there was indeed trouble to be found in the employee parking lot.

********************

Evelyn glanced at her watch. "Seven o'clock," she said. "Where is Jenna?"

"Probably had to catch some protest rally," Harper replied. She was currently in the process of trying to knot the bowtie around her neck. "Damn it, I hate these things... They never stay straight. Do we really need to wear them?"

"If we're going to pose as usherettes," Evelyn replied, "we need to wear the whole uniform, bowtie included. The best disguises are in the details."

Harper sighed. "Sure, sure."

The two women were currently standing in a corner of the underground employee parking lot, putting the finishing touches on their usherette uniforms. The outfit consisted of a red sleeveless woolen vest over crisp white button-down shirt, slim black pants, and comfortable black shoes. And, much to Harper's chagrin, a black bowtie.

"Damn this thing," she grumbled again, trying to fasten the knot. "Looks totally crooked."

"Here, let me help." Evelyn reached over to adjust her partner's bowtie.

At that moment, Jenna came bicycling around the corner. She braked to a stop. "Hi, girls... Sorry I'm late."

"Well, look who finally decided to roll in," Harper said dryly. "Where you been, princess?"

Jenna chose to ignore the wry sarcasm of the comment. "I told you, I had... some errands to run. But I'm here now." She looked closely at her friends' disguises. "Where... where did you get those uniforms?"

"We rented them from a place around the corner," Harper replied. "They charge thirty bucks an hour for these uniforms, but they should do the job."

Jenna smiled. "Good."

"There's a third uniform in the van," Harper continued, pointing at the nearby dark blue vehicle. "Go get dressed so we can get moving."

"Will do." Jenna approached the van and swung open the rear doors.

She gasped.

Lying on the floor of the van were three women, all unconscious. Two of them had been stripped to their underwear - one of them, a fair-skinned girl with shoulder-length red hair, was left in a pink underwire bra and cerulean bikini panties, while the other, a tan-skinned woman with her hair in a black ponytail, had only a grey demi bra and blue hipsters to preserve her modesty. Both these women had been bound with white rubber cords and gagged with blue duct tape.

The third woman, olive-skinned with dark brown chin-length hair, was still clothed, wearing an usherette uniform identical to the ones that Evelyn and Harper now sported. Jenna couldn't help but notice that this woman was just about her size.

From behind her, Harper burst out laughing.

"You should see the look on your face," she said between chuckles. "You really thought I was serious about renting these uniforms? As if we'd actually spend money on disguises when it's so much cheaper to mug employees for their clothes."

Jenna turned and glared at Harper. Though she typically considered herself a friendly individual, she was starting to resent her coworker.

"Is this all a joke to you?" she said with acid in her voice. "Hurting other women... stripping them... tying them up... you enjoy this, don't you?"

Harper crossed her arms, a smug look on her face. "And what if I do? Can't a girl enjoy what she does for a living?"

Jenna stepped toward Harper, fists clenched. "So you think this is a living? You think it's your job to systemically dismantle women's progress in the world?"

"Girl, you need to back the hell up." Harper's voice got serious now. "We've been friends for a while, but I'm not going to let you talk shit about me like..."

"Enough." Evelyn stepped between the two women, holding up her hands. "This is not the time for infighting. We have a job to do, and we're already behind schedule." She tapped her watch for emphasis. "Jenna, get dressed. I know you don't approve of the way we acquire these disguises, but there will be time to discuss that after this assignment is complete."

Jenna almost looked like she was going to argue the point further. But instead, with one last glare at Harper, she relented. "Fine."

Harper smiled again. "Glad we've reached an agreement, your highness."

Evelyn silenced her with a stone-cold look. "I said, enough. Jenna, get dressed."

Jenna resisted any further debate, and instead returned to the van. Wrinkling her nose, she began stripping the third usherette of her uniform.

Soon, the unconscious woman joined her two friends in their state of undress, reduced to an aqua comfort bra and blue-green checkered bikini briefs. Evelyn tied her up and gagged her while Jenna got dressed.

Finally, all was in readiness. Evelyn shut the van doors and locked the vehicle. "All right, ladies, follow me upstairs. The show's about to start."

Harper smilingly followed Evelyn. Jenna lagged behind, taking one last look at the van.

Okay.. that was the last time I'm stealing another woman's uniform.

********************

Moira pulled the car up to Prema's apartment. She parked the vehicle and gingerly stepped out.

She was dressed in a dress identical to the one she had worn recently to the journalism ceremony - a pink formal one-shoulder chiffon trumpet gown with sequins and speckles, plus white slingback pumps and emerald teardrop earrings. Her pink handbag fit comfortably in the crook of her elbow.

It was not the same dress, of course - that one had been badly damaged when Meredith and Lucinda had tied her up and tossed her into the river. (She still shuddered at the thought, and was glad those two women were at last safely locked away in federal prison.) But she had adored the outfit so much that she had rented another just like it - this time with the promise that she would keep it in better condition.

Moira stepped up to Prema's front porch and rang the doorbell.

"Just a minute," Prema's voice came from within.

Moira had been working on the line she would use to introduce her date to a night on the town. Come, my princess... your chariot awaits. She hoped it didn't sound too cheesy. Did it? Perhaps she should substitute "queen" instead of "princess."

Moira fiddled with her handbag. Come, my queen... your chariot awaits. It sounded just a bit cheesy in her head. But it was fine. Yes, it would do.

The door swung open. Moira put on her best smile. "Come, my queen... your chariot-"

The words caught in her throat. Involuntarily, Moira gulped.

Prema stood framed in the doorway, tall and statuesque. She wore a sparkling, strapless silver evening gown with a sweetheart neckline, with matching silver opera gloves that reached past her elbows, and silver-grey high heels. A collection of pearls encircled her neck, and two other small pearls dangled from her ears. Her dark hair was pulled back into a high updo.

Immediately, Moira felt her heartbeat quicken.

Prema smiled at her. "Did you just call me a queen? That's so sweet."

Moira smiled. "Yeah, I... I guess..."

"How do I look?" Prema asked, glancing at her own dress. "It's been a while since I've gotten dressed up for a formal engagement. I wasn't sure if this is right..."

"No, no... it's perfect," Moira quickly assured her. "You look beautiful, Prema. Absolutely gorgeous."

Prema grinned. "Thanks... So do you."

She stepped out and closed her door. "So... would my queen please escort me to my chariot?"

Moira grinned. "Of course... my queen."

Arm in arm, they stepped down the walkway to Moira's car.

Moira gave a quick glance at Prema as they settled into their seats. She did not know where this new relationship was headed... but so far, she was more than happy to follow it along.

********************

The wharf was at its busiest in the early morning hours - when the fishermen and various other seafaring workers would set sail - and at late evening, when they'd return with their haul. As far as seaports went, particularly in a peninsula like Florida, it was not particularly crowded, but it provided boats and equipment to those who preferred to work their lives off-land.

Bobbi was not a fan of the ocean - she had taken a cruise once, at Felicia's insistence, and had come down with a minor bout of seasickness. Nevertheless, her motivations for entering the wharf were more personal. She needed to reach the island where Zuhal apparently was, and to that, she would need a boat.

From her hiding place behind some heavy oil drums that had been stacked dockside, she had been watching a stretch of the largely quiet wharf for a few minutes, searching for a boat that would suit her needs. Something small, fast, easy to navigate. Unfortunately, most of the boats remaining at the docks were large, heavy tugboats, hardly the sort of thing for someone in a hurry.

Then she saw it - a small but motorized boat at the far end of the docks, likely capable of outpacing most of the larger and faster tubs. The white paint appeared somewhat chipped and worn, but it still seemed seaworthy enough to get her across the water.

Now she simply needed a way to reach the boat without raising eyebrows. Fortunately, the sound of heavy bootfalls alerted her to an opportunity.

The fisherwoman was on the tall side, with broad shoulders and a sportswoman's frame. She wore a yellow raincoat over black cardigan, faded grey jeans, and black galoshes. Her stringy black hair hung limply around her alabaster face, dangling just above her shoulders. She was humming a sea chanty as she stepped lively across the docks, fishing pole and nets in hand.

The fisherwoman was on her way to one of the boats, with the intent to catch some of the cod or mackerel that frequented the surrounding waters. But little did she realize that her role in the fishing world had just changed - from huntress to prey.

As she passed by the oil drums, Bobbi sprang from her hiding place. She quickly utilized her favorite mugging technique - handgagging the woman, then pulling her off-balance and into the shadows, then dealing a judo chop to her neck.

Except... the neck chop did not do enough to stun the woman into unconsciousness. Bobbi realized this woman was stronger and sturdier than her usual clothing donor.

The fisherwoman, understandably, did not react well to being ambushed while on her way to work. She flailed about, trying to reach behind her and grab at Bobbi's head. She pulled hard at Bobbi's hair, forcing the young woman to bite her lip and stifle a scream.

Ignoring the pain, Bobbi looped an arm around the woman's neck and applied a special sleeper hold. It was a move that Zuhal had taught her - effective, she had explained, but dangerous if applied for more than a few seconds.

For the moment, Bobbi didn't care about danger - she needed the woman's clothes, and everything else was a secondary concern. If the fisherwoman escaped - if Bobbi was caught, if the police locked her up - it was all over.

After four agonizingly long seconds, the fisherwoman began to weaken. Her arms fell back to her sides, dangling limply, Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Bobbi remembered Zuhal's cautionary words - It's a great way to render people unconscious, but only use it as a last resort. And never use it for more than ten seconds. You can kill a woman if you hold her this way for too long.

The fisherwoman was by now completely motionless. Bobbi let her go and watched her slide to the ground.

She glanced at the unconscious woman. Was she... still alive? Bobbi knelt down and put two fingers at the side of her neck.

A wave of relief washed over her as she felt the woman's pulse. Thank goodness.

Having confirmed that she had not harmed the woman more than necessary, Bobbi got to work stripping her out of her clothes. Off went the raincoat and boots, followed by the cardigan and jeans. This left the fisherwoman in a salmon-colored bikini bra and matching boyshorts.

Bobbi used some black cables from her pack to tie the woman up, and grey duct tape to gag her. She found an empty oil drum and, with some effort, hefted the woman inside, closing the lid almost all the way.

Dressed in the fisherwoman's clothes and boots, Bobbi strode casually down the docks, fishing pole and nets in hand. She smiled at the man on duty. "Hi there..." She pointed at the motorboat at the end of the docks. "Is that one taken?"

********************

An exhausted Bridget returned to her apartment building, her head a swirling blur.

The paramedics had arrived and taken Mrs. Drake to the hospital. The police had shown up as well, and interrogated Bridget about the incident. Bridget was too shocked to do anything but comply, and she didn't even take notice of the police detective's condescending tone.

She had trouble thinking straight. Her boss - the kindest mentor and employer she'd ever known - had been attacked. Once again, a friend of hers had been put in danger - and somehow, Bridget couldn't help but feel it was somehow her fault.

She needed to think - to clear her head. Her talk with Felicia had turned her day sideways, and the attack on her boss had flipped it completely upside down. She needed some time to herself. She needed to simply go up to her apartment, lie down and close her eyes.

She reached the building entrance, still in a daze. The lobby was mostly empty, save for the night guard on duty at the front desk.

The guard smiled at Bridget as she walked in. "Good evening, Ms. Baxter."

"Good evening, Kinsley," Bridget replied, managing a small smile despite the note of weariness in her voice.

"You okay?" Kinsley asked. "Looks like you've been through the wringer."

"It's been... one of those days," Bridget replied. She used her key to unlock the inner doors and stepped towards the elevator. "Think I'll be getting some early shut-eye."

The guard nodded. "Sleep well, Ms. Baxter."

Once the elevator doors had closed behind Bridget, Kinsley went back to browsing her computer.

An athletic woman in her mid-thirties, with tanned skin and a ponytail of honey-brown hair, Kinsley had been working at this apartment complex for almost two years. She dressed rather casually for a guard - short-sleeve grey button-down shirt, black jeans, white sneakers, and blue baseball cap. The relative low stakes of the job - monitoring people as they entered and exited the residential building - meant she was never expecting much in terms of incident.

A few minutes later, the front door of the lobby opened once again. In strode a dark-haired, tan-skinned woman dressed in the clothes of a motorcyclist.

Chandra's computer skills had come in handy once again. She had found a public computer and used it to locate Bridget's address, using the info she had gleaned from Chen about her workplace and performing an online search of any women matching the description in the surrounding area. This building seemed like the most likely address.

Chandra approached the guard at the front desk. "Hey. Does Bridget Baxter live here?"

The motorcyclist's demeanor told Kinsley that she was expecting a firm "yes" for an answer. She immediately found herself cautious. "She... does. If you know her room number, she can buzz you in."

Chandra signed. "Look, I've had a long day. Just tell me what room she's in and let me through the doors."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I can't do that," Kinsley said firmly. "Why don't I call Bridget's apartment and see if she's expecting any guests."

Kinsley reached for the phone, but Chandra grabbed her hand.

Kinsley looked up in surprise as the motorcyclist gave a sly smile.

"That won't be necessary," Chandra said. "I just had a better idea."

********************

Kinsley did not agree that Chandra's idea was in fact "better," but she was in no position to voice her disapproval.

This was due in no small part to the white cloth which was now tied around her mouth, as well as the thick grey twine which bound her wrists and ankles.

Dressed now in only her vanilla T-shirt bra and violet tap pants, she could only look up from her uncomfortable position beneath the desk and scowl at Chandra, who was currently in the process of putting on her uniform.

"I know I tend to make a habit of robbing women of their clothes," Chandra said curtly as she laced up Kinsley's sneakers. "But I hope you understand this all could have been avoided if you had simply let me in."

The muffled sounds from Kinsley suggested she was in no mood for the lecture.

Chandra tucked her hair beneath the baseball cap. "Whatever. Have a lovely night."

Now fully dressed, she checked the apartment log. "Bridget Baxter... Room 406."

She buzzed herself into the apartment building and walked towards the elevators. Then, thinking better of it, she decided it would be better to take the stairs.

Her sneakers squeaked on the steps as she climbed to the fourth floor. Not the most comfortable footwear, but necessary to complete the ensemble.

*********************

Evelyn stepped through the backstage entrance of the theater, Harper and Jenna right behind her.

Other employees bustled this way and that, trying to get things ready in time for the big show. Nobody paid the three new usherettes any attention, certainly not enough to ask why they had just come from the underground parking lot entrance.

"So far so good," Evelyn whispered to her associates. "These disguises should allow us free range around the auditorium."

"Too bad the real usherettes won't have 'free range' for a while," Harper chuckled.

Evelyn silenced her with another glare. Then she continued. "This is a large enterprise, perhaps with over a thousand people in attendance tonight. We'll need to be on alert if we're to find Bridget and her friends."

"So what's the next move?" Jenna asked, trying to hide both her impatience and discomfort.

Evelyn glanced at her watch. "The theatergoers should start arriving in about ten minutes or so. We need to scout the area as best as we can before this place gets too crowded. Otherwise, we'll be looking for needles in a haystack."

She waited for a couple of crewmen to pass by before continuing. "I'll scout the outer perimeter of the auditorium. Jenna, you comb the aisles. Harper, snoop around backstage and see if you can learn anything."

Harper grinned. "Can do, boss."

"This is a tricky operation, and we can't risk getting caught," Evelyn continued. "Stay focused, and stay alert."

***********************

"Stay alert," Ashley murmured to herself. "Don't let it get to you."

Lacie looked her way. "You say something, honey?"

Ashley sighed. "Just... trying to keep my spirits up. Don't want to be distracted tonight."

"That's the spirit," Lacie smiled. "Just have some faith in yourself tonight. You'll be fine."

Ashley tried to nod along. "It's just... I've had such bad luck lately. Everywhere I go, no matter what, someone is there to tie me up and steal my uniform."

Lacie put a hand on her shoulder. "Ashley, listen to me... I've been working as a security guard at the Gosford for three years. I've never had my uniform stolen, and neither have any of my coworkers. It's the safest, nicest theater in the city. You have nothing to worry about."

Ashley took a deep breath. "I... I guess you're right. I'm sorry for unloading all my stress on you."

"Think nothing of it," Lacie smiled. "Now come on, we've got to get to our posts. The patrons will be arriving soon."

She turned to go, then paused and turned back. "And remember... confidence."

Ashley nodded. "Confidence."

She watched Lacie head down the hall. Then she straightened her cap and adjusted her tie.

"I'm not getting my uniform stolen tonight," she muttered. "And any bitch who tries it... is gonna be sorry."

**********************

Bridget flopped down on her couch and closed her eyes.

Immediately, she felt better. Not by much - her concerns still swirled over Mrs. Drake, and she still had plenty of other issues to deal with on her own. But for a few moments, she could allow herself to simply breathe again.

However, a few moments was all she got. Bridget's catnap was interrupted by the sound of the buzzing doorbell.

"Who could that be?" She opened her eyes and arose from the couch.

A look through the peephole revealed a tan-skinned woman in security uniform, cap pulled low over her face.

Bridget was too tired to check that closely. Instead, she simply opened the door. "Kinsley? What's wrong?"

She was startled as the uniformed woman immediately brushed past her and stepped into the apartment.

"Hey, what are you..." Bridget's eyes widened as the woman removed her cap. "...Chandra?!"

Chandra smiled. "Hey, Bridget. Nice to see you again."

Immediately, Bridget felt her exhaustion dissipate. She stepped back towards a nearby drawer, on high alert. "What are you doing in my apartment? And why are you wearing those clothes?"

"The real guard's fine, don't worry," Chandra replied. "I just needed her clothes to gain access up here. Now, let's cut to the chase..."

"Yes, let's." Immediately, Bridget pulled a pistol out of the drawer and pointed it at Chandra.

Immediately, Chandra's facial expression changed to one of shock. She raised her hands. "Whoa... I didn't even know you owned a gun."

"My life has been in danger constantly these past few months," Bridget replied. "Several people have tried to kill me. You, in fact, have tried to kill me twice. So yes, I bought a gun. And I'm not afraid to use it."

Slowly, Chandra's shocked expression melted away into a grim smile. "You're a fascinating woman, Bridget. Very glad I decided to seek out your help."

Bridget's eyes narrowed, but her aim did not waver. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I need your help," Chandra repeated. "I'm not here to fight. I want to make peace."

Bridget let out a short, sudden laugh. "Peace? You tried to drown me an my friends. Then you partnered with Julia Chen and tried to hunt us down. And now you've escaped from jail..."

"I didn't escape," Chandra interrupted. "I was let go."

Bridget rolled her eyes. "Like anyone would believe that."

"I swear it's true," Chandra continued. "The Russian government pulled some strings and commissioned our release."

Now Bridget gave a funny look. "The Russian government...?"

"They freed me and Sonja... They mostly just wanted Sonja, but I got out as well. They mentioned needing her, but she didn't want to go... So they kidnapped her, and left me in the middle of nowhere."

Chandra swallowed before continuing. "My best friend is gone... kidnapped... and I've got no place to go. Lucille is locked up somewhere, and so is everyone else I've worked with recently..." She looked up at Bridget. "So I came to you."

"Why on earth would I ever help you?" Bridget asked, her grip still steady.

"Because I can help you as well," Chandra replied. "I'm a professional computer hacker, you know. And you... you're a professional journalist, probably the smartest I've ever tangled with. You know this city, you've probably got contacts, you know how to get information." Her tone was soft, almost pleading. "Isn't there any use you may have for my computer skills?"

Bridget thought. She was itching to get access to the city's law enforcement files... perhaps dig up some information on a few criminal cases, and perhaps even glean some info on who had attacked Mrs. Drake. But many of the criminal files were encrypted in the police's computer system, and it would take a truly skilled hacker to dig them up.

She looked back at Chandra. "This is all for your friend... Sonja, isn't it?"

Chandra nodded. "The only friend I have left. You know what that's like?"

Bridget sighed. She lowered the gun.

"No tricks," she said sternly. "If you try to attack me at any point, you'll be really sorry."

Chandra nodded. "Understood." She lowered her hands. "So... you have any ideas?"

Bridget nodded. "I've got a few."

********************

Backstage was growing busier as time grew closer to the ballet opening. Harper narrowly sidestepped two burly men carrying a large, heavy prop toward the stage.

"Watch where you're going," one of the men grumbled at her.

Harper made an obscene gesture at his back, then continued walking down the hall. She spoke quietly into her earpiece as she passed a group of chattering ballerinas. "Evelyn, learn anything yet? People keep giving me weird looks. Like they're wondering why an usherette is backstage when guests are arriving."

"I've been scouting around the auditorium," Evelyn replied. "It's pretty huge. Really hard to get a good vantage point from anywhere... well, except the stage obviously."

"The stage?" Harper asked.

"Yes... if one of us could somehow be onstage during the show, we could get a clear picture of the audience, and pinpoint where our targets are. But I'm not sure how we'd pull that off."

Harper glanced back towards the ballerinas. Slowly, her eyes lit up.

"Evelyn," she whispered. "Did I ever tell you that I used to take ballet classes when I was a teenager"

"Can't say as you did."

"My mom forced me to take two years of dance school. It was annoying and insufferable. But..." A smile crossed her lips. "I think tonight it may finally pay off."

"I think I know what you mean... Good luck."

Harper straightened her posture as she neared the ballerinas. Most of them were on their way to the stage wings, in preparation for the show.

One young woman, however, lagged behind, fiddling with her headpiece.

Harper eyed the girl. She was lithe and fit, with alabaster skin and lush chestnut hair. Like the other ballerinas, she was dressed in a white figure-hugging leotard and matching tutu with attached bodice. She also wore a white diamante headpiece and pointe shoes.

Harper approached the girl, who was grumbling to herself as she adjusted her headpiece. "Why won't this thing stay attached..."

"Something wrong, miss?" Harper asked.

"Oh," the ballerina smiled at her. "It's just this costume... Always causing problems."

"Then you're quite lucky tonight," Harper replied, a gleam in her eye.

"What do you mean?"

"You won't be wearing the costume."

The ballerina wasn't sure what this woman meant, but had not time to ask for clarification. A hand was over her mouth before she could utter a sound. Harper quickly shoved the woman into a storeroom and closed the door.

With all the stagework going on around them, the sounds of punching and squealing went without notice.

As usual, Harper had been a little rough in her methods of rendering the girl unconscious - though she had to admit that beating up a ballerina was less thrilling than taking down a security guard or policewoman.

Still, the results were the same, and just as effective. Within minutes, she was slipping into the ballerina's outfit, from tights to dress to shoes.

"Hmmm... you weren't kidding about the headpiece," Harper noted, trying to adjust the diamante cap. She rearranged her hair as best as she could and affixed the headpiece to it. "Ah, there we go. See how it's done?"

But the real ballerina could not see how it was done, as she was currently unconscious. Stripped to her white demicup bra and matching silk panties, she was bound with grey cords and gagged with a white washcloth, seated quietly in the corner of the storeroom.

"Guess you won't be dancing tonight," Harper chuckled. "But the show must go on."

She exited the storeroom and shut the door.

"Hey!"

Harper looked up in surprise to see a middle-aged man glaring at her. He looked to be one of the stagehands.

"What are you doing? The show's about to start! Get to the stage wings with the other girls!"

Harper nodded. "Yes, sir... Of course. Just had to... adjust my costume..."

The man groaned. "Don't make excuses, missy. Just move it!"

He turned and headed back down the hall.

An annoyed Harper made a quick obscene gesture behind his back. Then she hurried off in the direction of the stage.

*********************

Moira pulled her car up to the entrance at Gosford theater. "Here we are."

Prema looked out the window. "Wow... this place is huge. It's like a palace."

"A palace fit for royalty," Moira smiled. "And tonight will be a royal night."

After leaving the car with the valet, Prema and Moira stepped out.

"Shall we?" Moira held out her hand.

Prema looked as though she were about to take Moira's hand, but hesitated. Then she nodded. "Yes... yes, we shall."

Moira noticed Prema's hesitance, but decided not to say anything.

Heels clicking against the marble walkway, the two women walked up to the theater entrance, mingling with the crowd inside.

"Let's get to the auditorium quickly and find our seats," Moira suggested. "This place can fill up pretty fast."

They reached the auditorium in a matter of minutes. The security guard stationed at the entrance, a dark-haired woman with a nametag reading "Ashley" pinned to her uniform, nodded to them as they passed.

"Have a good evening, ladies. Enjoy the show."

Prema's brow furrowed as she briefly glanced back at the guard. "Hmm..."

"What's wrong?" Moira inquired.

"That security guard," Prema explained. "I'm sure I've seen her before. She looks... familiar."

Moira shrugged. "Maybe she just has that kind of face."

They found their seats in the seventh row. Two other women were seated nearby, and both looked up as Moira and Prema sat down.

"Moira, hi!" One of the women, a brunette in a green gown, smiled broadly. "Nice to see you again."

"Hi, Chloe," Moira smiled back. She glanced at the other woman. "And hi, Robyn."

The other woman, a blonde in a pink evening dress, nodded curtly at Moira, but said nothing.

"Prema, this is Chloe Cleary and her sister Robyn," Moira explained. "Girls, this is Prema, my..." She hesitated, then glanced at Prema. "...My friend, who loves a good ballet."

"Nice to meet you, Prema," Chloe replied. "And that makes two of us. I've loved the ballet since I was a kid. Those dancers are so gorgeous and graceful." She sighed happily. "I was surprised when Bridget called me and offered us two tickets to the show. I guess she was too busy to attend... I feel sorry that she's missing this, but very glad she gave us the tickets!"

"So ecstatic," Robyn added, though she didn't much sound ecstatic at all.

"Robyn, do you like ballet?" Moira asked.

"I usually find it a snooze," Robyn admitted. "But the paper needed someone to write a fashion column on costumes in the modern theater, so I figured, what the hell. Especially since these tickets are apparently free."

"She's being modest," Chloe interjected. "She loves a good ballet."

"I'd love it to start already," Robyn replied. "Hopefully this one gives me something to write about."

********************

The night waters were calm, if occasionally choppy. Bobbi found it easy to steer the small motorboat across the waters, always keeping one eye on her navigational map and compass.

After about twenty minutes of travel, she saw the silhouette of an island looming on the horizon.

"Bingo." She slowed the engine to a putter as the boat approached the shore.

The island was home to one of the offshore industrial compounds financed by a large business conglomerate - Hobson Drilling, judging by the signage on one of the boats moored to the docks.

Bobbi grinned wryly as she remembered her own run-in with Hobson some time ago - the infiltration she had partaken in with her friends that had resulted in the arrest of the corporation's CEO. Hobson had faced a multitude of lawsuits since then, but their offshore drilling operations seemed to remain in use.

They had also probably upped their security measures following these recent legal battles. Bobbi figured they would not take kindly to an outsider like herself wandering around and searching the premises, even if she explained she was simply looking for her friend.

In order to conduct her search in peace, Bobbi would need to blend in.

She crouched low as she made her way inland, keeping behind the trees and within the shadows they afforded her. Amidst the foliage was a clearing, in which Hobson had set up a multitude of drilling machinery, as well as several warehouses to store their findings. Workers wandered about the area, checking the machines and ensuring that everything was running smoothly.

Bobbi's eyes alit on one of the workers, a woman currently engaged in checking the pressure gauges. The woman was of average height and build, with almond skin and frizzy black hair that brushed her shoulders. She wore a light blue jumpsuit, heavy brown boots, and orange construction hat.

The woman was about the right size, but she was standing about thirty feet away from Bobbi's hiding spot. There had to be a way to lure her closer without drawing extra attention. But how?

Bobbi squinted as she looked at the woman's hard hat. She noticed a sticker plastered on the side, not company-issued. It was a picture of a raccoon with the words "Nature Saves" written above it.

So she's an animal lover, Bobbi thought. An idea entered her head, and a sly smile spread across her face.

Carefully, Bobbi cupped her hands over her own mouth and let out a soft sound - what she hoped was a close approximation of a small woodland critter.

The factory worker looked up. She glanced at the trees behind which Bobbi was hiding.

Bobbi made the sound again, a bit louder this time.

A sympathetic look crossed the woman's face, as she heard the sounds of what appeared to be a small animal in trouble. She stepped away from the machinery and walked toward the trees.

It was difficult to see in the shadows beyond the large oak trunks, so the worker stepped closer. "Hello?" she said gently. "Hey, little guy, don't be frightened..."

As she stepped past the trees, a hand shot out and clamped over her mouth. The shocked factory worker was quickly pulled deeper into the foliage, barely having time to struggle.

"Don't worry, dear, there are no animals in trouble," Bobbi whispered. "Except for you, of course..."

A judo chop behind the girl's left ear was all it took. The factory worker gurgled, and fell unconscious.

That was almost too easy, Bobbi mused.

It was similarly easy to strip the girl down to her black t-shirt bra and vermilion high-cut briefs, and to restrain her with ropes and duct tape to one of the sturdier trees in the forest.

And of course, it was easy for Bobbi to slip into the new uniform, and her newest stolen identity.

Perhaps most importantly, it had become very easy for Bobbi to ignore any pangs of guilt she may have otherwise felt for the poor factory worker, and simply carry on with her mission.

Mugging women for their uniforms had become second nature to Bobbi - and she was perfectly fine with that.

*********************

Parking was always difficult downtown, certainly during the late hours when most travelers had settled in. So Bridget left her car at a local garage, handing the keys to the polite female attendant.

"We'll just be a few hours," Bridget explained. At least, that was her hope.

She and Chandra then made their way two blocks east towards the local police station. It was one of the larger such stations in the city, with some of the most advanced tech and detailed data files in the state.

"You're sure this is the best place?" Chandra asked.

Bridget nodded. "Based on my prior sources, many of the city's criminal data files are stored in a private digital database at this station. The data is very secure - maybe too difficult to hack - but probably our best chance of obtaining the info we need without leaving a digital paper trail."

She turned to Chandra. "Are you sure your computer skills are up to the task?"

Chandra chuckled. "Darling, I once hacked into the Pentagon files as a prank in college. I think I can handle this. Right now, let's just worry about finding a way inside."

Bridget nodded again. "Okay..." She looked around carefully.

Then, without warning, she shoved Chandra into a nearby alley. "Quick, hide!"

"Hey! Watch who you're pushing, you little..."

"Shh!" Bridget put a finger to her lips as she dove into the alley. Then she carefully poked her head out and glanced down the street. "I know how we can get inside."

The approaching footsteps echoed down the sidewalk, lending punctuation to Bridget's thoughts. They belonged to a female police officer on night patrol.

The patrolwoman was young and fit, as her job demanded. She had light skin and sandy-blonde hair tied back in a short ponytail. She wore a dark blue uniform jacket over white button-down shirt, dark blue pants, a peaked black cap, and polished black ankle boots. She held a nightstick in her right hand, occasionally twirling it like a baton.

The police officer was humming a soft tune to herself as she stepped down the block, bootheels echoing on the concrete. It had been a dull night so far, as usual, and she enjoyed having a little music to liven things up.

As she passed the alley, however, things became livened up in a new way. Bridget lunged out and slapped a hand over her mouth. The startled patrolwoman was promptly yanked into the alley.

Bridget quickly locked the woman in a tight sleeper hold, applying pressure to the base of her neck. The patrolwoman, however, was quite strong, and struggled mightily to break free of the journalist's grip.

In the struggle, the officer dropped her nightstick. Chandra picked it up and tapped it with one hand.

"Want me to give her a bonk on the head?" she offered Bridget. "Would save us some time."

Bridget shook her head. "She's almost unconscious... yes, there we go." She allowed herself to exhale as the patrolwoman slumped in her grip.

Chandra chuckled. "Not a fan of direct knockouts?" she asked.

"I prefer to minimize physical force when possible," Bridget explained as she lowered the patrolwoman to the ground and began unbuttoning her jacket.

Chandra rolled her eyes. "Wow... what an upstanding Girl Scout you are. I mean, sure, you just attacked a cop and are stripping her of her uniform... but at least you did it politely."

Bridget glared at her. "I don't know what you're insinuating. My work requires me to steal disguises on occasion... but I try to minimize the damage in doing so. Can you say the same?"

"Honey, I've been stealing clothes for years," Chandra replied. "And I don't much care about the comfort of the women I mug. The end result is the same - you're committing a criminal act, so you might as well go along with it."

"I don't see it that way," Bridget replied as she unlaced the woman's boots. "It's possible to mug women for their clothes and still be a good person."

Chandra chuckled again. "Keep telling yourself that, dear... Maybe someday you'll really believe it."

Bridget did not respond as she finished stripping the woman. Then she gathered up the uniform. "Tie her up while I get dressed."

Chandra grinned. "Of course."

The patrolwoman, now down to her pink triangle bra and matching hipsters, offered no resistance as Chandra bound her limbs with white cables and gagged her with black tape, nor as she was dragged to the rear of the alley and hidden behind a large green dumpster.

Chandra dusted off her hands as she returned to Bridget, who was now putting the finishing touches on her disguise. "So what now?"

Bridget held up a pair of handcuffs she had obtained along with her newly acquired uniform. "Put your hands behind your back. You're under arrest."

Chandra looked startled for a moment. Then she smiled understandingly.

******************

As Bridget and Chandra exited the alleyway, looking the part of a police officer with her "prisoner" in tow, and headed for the police station, they had no idea they were being watched.

From a nearby rooftop, Sabira lowered her binoculars and grinned. Her idea to stake out the local police station in hopes that Bridget would show up had paid off. For some reason, Bridget was entering the building in the guise of a police officer, with another woman in handcuffs. Sabira did not understand why, but she did not much care.

For Sabira, only one thing mattered: Bridget had to die, pure and simple. And while her first attempt to kill the reporter had failed, Sabira was more confident and prepared now.

She had watched from afar as Bridget and her friend had exited a nearby parking garage, having left their car for the next little while.

And that was precisely what Sabira needed.

*********************

Evelyn met Jenna at the west end of the auditorium, just as the show was preparing to start.

"Have you found anything?" Evelyn asked in her usual businesslike manner.

Jenna shook her head. "This place is huge... don't know how we're supposed to find four women in a room that packs over a thousand people."

"It's a daunting task," Evelyn agreed. "Harper has found a way to get her eyes onstage, but that may not be enough."

"Harper's onstage?" Jenna asked. "Like, part of the show?"

"In a manner of speaking," Evelyn replied. "The point is, you and I need to get better vantage points as well. These usherette disguises are helpful, but they still limit our ability to cover the crowd."

"So what do you suggest?"

Evelyn glanced at the back of the hall. "There are two audience exits," she noted. "One at the south end, one at the east. Each of them is flanked by a single security guard."

"Okay..."

"Those two security guards - both women, fortunately - have arguably the best monitoring positions in the room. They see each guest who enters and leaves the auditorium. Nothing gets in or out without them knowing."

Evelyn turned back to Jenna. "If we want to secure the area, we need to be in the positions of those guards. That means we'll need to incapacitate them and don their unif--"

"No," Jenna interrupted.

Evelyn paused. "No?"

"No," Jenna crossed her arms. "Find another way. I won't do it."

"Jenna," Evelyn said with a note of irritation in her voice. "This is not the time to get fussy..."

"I'm not being fussy," Jenna retorted. "I'm just drawing the line. I'm sick of mugging other women for their uniforms. Every time we do it, we spit in the face of feminism. Women need to build each other up in this world... but all we're doing is tearing them down."

"This is no time for political debate," Evelyn said. "I support and respect women of all career choices, just as you do. But occasionally, mugging other women for their clothes is necessary for our job. It's not about feminism or sexism, it's just part of our life."

"Well, then it's a crappy life," Jenna muttered.

"Be that as it may," Evelyn responded, "it is the life we've chosen. And more specifically, it's the life you've chosen. Would you like to explain to Ms. Caldwell that you torpedoed this mission over your own moral compass?"

Jenna gulped. She did not fancy the idea of facing an angry Gina Caldwell - nor a gleeful, gun-toting Fernanda - under any circumstances.

"Now, I'm going to take the guard at the south end," Evelyn continued. "You'll take the one at the east. We'll need to lure them away..."

"I'm just saying... isn't there another way?"

"Perhaps you can find another way," Evelyn replied. "Perhaps you can bribe the guard to hand over her uniform. Maybe if you ask politely, she'll have sympathy and hand over her clothes on her own. In any event, you need to be wearing her uniform and standing at her post within the next fifteen minutes. Is that clear?"

Jenna frowned, but forced herself to nod.

"Good. And best of luck."

Evelyn turned heel and walked away. Jenna glanced toward the east end of the auditorium, where the female guard Evelyn had pointed out to her was stationed.

She sighed to herself, Evelyn's words echoing in her ears. It's the life you've chosen.

*********************

The night breeze felt cool on Felicia's face. The air was calm and floral, befitting the peace of the suburban surroundings.

She had gone for a walk - a long one, it turned out. It had begun aimlessly, a reason to exercise and clear her head. But as it continued on, slowly a destination began to take shape - first unconsciously, then overtly.

Felicia had only briefly glanced at the photo the other night, but it had been enough for her to notice that it was an outdoor picture, taken on someone's front lawn. In the background, Felicia had noticed the tower of a church - a city landmark she had recognized. It wasn't much to go on, but it was something.

So it was now that she was walking down the block where the photo was presumably taken. Looking now for the house in question - a single-family unit with aluminum siding and a blue-shingled roof.

She found it midway down the block. The name on the mailbox confirmed it was the one she was looking for.

Felicia took a deep breath, and made her way up the front walk. She buzzed the doorbell.

Long seconds stretched out eternally, with no response. Felicia began having second thoughts. She turned to go.

Then the door clicked open. Felicia turned back.

Dr. Ellen Lawrence stood in the door. Rather than the lab coat she had worn last night, she was dressed in a casual T-shirt and jeans.

She looked surprised, and confused for a moment before recognizing her visitor. "Felicity? What brings you to the neighborhood?"

"H-hi..." Felicia stammered. "I was... I was just in the area. I was told you lived around here, so I... I thought I'd say hi. I don't want to intrude..."

"No intrusion at all," Ellen replied with a beaming smile. "Come on inside. I'll fix up some cocoa."

"Well, I..." Felicia wasn't sure what to say next. She hadn't planned this far.

"Come on, you have to try it. Everyone tells me I make the best cocoa... except my husband, when he thinks I'm not listening." She chuckled.

Felicia didn't know what to say. She followed the smiling woman inside.

The inside of the house was pleasant, small yet roomy enough for a comfortable couch and a TV. A little girl sat on the floor, playing with Legos.

"So... Dr. Lawrence..." Felicia began.

"Please, call me Ellen," the woman replied with a chuckle. "Dr. Lawrence was my mother."

She turned to the little girl. "Felicty dear, say hi to mommy's friend from work. Guess what? Her name is Felicity, too!"

The little girl looked up with a smile and waved a pudgy hand at Felicia.

Felicia waved back, a bit uncomfortably. After all, she had never before been inside the house of a woman whose uniform she had once stolen, let alone met with her child.

"I'm gonna go fix up some cocoa," Ellen said. "Have a seat, make yourself at home."

She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Felicia alone with the little girl who shared her name.

"I'm building a rocket," the little girl announced.

Felicia smiled. "That's cool."

She made her way to the couch and sat down, trying her best to get comfortable.

She still wasn't sure if visiting Ellen was the right idea, but there was no turning back now.

*********************

Bridget entered the police station, tightly gripping the arm of a handcuffed Chandra.

"Let's move it, scum," she growled. "You've got some questions to answer."

"Don't overplay your role," Chandra whispered. "You're getting on my nerves."

"Just trying to stay in character," Bridget whispered back. "Half the skill of going undercover involves being a good actress."

"I'll be sure to give you an Oscar later," Chandra muttered. "For now, you can loosen your grip a bit."

Both women looked around. Past the lobby, the police station was abuzz with activity, with officers and secretaries at their desks, processing reports and booking criminals.

Chandra glanced at the far end of the hall. "That one, over there."

The officer she was looking at was tall and athletic, an Asian woman with olive skin and a tight bun of black hair. She wore a dark blue uniform jacket over white shirt, tan pants, black peaked cap, and thick black knee-length boots. The woman was striding down the hall towards the lobby, leafing through a file in her hand.

"She looks about my size," Chandra whispered.

Bridget nodded. "Hope this works."

She called out to the passing officer as she walked by. "Hey... can I get a little help here?"

The officer looked up. "What's wrong?"

"Just caught this thug in the park," Bridget explained, gesturing to Chandra. "She's one of those girl gang-members we've been hearing reports on lately... I'm supposed to question her to learn the whereabouts of her cohorts, but my schedule's pretty booked right now. Think you can take her to the interrogation room?"

The officer shook her head. "Sorry, I'm pretty busy now, too. Sergeant will give me hell if I don't file these last reports..."

"Not that you could make me talk, anyway," Chandra interjected. "You think you scare me? I eat pigs like you for breakfast."

The officer glared at Chandra. "What did you just call me?"

"Oink, oink," Chandra chuckled.

The officer's cheeks reddened. She turned to Bridget. "The interrogation room's this way. Follow me."

She stepped back down the hall, Bridget following and ushering Chandra along. The officer did not notice the two women behind her exchange a knowing wink.

The interrogation room was at the end of a quiet, dimly lit hall. The officer unlocked the heavy metal door and opened it, then roughly guided Chandra inside. The room consisted only of a metal chair and table.

"Wait out here," she told Bridget, a wicked grin on her face. "I'll have this bitch crying for mercy in five minutes."

"Don't hurt her too badly," Bridget cautioned.

"I won't hurt her much more than necessary," the officer chuckled as she closed the door.

I wasn't talking to you, Bridget thought to herself.

With a sigh, she pressed her ear to the metal door and listened to the policewoman's voice therein.

"Okay, now sit your ass down and... hey, what? How did you get out of those cuffs? Don't you... Hey! Let go of me! Let go, you stupid..."

The sounds that followed were a series of thumps, bumps, and crashes, mostly muted by the thick door and walls. Bridget was able to discern a few grunts and squeals of pain amidst the drumroll of punches and kicks within the room.

After slightly under a minute of noise, all grew silent in the room once more.

Ten more minutes after that, and the door to the interrogation room reopened. Chandra strode out, fitting the black peaked cap over her hair. She had already donned the rest of the policewoman's uniform.

"You didn't hurt her too much, did you?" Bridget asked.

Chandra grinned. "Not much more than necessary."

She gestured into the room. Bridget peeked inside. The real policewoman was seated in the room's only chair, stripped to her lavender sports bra and turquoise boyshorts. Her hands were secured with the cuffs that Chandra had just escaped from - and this time, they had been properly secured - and her own handcuffs were around her ankles. A cloth around her mouth kept her quiet, though based on her unconscious state, she would not be making any noise for a while.

"See? She's fine." Chandra shut the door, leaving the unconscious policewoman to some time alone. "Now, we've got some work to do and we've already beaten up two cops, so I suggest we move quickly."

Bridget nodded. "Okay. You find a computer. I'll head to the file room."

******************

Janice exited the parking garage, leaving through a side door. It had been a long evening of parking cars and retrieving them, and she was intent on taking a brief cigarette break.

The night air shifted a breeze her way. Janice shivered. She was not well dressed for the cold, with her button-down green shirt, black pants, and white sneakers - the standard uniform at the garage in which she was employed. Still, she did not plan to be outside for long.

A light-skinned woman with short pink-dyed hair, Janice had been working the night shift at the garage for a little over a year. She had grown accustomed to the late routine, and didn't even mind the long hours. All was fine as long as she was able to get in a quick smoke now and then.

Janice stopped by some bushes outside the garage and lit a cigarette. She took a first puff, casually contemplating the quiet streets around her.

All at once, her contemplations were interrupted by a rustling sound in the bushes behind her. Before she could turn to check it out, a gloved hand had covered her mouth. Startled, Janice dropped her cigarette as she was roughly dragged back and swallowed up in the bushes.

The bushes shook for another twenty seconds or so, not that anyone else was around to notice. Then, all grew silent for several minutes.

Sabira arose from the bushes, dressed now in Janice's uniform. With a wicked smile on her face, she advanced towards the parking garage.

Once inside the main office, she swiftly located Bridget's name in the directory and matched it to the car's license plate. Her search then took her to the second floor of the garage, where the car in question had been parked.

Sabira got on her hands and knees and carefully, covertly, reached under the car. She secured the small but powerful explosive just between the two front wheels, then hooked it to the vehicle's transmission.

A low chuckle escaped her lips. The moment Bridget starts her car... BOOM! Goodbye, and good riddance.

She continued laughing to herself as she exited the garage, eagerly awaiting the fireworks to come.

[simon4242]

hmmm beating up a ballerina bit much ,,,,aint it time there was karma for the likes of harper evelyn chandra ,bridget bobbi and sabira ,none of them are good guys in my book lol

[simon4242]

it would be nice if some of the intended victims actually fought back and overpowered their attackers eg give bridget some of the karma she deserves

[simon4242]

this has been a great series but when you have journalists even with martial arts training overpowering trained police officer and military trained personnel well....... lol

[tirepanted3]

Well, there have been various levels of karma given to various characters over the course of the series - perhaps not necessarily retribution, but many of the more villainous characters receive some level of comeuppance, and even Bridget has been plagued with self-doubt (including in the latest chapter) on occasion. While none of the characters are truly "good" - hard to be when you routinely mug other women for their clothes - there are varying shades of grey to be found in their moral codes.

And we should note this latest chapter did feature some examples of victims fighting back, including the policewoman that Bridget mugs. It's true that she's more capable and athletic than her job would imply, but, well, she's a trained professional, and has perfected the art of mugging other women, even those who may be working more physically demanding jobs.

Thanks for your thoughts.

[saker]

I love this series.
And I think I have an unpopular opinion when I say that Bobbi is the best character in this story. Or at least, my favorite. I love her evolution from scared soap and water girl to usb master. I think she and Felicia aren't going to be friends forever. Bobbi will team up with Zuhal, while Felicia will embark on a redemption arc that will lead her to a normal life.
Keep it up!