Is it cheating? 
The border patrolwoman's uniform was a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding them. The uniform was a deep bottle green, the fabric tightly fitted against her body, highlighting the contours of her figure. Her boots were polished to a shine, the leather gleaming beneath the light of her torch. She wore a broad brimmed hat, decorated with a gold badge, and a thick leather belt around her waist, with a holster on one side and a baton on the other. Her face was stern, her gaze steady and unflinching.
Catalina stood before her, her heart racing, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She was wearing a simple dress, a shawl draped around her shoulders, and a pair of sandals. She felt small and insignificant in comparison to the border patrolwoman, who seemed to dwarf her in both size and authority, though in reality both were around five feet five inches. The patrolwoman moved the torch closer, its light falling on Catalina's face. She could feel the heat of its beam on her skin.
Without warning, Catalina moved forward, her arms coming around the patrolwoman in a swift and decisive move. She clamped her hands over the patrolwoman's mouth, muffling any sound she might have made, and in one swift motion, spun the other woman around and pulled her to the ground. The torch slipped from her grip and its light cast strange shadows around them. The patrolwoman struggled and kicked, but Catalina held firm, forcing the other woman onto her stomach.
Catalina knew that she had mere moments to act. She struck the patrolwoman who slipped into unconsciousness.
Acting quickly, Catalina reached for the patrolwoman's torch and gun. She carefully took them from their holsters, her heart pounding in her chest as she did so. She felt a strange mixture of fear and exhilaration at the thought of what she was doing, but there was no time to dwell on it now.
Catalina looked at the patrolwoman's uniform and a new, daring idea suddenly occurred to her. With a steady hand, she began unbuttoning the woman's shirt, revealing a white undershirt beneath it. She removed the belt and hat before finally sliding the pants down her legs. It felt strange, almost wrong, to strip another person like this, but she knew it was necessary if she wanted to escape from here. When the patrolwoman was completely undressed, Catalina began to dress herself in the uniform, feeling the fabric cling to her body. She slipped on the boots last, and as she fixed the laces around her ankles, she felt a strange sensation of power.
The patrolwoman's hat fit snugly on her head and she adjusted it carefully until it was angled just right. She fastened the belt around her waist and slid the gun and torch back into their respective holsters. Standing up straight, Catalina looked down at herself, taking a moment to admire her transformation. The uniform was well made, its fabric sturdy but lightweight. The boots fit perfectly, giving her an extra inch or two in height and an air of power that had been missing before. With a satisfied smile, Catalina stepped away from the patrolwoman's unconscious form and started up towards freedom.
But as she moved forward, her steps became slower and more hesitant. Up ahead, she could make out the faint sound of voices, and she realized that another patrol was fast approaching. Panic suddenly filled her veins and she froze in place, briefly considering turning back. But then a thought occurred to her: if she was wearing the border patrolwoman's uniform, maybe they wouldn't stop her at all. She took a deep breath before pushing forward, the torchlight bobbing in front of her as she advanced towards the voices.
As she drew closer, the patrol came into full view and Catalina's heart leapt into her throat. There were five of them in total, all large and well armed. Despite her fear, she kept walking towards them with a calm determination, determined to pass herself off the woman whose uniform she wore.The patrolmen immediately turned their attention towards her as she approached. Their eyes roamed over her uniform and their hands went to their weapons.
"Identify yourself," one of them barked.
Catalina drew herself up to her full height and straightened her back, trying to look as authoritative as possible.
"I'm Becky Johannsen," she said, her voice firm and steady, the real patrolwoman's name was written on her ID card. "I was checking this sector when I heard some commotion. What's going on?"
"We're responding to an incursion in the area," he said. "There was a report of someone trying to cross the border illegally."
Catalina nodded, trying to appear uninterested. "Did you catch them?" she asked casually.
The patrolman shook his head. "No, but we've got a search party out looking for them. You should head back to your vehicle, Johannsen. It's not safe around here alone."
Catalina gave a nod and stepped back. The patrolmen watched her carefully as she made her way down the path, but she kept walking steadily until they were out of sight. When she was sure that the coast was clear, Catalina quickly ran over to where Becky's patrol vehicle was parked. She pulled out the stolen keys from inside her stolen uniform before opening the door and sliding behind the wheel. As soon as she closed it behind her, an overwhelming sense of relief swept through her body.
She started up the vehicle and drove away from the border, feeling a strange mixture of excitement and terror as she did so. In less than 15 minutes, Catalina had gone from being a wanted fugitive to an official border patrolwoman, at least in appearance.
