Uniform Stealing Board

Hello, everyone. When I started mapping out the series a few years ago, I initially intended for it to conclude after five volumes. But I've grown attached to these characters and their stories, and still enjoy finding ways to explore their arcs further. So I've outlined two more volumes to wrap up the series. Volume 6 begins here and now and will be posted over the next few months; the 7th and final volume will follow in early 2023. Enjoy.





It was a warm night, the dark sky brightened by a large and luminous full moon.

The moon, as Earth's largest and most permanent orbiting satellite, meant different things to different people. To the ambitious and brilliant minds at NASA, it meant a destination, a place to explore and expand the reach of human contact. To purveyors of high fantasy, it meant the birth of werewolves on a monthly basis. To certain ancient tribes around the world, it meant a sign from their gods and deities.

But to Jessa, it just meant a welcome light source amidst a pitch-black night.

The governmental research center had been set far away from populated areas, at the outskirts of Tallahassee, the better for the scientists within to work in privacy. Ergo, the three-story building was not in a particularly well-lit area - a problem for the nighttime security guards who patrolled the outside of the building, and had to take care not to trip over any errant roots or stones in the dark.

Jessa was one such security guard. Tall and athletic, with light skin and chin-length chocolate-brown hair, she had been assigned patrolling the building's north side, not far from its largest road entrance. As with the other guards at the complex, she wore a light blue button-down shirt beneath a black leather jacket and black tie, dark blue jeans and polished black boots, as well as a peaked black cap atop her head.

Jessa was thankful for the moon this night, glowing brightly as it did and illuminating her path. She was patrolling near the bushes, watching the occasional government-approved van or truck rumble past toward the entrance checkpoint.

As usual, Jessa kept her eyes fixed toward the road, not paying quite so much attention to the bushes. It was a typically unobjectionable stance - but on this evening,it would prove costly.

That was due to the figure lurking within these bushes - another woman, crouched down and moving cautiously through the underbrush. She was dressed all in black - hoodie, sweatpants, sneakers - and clutched a damp white cloth in one of her gloved hands.

The woman paused in her crawl, some six feet from where Jessa now stood. She paused with bated breath.

Up above, the moon slipped behind some dark clouds, masking its light from those below.

Jessa frowned at the darkness, but shrugged to herself. It will only last a few minutes.

She would prove mistaken - to her respect, the darkness would last for quite a while.

As Jessa turned to step away, the black-clad woman made use of the opportunity. She sprang up from the bushes, wrapped an arm around the guard's neck, and pressed the white cloth pad to her face.

"Hmmpphh??" Jessa had been taken completely by surprise, and her sudden intake of breath now carried a sweet and ethereal scent. She was pulled sharply backwards toward the bushes.

Jessa struggled in her assailant's arms, trying to break free. Her boots kicked up small clouds of dust, but there was no one in close proximity to notice them. She squirmed and wriggled as the chloroform began to take effect, as she was dragged deeper into the bushes and out of sight.

The leaves and branches shook, and the sounds of struggling grew lower and softer. Then, gradually, the area became still and quiet.

Several minutes ticked by in silence. No one passed by the area, apart from the occasional squirrel or jackrabbit.

Finally, the moon once again gained freedom from the clouds, shining down upon the grassy clearing once more.

Bridget Baxter emerged from the bushes and into this moonlight. She was dressed from head to toe in a newly obtained security uniform. Glancing around to make sure her little "changing of the guard" had gone unobserved, she buttoned up her jacket and straightened the tie.

Then she spoke into the small wrist-communicator that she always had with her on assignments. "Felicia, do you copy?"

Silence for several moments, then: "Copy... How are things on your end?"

Bridget glanced back behind the bushes. The unfortunate Jessa lay there, unconscious. She was dressed in nothing but a salmon-pink sports bra and aquamarine cotton panties. Bridget had bound her with grey nylon cord and gagged her with thick black tape.

"The security guard at the north perimeter is now... secured," Bridget replied. (As a journalist, she always appreciated a rhythmic turn of phrase.) "I'm wearing her uniform now. How about you?"

"I'm working on it..."

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

Felicia peeked out from behind the dark green foliage and considered her options.

The guard was pacing the south side of the research center, though she did not seem particularly attentive of her surroundings. She had tan skin and braided brown hair beneath her cap, and wore the standard security uniform of the base. She was also quite tall and athletic, and could be a threat even without the gun strapped to her hip.

Felicia knew the guard's uniform would provide her with easy access to the inner workings of the research facility - and perhaps, a chance for her to put some lingering questions about government cover-ups of possible extraterrestrial activity. She couldn't quite be sure of the extent of alien life, but by this point she was certain that the government was concealing some level of hidden info about the subject from the public.

Felicia's main concern at this moment was twofold. The guard she was eyeing appeared to be a few inches too tall for her, and size discrepancies were always a liability in donning a new disguise. And Felicia had not engaged in all much uniform thievery over the last few weeks. Perhaps she was out of practice...

Felicia shook the doubts from her mind. Now was not the time for concerns or internal worries. She had to focus. After all, this investigation had been her idea to begin with.

The guard yawned. Clearly, she was bored with tonight's duty, and perhaps a touch out of sorts. Felicia knew this was the moment to press her advantage.

She rose from the bushes and quietly stepped up behind the guard. Closer... closer...

"Whoa!"

Felicia's foot met with an errant tree root. She gave a surprised cry and fell to the grass.

The guard whirled in surprise. She looked down at Felicia, who now gazed up at her a bit sheepishly.

The guard frowned. "Who are you?" One hand now rested upon the gun at her hip. "What are you doing out here?"

"I... I can explain..." Felicia thought fast. "I was out walking... I got lost..."

The guard sneered. "Out walking in the middle of nowhere?" she said. "A likely story... Don't try anything funny, girl."

Felicia gulped. Had she blown the whole operation?

Footsteps sounded from nearby. Another woman in guard uniform approached, coming from the west end of the building. She had light skin and raven-black hair, the cap pulled low over her face.

The guard who now stood over Felicia looked up as her associate approached. "Hey, look what I found. I think this girl tried to attack me."

"No, I didn't!" Felicia tried to sound sincere, but it was clear the guard wasn't buying it.

"Shut up." The guard glared at her.

Then she turned to her approaching friend. "I think we should warn the captain. Maybe... Hey...." A look of confusion crossed her face. "Who are you?"

The raven-haired guard quickly hit her with a right cross, then a swift neck chop. The woman gave a grunt of pain, then collapsed to the ground.

Felicia looked up. "Bobbi?"

The disguised woman smiled and removed her cap. "Having a little trouble, Felicia?"

Felicia looked down at the unconscious guard, then back up at her friend. "I was... just a bit clumsy, is all..."

'Well, we need to be more careful," Bobbi replied. "This place is dangerous... We can't risk anything blowing our cover. Gotta strike fast and blend in before anyone notices."

Felicia nodded. "Sorry... you're right."

"No need to apologize," Bobbi smiled. "Now drag this woman into the bushes and get dressed. I'll keep watch and let Bridget know we're okay."

Felicia nodded again. "Okay."

She grasped the unconscious guard by her underarms and dragged her into the underbrush.

Felicia gave a last quick glance towards Bobbi before she began stripping the guard of her uniform. This just felt so unusual. A few months ago, Felicia had been the one offering clothes-stealing advice to Bobbi, who was new to and nervous about the prospect of infiltration. Now it seemed their roles had been reversed.

The guard lying before Felicia was sleeping peacefully. Felicia was surprised by how easily Bobbi had taken her out. Bobbi was a fighter, and seemed to really enjoy the prospect of mugging other women for their uniforms. Felicia wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Still, Bobbi had been right about one thing - at the moment, they needed to focus. Felicia turned her attention back to the guard, who was by now nearly down to her burgundy sports bra and cyan bikini panties. Felicia had by now unlaced the guard's boots and slid them off her feet, revealing the vanilla-white ankle socks beneath.

Felicia wasted no time getting dressed in the guard's uniform; as she expected, it was about half a size too large. Still, she was able to cuff the sleeves and tuck the pants into her boots, thus making the uniform appear less bulky.

Felicia used a roll of thin but strong black duct tape to gag the real guard and bind her to a nearby tree. The unconscious woman didn't even stir through the process. Despite her concerns, Felicia couldn't help but feel calmer after securing the guard. Maybe this won't be so difficult after all.

Returning to the south end of the complex, she sidled up to Bobbi. "Hey. Ready to move?"

Bobbi smiled back. "Hell yeah. Follow me."

She led Felicia along the walk and around the corner to the eastern side of the building. "Found an easy entrance on this wing. We're less likely to run into other people - including other guards who may not recognize us from the breakroom."

She patted the side pocket of her uniform. "Oops! Where is it?"

"Where is what?" Felicia inquired.

"My keycard... the one we need to gain access to the building." Bobbi glanced at the nearby bushes. "Just give me a second."

She stepped into the bushes and looked around. "Ah! There it is."

She knelt down beside a figure lying on the ground. The figure was a woman, and a rough-looking one at that. She had light skin and neon-green dyed hair cut to shoulder length, and her biceps were covered in tattoos. Twenty minutes earlier, she had looked quite intimating and forceful in her government-commissioned security uniform. But that was before her unfortunate encounter with Bobbi. Now the guard was stripped to her dark red triangle bra and forest green boyshorts, tape wound around her mouth and zip-ties securing her limbs.

Bobbi paid little attention to the woman whose uniform she now sported. Instead she picked up the fallen keycard, which the guard had dropped in their recent struggle. "Jackpot," she smiled.

Felicia peeked over the bushes. "Bobbi, did you get it?"

"Sure did." Bobbi smiled down at the unconscious guard. "Say, check out the tattoos on this woman. Maybe she should have spent less money on ink and more money on self-defense training." She chuckled.

Felicia bit her lip. She found Bobbi's flippant attitude disturbing, but didn't know what to say. "Come on... let's move."

Bobbi nodded and stood up, giving one last glance at the guard she had overpowered. An unmistakable look of triumph crossed her face as she gazed down at the now-helpless security officer.

The two disguised young women approached the entrance doorway. Bobbi swiped the key, and the door buzzed.

"After you, ma'am," she said to Felicia with a mock bow.

Felicia smiled as she stepped into the facility - but beneath that smile, she was worried. Not about the infiltration, but about her friend.

She glanced skyward as she headed toward the building, up at the glowing orb in the sky. The moon was full and beautiful this night - but for some reason, Felicia didn't find it as fascinating as she used to.

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

There were others, however, who still appreciated the moon's light quite a bit. This included travelers currently driving across the long stretch of road that bisected the fields of Southern Florida, from Miami to the Everglades. The road was not particularly well-lit, so the full moon was welcome. Even so, any vehicle traversing the vast terrain would need good and proper working headlights.

Fortunately, the lights on the blue-and-white police cruiser that now drove across this lonely road were in perfect working order. The car itself was in similarly top-notch condition, as befitting the officers of the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. It was fine-tuned and humming along on a full tank of gas.

And the two officers in the police car were also humming along - that is, to the soft music on the radio. They had been on a run of bad luck in recent months - but, at last, their luck appeared ready to change.

Officer Lora Clarke tapped her fingers on the steering wheel in tune with the music. She was a tall and well-toned woman, with fair skin and shoulder-length blonde hair. She wore a blue button-down shirt beneath a dark jacket, a black skirt with side zipper, and shiny black low-heeled boots. Atop her hair was a peaked black cap with the silver department insignia.

"Lovely night, isn't it?" she said chipperly to her partner.

Officer Violet O'Hara nodded. She was slightly shorter than her friend and similarly athletic, with light skin and short black hair cut into a bob. She wore a similar police uniform as her partner, though the insignia on her cap was gold.

"Certainly seems like it," she smiled. "Finally things are looking up."

"Knock on wood," Lora replied. "But yes... for the first time in a while, I'm looking forward to turning in a report."

Violet and Lora had been partners on the force for a few years, and had grown into close friends during that time. They enjoyed working in law enforcement, and had not had much trouble in their work... until recently.

Over the last few months, Violet and Lora had found themselves in a string of bad situations. On three separate occasions, they had been overpowered and mugged by other women, who had stolen their uniforms. Each time, Violet and Lora had been left in their underwear, bound, gagged, and humiliated.

The two policewomen knew they were hardly the only uniformed women finding themselves in this predicament. Over the past few years, the practice of mugging women for their attire had become rather common, both among the criminal underworld and even some "heroic" types needing a disguise for undercover work. However, most women did not have to go endure the practice as often as Violet and Lora did.

They had been lucky enough to keep their jobs on the police force - thanks to a combination of connections and personal charms - though they had previously been demoted from prison transport to patrol, and now to desk jobs.

But on this night, their luck appeared ready to turn. They had received a tip with potentially incriminating evidence against one of the city's top businesswomen. Violet and Lora had agreed to meet the source somewhere private in order to obtain the information.

"Isn't this exciting?" Lora said for perhaps the third time that evening. "Finally, our chance to rehabilitate ourselves as police detectives. Now maybe we'll start getting some respect at the precinct."

"Knock on wood, babe," Violet chuckled, and checked her watch. "And no need to rush, we're making pretty good time."

"I don't mind breaking the speed limit," Lora said with a smile. "There's no one else around here... and it's not like we'd get arrested, anyway."

Violet smiled, then glanced back out the window. Slowly, her smile faded as she saw the road ahead.

"Lora, check it out." She pointed. "Look at those skid marks."

Indeed, the headlights illuminated some thick black tire treads on the road ahead. They led to an old, beat-up sedan, which currently had its bumper and front wheels tipped into a roadside ditch.

"Damn," Lora frowned. "What could have caused that?"

"I don't know, but pull over," Violet said in concern. "We need to see if the driver's hurt."

Lora nodded and pulled the police cruiser to a stop. The two officers stepped out of their vehicle and hurried over to the apparent wreck.

"Hello?" Violet shined her flashlight through the driver-side window. The vehicle appeared empty. Then she noticed the passenger-side door was open.

"Over here!" Beckoning to Lora, she hurried around to the other side of the car. Lying in the grass was a tall young woman, dazed but seemingly conscious. She had dark skin and short black hair, and was stirring slightly, as if in a haze.

"Are you all right?" Violet knelt down beside the woman. "What happened?"

The woman looked up at the sound of Violet's voice. "Oh... the police. Thank goodness you're here, I..."

"Don't try to move," Lora said. "Everything will be okay. We'll call an ambulance..."

"I don't need an ambulance," the woman replied.

"You need to get checked up," Lora continued, picking up her phone. "Make sure you don't have a concussion or anything."

"I don't need an ambulance," the woman repeated. Her voice was no longer shaky. "But the two of you might... if you don't do as I say."

Violet and Lora glanced back at the woman. To their surprise, she now had a gun in her hand - and was pointing it at them.

Instinctively, the two policewomen raised their hands in shock and fear.

"What... what are you doing?" Lora stammered.

The woman got to her feet. "Calm down, ladies. Don't do anything stupid."

Another woman stepped from the shadows - tall and tan-skinned, with close-cropped brown hair. "What my associate means is, we're not going to hurt you. But we will need your cooperation for the next few minutes."

Violet groaned. "Oh, no..."

"Is something wrong?" the second woman asked.

Violet sighed in exasperation. "Don't tell me... You want our uniforms, don't you?"

The woman looked surprised. "Yes... that's correct. How did you know?"

"Just a lucky guess," Violet grumbled.

Lora simply shook her head. "The fourth time," she mumbled. "The fourth damn time... The universe hates us."

"Stop mumbling," the gun-toting woman said tersely. "Get up and unholster your weapons. Then start walking to those trees. Once we're far enough away from the road, you can start stripping."

Violet and Lora exchanged a hapless glance. They were both angry, but hadn't much say in the matter.

They dropped their guns to the ground, where they were retrieved by the brown-haired woman. Then the two police officers were led away from the road towards the nearby forest grove, the gun-toting woman smiling as she followed behind them.

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

"This is never going to work," Sonja whispered.

"Don't be so pessimistic," Chandra replied. "If it worked before, it can work again."

The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. The two women stepped out onto the main floor of the large and labyrinthine women's penitentiary.

"Now we just go down that hall, take a left turn, and there's the lobby," Chandra continued. "And then we just waltz out the exit. Piece of cake."

"If only," Sonja murmured.

The two women began walking casually down the long, steel-plated hallway. Sonja tried to mask her concern; Chandra, on the other hand, walked with the cool and confident swagger of a woman at ease.

True, it had not been an easy few days. Chandra and Sonja had both been arrested the prior week, as members of Dr. Julia Chen's ill-fated gang of criminal rogues. They had been carted off to one of the largest women's prisons in the southern USA, and locked in a cell while they awaited processing.

Chandra was, understandably, no great fan of languishing in prison, and so had hatched a plan to escape. True, it was not an especially original plan - one that involved fake stomach pains, gullible guards, and stolen uniforms - but so far, it seemed to be working well enough.

"Chin up," Chandra whispered.

"What?" Sonja glanced her way.

"You look all glum and depressed. Keep your chin up. Gotta look professional."

Both women were certainly dressed the part of professional - grey button-down shirts, black flannel pants, brown lace shoes, dark sunglasses, and peaked black caps. Both had nightsticks and guns strapped to their belts - bonus accessories to their newly obtained uniforms.

Sonja gave a bright, exaggerated false smile. "How's this for keeping my chin up?"

Chandra groaned. "Honestly, now. You act like you've never stolen a security uniform before."

"I've stolen eight security uniforms in the past," Sonja retorted. "Nine if you count bodyguards. I'm just saying, I don't think it will work this time. This prison checks for photo IDs from all the staff. They'll know we're imposters."

"I thought of that," Chandra countered. "That's why we mugged two guards who not only resembled us in size, but in physical appearance. We look enough like the pictures in these stolen photo IDs to pass a cursory inspection."

"I still think it's risky."

Chandra raised an eyebrow. "You're not usually this pessimistic, Sonj. What's going on?"

"Nothing... it's nothing." Sonja grew abruptly reclusive. "Let's... let's find the exit, and hope you're right."

Chandra looked a bit suspiciously at her friend, but decided not to press the matter further, at least not until they were outside the prison walls.

The lobby was the most welcoming part of the penitentiary, not that this was saying much. It was painted in calming blues and greens, with guards and other employees milling about near a coffee bar. The entrance to the prison - and the exit - was behind a glass partition near the receptionist's desk.

"Chin up," Chandra whispered to her friend again. "No one will see through these disguises if we act the part."

They approached the front desk. The receptionist was typing away at her computer.

"Hi," Chandra smiled at her. "We're ready to check out for the night."

The receptionist spoke without looking up. "Chandra Patel and Sonja Baranova."

Sonja's eyes widened in shock. She didn't know what to say.

Chandra's eyes, meanwhile, narrowed to slits. Instinctively, her hand slid toward the gun strapped to her hip.

However, the facial expressions of both women were masked by their sunglasses - which turned out to be a lucky thing.

"Patel and Baranova." The receptionist glanced up at the two women. "Are they prisoners here?"

Chandra looked at her quizzically. "...What?"

"They were brought here a few days ago." The receptionist appeared to be reading an email. "It says here that they're free to go."

Chandra and Sonja exchanged a glance. Neither one knew what to say.

"If you inform the warden, we can have them processed and released within the hour," the receptionist continued. "Unless you're leaving now..."

"No, no," Sonja quickly replied. "We don't need to leave just yet. We'll tell the warden."

She quickly turned and headed back down the prison corridor, motioning for Chandra to follow.

Chandra quickened her pace to catch up. "What the hell?" she whispered. "Who put in the call to release us?"

"I don't know," Sonja replied. "But it might be better for us if we do this by the book. Come on, let's get back upstairs and change out of these uniforms."

Chandra sighed. "Can't believe we wasted all that time and energy mugging those guards..."

Sonja grew silent. In truth, she had some idea of who it was that had called to release them... but she didn't want to voice her thoughts just yet.

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

Bridget stepped through the northern entrance of the complex, flashing the guard's ID badge at the front desk. She was careful to cover up the photo with two fingers, but she needn't have bothered. The guard at the desk was engrossed in a magazine - he simply gave a quick glance at the uniformed woman walked past and nodded.

Bridget strode down the dimly-lit hallway, speaking covertly into her earpiece. "Girls, I'm inside. How about you?"

Bobbi's voice responded - cool, calm, self-assured. "Yes, we're in."

"Okay." Bridget glanced at a directory on the wall. "According to this map, the labs are in the basement. The offices are on the upper two floors. I'll go high, you two go low."

"Copy that."

Bridget walked to the elevators. At this late hour, most of the government officials had gone home, though a few were probably still working at the late hour. She had done her homework and knew which offices would most likely hold interesting information, but she would still need to be cautious in her search. Most officials would probably not be thrilled about the idea of a security guard searching their room, particularly without authorization.

As Bridget reached the elevator, she saw another woman approaching, pushing a small cart. Judging by its contents - mop, bucket, and rags - plus her attire, she was the facility's cleaning woman. Of medium height and tan skin, she wore a light blue short-sleeve shirt and black skirt beneath a faded grey smock, and white sneakers. Her oily black hair was tied beneath a red bandanna, a few errant strands peeking out from beneath.

The cleaning woman nodded at Bridget, eyeing her uniform. "Good evening, officer," she said. "All quiet tonight?"

Bridget smiled at the woman - partly out of politeness, and partly because she appeared to be the right size. "Yes, all quiet. I was about ready to do one final patrol and then clock out for the night."

"Figures," the cleaning woman mused. "Everyone else is going home, but my work is just beginning. Gotta clean all the upstairs offices by morning."

She pressed the elevator button, and the doors slid open. "All in a night's work, I guess."

Bridget followed her into the elevator. "You do great work," she said. "Late hours, for sure, but you've got one of the most important jobs in the facility."

The cleaning woman laughed as the elevator doors slid closed. "Tell that to the boss. I'm basically the least important employee here."

"But that's the beauty of it," Bridget said. "Nobody pays any attention to you. Every time I wear a cleaning uniform, I'm just allowed to wander wherever I want. Nobody stops me."

"Well, it's not all it's cracked up to be," the cleaner responded. "Wait... what do you mean? When do you wear a cleaning uniform?"

"I'm sorry." Bridget gave a sympathetic smile to the puzzled woman. "But in a few minutes, I'll be wearing yours."

She struck fast and hard with a neck chop. Quick, well-aimed, harmless. The cleaning woman slumped over her cart, unconscious.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Bridget peeked out to make sure the coast was clear. Then she wheeled the cleaning cart - with its unconscious owner still lying atop it - into a nearby closet.

After locking the door, Bridget quickly got to work, stripping the cleaning woman down to her blue balconette bra and mint hipsters. She utilized some of the baling twine lying around the closet to bind the woman, and some unused cleaning rags to gag her.

On went the uniform. It fit reasonably well, if about half a size too small. By this point, Bridget was used to disguises not fitting perfectly - as long as the outfit didn't look too baggy or busty, she was fine.

She left the real cleaning lady in a corner of the closet, covering her with a large towel to keep her warm. A pang of guilt nibbled at her - I hope she doesn't get fired for this.

Nevertheless, Bridget never let sympathy cloud her judgment. There was a story to investigate, a news piece to be written - and as an ace journalist, she couldn't let it pass her by.

Returning to the task at hand, Bridget tied the red bandana over her hair. It helped further obscure her identity. Once the closet door was locked, Bridget began pushing the cleaning cart down the hall.

She didn't have time to search every office, but she would make use of whatever resources she could afford.

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

Harper's smile had now been replaced by an expression of annoyance.

She sat herself on an old tree stump as she tried working her leg into the shiny black police boot. But the boot was about half a size too small and didn't make for an easy fit.

"Need some help?" Evelyn asked from nearby. She had already laced up her own newly-obtained boots and was now buttoning up the dark police jacket.

Harper rolled her eyes. "I can do this. Just give me a minute."

She continued to work the boot up her leg, brow furrowed. "You'd think our city's tax dollars would pay for some more comfortable uniforms."

""Consider yourself lucky," Jenna called from nearby. "At least you get to wear uniforms tonight."

She had just finished securing the real policewomen to the trunk of a nearby oak tree. "These two don't even have that luxury."

Indeed, Violet and Lora were once again out of uniform, though their underwear choice this time was at least fairly modest. Violet wore a grey t-shirt bra and tangerine boyshorts, while Lora was left in a mint-green sports bra and classic white briefs.

Jenna had made use of the officers' handcuffs in securing them around the thick tree. Each woman had her back facing the tree, with their wrists handcuffed to each other - Lora's right hand to Violet's left, and vice versa. They were also gagged with white washcloths and had their ankles secured with black zipties.

The expressions on the policewomen's faces suggested they were - understandably - uncomfortable and angry. Jenna gave them a sympathetic smile.

"I'm really sorry about this," she said. "I really don't support mugging women for their clothes... but I was outvoted." She glanced at Evelyn and Harper, who were putting the finishing touches on their disguises.

Then she turned back to Violet and Lora. "For what it's worth, I really respect you and your work. Being a policewoman... it must be a tough job. Putting your life on the line every day, while fielding sexist comments from chauvinist male coworkers." She gave a sympathetic smile. "Women like you are great role models. I hope you know that."

The policewomen simply grumbled and pulled against their bonds. Jenna sighed as she got up, absent-mindedly swatting at the back of her neck.

Evelyn and Harper had just finished inspecting each other's uniforms as Jenna approached.

Harper chuckled at her. "Did you give them one of your feminist speeches? How sweet... I'm sure they forgive us now."

Jenna ignored the comment. "Did we pack any bug spray?"

"Bug spray?" Evelyn inquired. "I don't think so. We won't be outdoors for very long."

"I know," Jenna replied, glancing back at the two captive policewomen. "But they will... It's a humid night, and they're going to be stuck to that tree for several hours. With most of their skin exposed, obviously. They're liable to get bitten by mosquitoes."

Harper rolled her eyes. "And we're liable to lose our jobs if we don't get moving. Come on."

Jenna looked at Evelyn again. "Don't we have something?"

Evelyn sighed. "There's some lavender oils in the trunk... It should make for good bug repellant. Hurry up, though."

Jenna nodded and hurried to retrieve the spray bottle. Moments later, she was applying liberal sprays around the tree.

"Funny smelling, but it should help keep your skin clean," she told the two confused policewomen. "Try to get some rest... Someone will find you tomorrow."

She returned to the road, and got into the back of the idling police car, where Evelyn and Harper were waiting.

"All good?" Harper asked Jenna as Evelyn pulled the car onto the road. "You sure you don't want to give them a foot rub or something?"

"There's no need to be rude," Jenna scoffed. "You were pretty upset back when we got our uniforms stolen."

"Those days are long gone," Harper retorted, smiling coolly. "Now we're the ones who steal the clothes. We're the badass bitches who call the shots." She flexed her muscles for emphasis.

"This isn't a game," Jenna said angrily. "I've seen the numbers... and they don't look good."

"What numbers?"

"The labor statistics," Jenna explained. "Last year - for the first time in a decade - the rate of female hires in jobs that require uniforms declined. Fewer women are applying to be police officers, security guards - even nurses."

"Why?" Evelyn asked.

"Why do you think?" Jenna said indignantly. "These past few years have seen a major increase in incidents where women in uniform are mugged, stripped, and tied up, so that other woman can use their clothes as a disguise. Now we're seeing the harmful effects. Now women are growing more wary about entering these professions; they're scared that they could also end up attacked and bound and gagged in a closet, left in nothing but their underwear."

Once again, Harper rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen," she scoffed. "You act like uniform stealing is some major crime. Like I told you, it's just part of how the world is now. Either embrace it or get left behind."

"It's not how the world should be," Jenna countered. "Women spent decades fighting for equal job opportunities in the workforce. And now they're being scared away. And the ones who decide to go along with it - like we did - become uniform thieves themselves. The paradigm is only making the problem worse."

"Just give it a rest, honey," Harper groaned. "If we need a job that can be easily accomplished with uniforms as disguises, we take those uniforms. Even if they're in the possession of other women. It's very simple; no need to overcomplicate it."

Evelyn nodded. "Now quiet down, you two," she said. "Remember, we're supposed to be police officers, not labor analysts. Save the debate for another time."

Jenna slumped back in her seat, arms folded. She didn't say another word.

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

Chandra opened the door to the second-story closet. She grinned wryly. "Still fast asleep. So adorable."

The two guards they had mugged earlier were indeed still unconscious. One of them, a tan-skinned woman with shoulder-length black hair, lay comfortably in her blue plunge bra and puce knickers. The other, a light-skinned, short-haired blonde, rested on her friend's shoulder, clad only in her pink comfort bra and purple demicup panties. Both women were zip-tied and tape-gagged.

"Better get out of these uniforms, and put those back on." Chandra gestured to the two discarded prison uniforms in the corner of the closet, and began unbuttoning her stolen outfit.

"Still feels like a waste," Sonja sighed. "But at least we got to humiliate these two losers."

Chandra smiled. "Always a nice bonus."

Once they had changed back into their prison garb, the women discreetly returned to their cell. It was only a matter of minutes before another guard came to retrieve them.

"Good news, ladies," she said, unlocking the cell. "You're free to go."

Chandra pretended to be surprised. "Surely you can't be serious," she said.

"I think she is serious," Sonja chuckled. "And don't call her Shirley."

The guard rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you prisoners crack some of the worst jokes," she muttered. "But I suppose that's preferable to being violent."

Chandra suppressed a grin as they exited the cell. "Of course. Totally non-violent prisoners, that's us."

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

It did not take long for Chandra and Sonja to be processed and set free from the prison that had so briefly been their new home. Chandra felt especially relieved as she watched the warden stamp "APPROVED" on the release papers.

"There's a transport vehicle waiting outside," he told the two women. "Just tell the driver where you want to go."

Within minutes, Chandra and Sonja were breathing the fresh air of freedom. They approached the transport vehicle - a government-designated white van with a blue stripe across one side. The driver, a light-skinned woman with honey-brown hair, sat up front. She wore a dark blue uniform jacket, white shirt, blue jeans, and black boots, as well as a blue baseball cap pulled low over her face. She motioned for the two women to enter.

Chandra and Sonja obliged. As soon as they shut the vehicle doors, the driver started the van and drove for the exit.

Sonja gave the driver a strange look. "Wait... something familiar about you..."

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled at her. "Very perceptive, Sonja. Hello again."

Sonja had figured the SVR was behind the release, but was still surprised to see her old friend in the driver's seat. "Oksana?"

"Who is this?" Chandra asked. "How do you know the prison van driver?"

"Afraid I'm not the real prison van driver," Oksana replied, gesturing to the rear of the van.

Chandra glanced behind her seat. Sure enough, the real van driver lay in the rear of the van, unconscious. A dark-skinned woman with braided black hair, she wore only a violet racerack bra and lime-green bikini panties. Her hands and feet had been secured with white cable cords, and a dishrag filled her mouth.

"She was courteous enough to loan me her uniform and vehicle for the evening," Oksana continued. "Which is good, because I wanted to talk with you, Sonja... and I wasn't in the mood of waiting." She grinned.

Sonja nodded, and tried to smile back. But she didn't like the look in Oksana's eye.

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

While the upper floors of the lab complex were sparse and quiet, the basement level remained abuzz with activity. Scientists and technicians milled about, working long and late hours to complete their various assigned tasks.

Yara was one such technician. A young woman with bronze skin and frizzy black hair tied back in a bun, she wore faded grey overalls and a white cotton shirt, plus a dark blue cap and brown ankle boots. Often tasked with the "grunt work" - ensuring that the machines ran smoothly and that any problems were swiftly remedied - she wasn't particularly thrilled about the late hours or meager pay, but it was a suitable gig to help her pay off her college debts.

She had just exited the labs after fixing up another faulty burner, having deduced that the problem was likely at the main power source. She whistled softly to herself as she strode down the quiet hall to the boiler room, toolbox in hand.

At once, her whistling was cut short, as a hand clapped over her mouth. A surprised Yara was quickly pulled into a disused storage room. As the hand slid away, Yara opened her mouth to scream, but a quick neck chop put her out of circulation.

Bobbi lowered the unconscious woman to the floor. "She's about my size, wouldn't you say?"

Standing off to one side, Felicia nodded. "I think you got it on the first try."

Bobbi glanced down and wrinkled her nose. "Her uniform is kind of ugly, though," she noted. "Look at those grease stains on those overalls... Maybe I can find someone else who knows how to keep their clothes cleaner..."

"No!" Felicia said suddenly, making Bobbi look up in surprise. "I mean... you don't need to overdo it. I know clothes stealing can be useful, but we shouldn't mug too many women at once."

Bobbi considered, and nodded. "You're right... Would waste too much time."

That wasn't the reason on Felicia's mind, but Bobbi had already turned her attention back to the fallen technician, and was unlacing her boots.

"We need to get you a disguise, too," she said. "That security guard getup draws too much attention down here. Wait by the door and grab the next woman who looks about your size."

Felicia glanced around. She pointed to the rear of the storage room. "There are some lab coats hanging on that rack," she said. "Why don't I just slip one on... I can pass for one of the scientists."

Bobbi pulled off Yara's boots. "A lab coat won't be enough. You've got to really present as a scientist. Clothes, shoes, everything."

Felicia scratched her head. "I don't know... We're not going to be here very long, are we?"

Bobbi stopped stripping the technician and looked up at her friend. "Felicia, is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Felicia said, a little too quickly. "I'm just... a little out of practice, as you saw outside."

Bobbi nodded. "I understand. But stealing clothes isn't that difficult. It's like riding a bike... once you learn, you never forget."

Felicia winced inwardly at the comparison. Bobbi's demeanor was just a little too cool. "I guess I just... need to get back into it."

"I totally understand," Bobbi smiled. "Here, let me help you."

She peeked out the storage room door. A young scientist was walking down the hall, making some marks on a clipboard. She had light skin and a bowl cut of strawberry-blonde hair, and was dressed in a pink sweater and black pencil skirt beneath her white lab coat. Her black sneakers squeaked against the recently waxed floor tiles.

Bobbi beckoned Felicia to the entranceway. "That girl's about your size," she whispered. "Just do it like I did. Handgag, pull in, neck chop. Three easy steps."

Felicia nodded. "I... I'll try."

As the scientist passed by the door, Felcicia swung it open. She handgagged the woman, pulled her inside, and hit her with a neck chop. The scientist grunted and fell unconscious.

"Fantastic." Bobbi smiled and applauded. "That was beautifully done, 'Licia. I'm not sure what you were afraid of."

Felicia nodded. "You're right... I guess I'm still pretty good at this."

She glanced back at Bobbi, who had now happily returned to stripping the technician. Which means I'm afraid of something else.

Still, Felicia voiced no further concerns. She got to work removing the scientist's coat and clothes.

Soon, the technician was down to her blue underwire bra and white hipsters, while the scientist had been left in a turquoise bandeau bra and matching bikini panties. Bobbi dragged them to the corner of the storage room, gagged them with black electrical tape, and tied them up with blue flex.

Felicia dressed in the scientist's clothes and lab coat. The disguise fit very well, but she still didn't feel great about it.

"They make a cute couple, don't they?" Bobbi chuckled. "The blonde one's a scientist... if she gets bored, maybe she can try a few 'experiements' with her new playmate."

Felicia scowled at her. "Why are you mocking these women? They didn't do anything to deserve that. We just needed their clothes. You don't need to humiliate them beyond it."

Bobbi frowned. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood. Besides, they're unconscious. They can't hear me."

"Roberta," Felicia said in annoyance.

"Fine, fine... I'm sorry." Bobbi put on the technician's cap. "I'm sorry, okay? I won't do it again."

She approached the door. "Come on, let's get moving."

Felicia followed her out, giving one last glance at the two bound-and-gagged prisoners.

She didn't believe Bobbi's apology. Judging by the spring in her step, Bobbi was perfectly happy about showing her superiority over other women when mugging them.

Felicia felt angry at her friend. And she felt angry at herself, for introducing Bobbi to the concept of uniform stealing to begin with.

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

The Gosford ballet theater was one of the more esteemed and elite establishments in Orlando. Tickets were expensive, the patrons were wealthy and upper-class. And the staff was expected to lend an air of sophistication to the proceedings.

Although the theater had not faced much in the way of danger or scandal over the years, pickpocketing was a recurring problem, given the status of the clientele. Thus, they were always looking for security guards to strengthen their reputation.

It was at this theater that Ashley had found her latest employ. Following the recent troubles at Chrysalis, she had been let go, but had not let disappointment cloud her view. She had now found a new job at Gosford, and with a new job came another fresh start.

Of course, Ashley's job as a security guard had been through turbulent times these past few months. She had been mugged for her uniform - not once, not twice, but five times - and left in a state of undress and distress following every incident. Some women would have considered changing occupations after going through all that.

But Ashley had found contentment, of a sort. Her life had become what she deemed to be a twisted joke, and getting constantly mugged for her uniform was an inescapable part of it. She simply could not fight fate, so why bother? Better to just let other women steal her clothes, better to let herself be mugged and tied up in her underwear, again and again, until the universe finally got bored of her and let her live in peace.

The Gosford security uniform consisted of a light green button-down shirt, dark green tie, black pants, and polished black shoes, as well as a green leather peaked cap. Ashley found herself looking pretty good in the uniform - though she figured it was only a matter of time before someone forced her out of it.

Whatever. It was her first night working at Gosford, and all was quiet. Ashley patrolled the lobby, eyeing the concession stand and the patrons as they entered the theater for the new show.

Ashley yawned and glanced at her watch. To her surprise, it was nearly midnight. She had made it through her first full day at work without any sort of trouble. She hadn't had to detain anyone, nor had anyone tried to detain her.

Wow, she thought. Maybe this job won't be so bad after al...

"Excuse me."

The voice belonged to a young woman, approaching Ashley from the side corridor. She appeared to be one of the theater patrons - fair-skinned and blonde and about Ashley's size.

"Excuse me, officer," the blonde said with a smile, beckoning to Ashley and pointing in the direction of the ladies' room. "I think one of the toilets in there is clogged. Could you come take a look?"

Ashley sighed inwardly. Here we go.

She turned to the woman in annoyance. "So the 'toilet is clogged,' you say? It won't work?"

The woman nodded. "That's correct. I could use your help."

"I'm sure you could," Ashley smirked. "I'm sure you want my help... or more specifically, the help of my uniform."

The woman looked at her strangely. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, you could at least think of a better excuse," Ashley continued. "The toilet thing is so overdone. If you want to lure me somewhere quiet so that you can attack me and steal my clothes, why not be a little more creative? Or why not just wait till I go somewhere private and then knock me out?"

The blonde glanced around. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Ashley said. "Let's just go check out the toilet, shall we? Make sure you've already decided how you want to knock me out. I think I'm developing an immunity to chloroform by this point."

The blonde tried to back away. "Listen... forget I said anything..."

"No, let's not forget," Ashley replied in annoyance. "If you want my uniform, you're free to steal it... But you'll need to put in the effort. You won't just..."

At that moment, another woman poked her head out of the women's restroom. "Hey, can we get some help in here? One of the toilets is overflowing."

Ashley was silent for a moment. Then she turned back to the blonde, a blank expression on her face. "Is... is the toilet actually clogged?"

The blonde quickly stepped away, eager to be as far away from Ashley as possible. "I'll... go find someone else to help."

Ashley stood, dumbfounded, as she watched the woman walk away.

Another guard, a tan-skinned brunette named Lacie, approached her. "Hey... you sounded pretty angry talking to that woman. Is everything okay?"

Ashley rubbed her forehead in exasperation. "I... I don't know. I just don't know..."

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

It was a cold night. Audrey shivered as she leaned against her car. The rest stop she had chosen for a meeting spot was old and run-down; there wasn't a soul in sight.

She had been waiting for nearly half an hour, manila folder in hand. It had been too risky to communicate over the phone, so she was relieved when the police agreed to meet with her privately. But where were they?

Audrey detected lights in the distance. She was relieved to see a police cruiser approaching the rest stop.

The wheels of the police vehicle ground to a halt against the roadside gravel. The doors opened, and two tall, well-toned women in police uniforms stepped out.

"Thank goodness," Audrey smiled. "I've been waiting for a while... I wasn't sure anyone would come."

"Sorry for the delay, ma'am," the tan-skinned, dark-haired woman said authoritatively. "Had some vehicular issues, but all is well now. Thank you for your patience."

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me." Audrey handed them the manila folder. "This is all the intel I have on Gina Caldwell. I used to work for an associate of hers - Lucille Weldon-Grant, from Cerberus Chemicals. My old boss is now in jail, but I've been trying to clean up some of her messes wherever I can. This Caldwell woman worked closely with her on a lot of illegal dealings... I have a feeling she's just as corrupt as Weldon-Grant was."

Evelyn flipped through the contents of the folder. "This is certainly worth investigating, miss. Thank you for coming forward."

Audrey beamed. "Happy to do my civic duty."

"We'll look into this further." Evelyn tucked the folder under her arm. "Is there any other info you have available?"

Audrey shook her head. "Security is pretty tight at Cerberus, particularly after these recent troubles," she said. "I took what I could find, but that's all I've got."

"Thank you again, ma'am. We can take it from here." Evelyn tipped her cap. "You just go home and get back to your daily life."

Audrey nodded. "Thank you, officers. And... I will."

She returned to her car and got inside, happily humming "Barbie Girl" to herself.

Once she had driven off, Evelyn and Harper turned to each other and grinned.

"That was too easy," Harper chuckled. "She didn't even notice that my uniform didn't fit properly."

"Modern disguises are more effective than they may seem," Evelyn noted. "People see the uniforms, and automatically assume we're real cops. Everyone judges a book by the cover."

"So what do we do with this info?" Harper inquired.

"We'll have to burn it, obviously... Can't have anyone linking Weldon-Grant to our boss. I don't see anything too damaging here, but Ms. Caldwell was very clear in her orders."

Harper grinned as they returned to the police car. "Ms. Caldwell will be thrilled. She may even give us a raise."

She peeked into the backseat. "Coast is clear, Jenna. You can get up now."

Jenna rose from her hiding spot. "It is so cramped down there."

"We could have stolen a third police uniform for you," Harper shrugged. "But you're just such a wimp about mugging women for their clothes."

"I was telling you the facts, Harper," Jenna said in annoyance. "You don't have to like them, but that doesn't make them untrue. Uniform stealing is bad for society, and damaging to female empowerment."

Harper shrugged. "Personally, it makes me feel pretty damn empowered."

Evelyn sighed. "Stop the arguing, you two. I've got Ms. Caldwell on the line."

The voice from the phone sounded out from the speaker. "Well? Did you take care of it?"

"Yes, boss," Evelyn replied. "We've got the file. Weldon-Grant's secretary won't be a problem any longer."

"Perfect." The women could detect a chuckle in Gina Caldwell's voice, even over the phone. "Now, on to the next order of business. I need to see you all at my office, promptly."

"Something the matter?" Evelyn asked. She and Harper exchanged a quizzical glance.

"Indeed there is. Someone else has been snooping around my operations, and has already gotten a few of my associates incarcerated with her so-called journalistic reporting."

"A reporter?" Harper asked. "Which one?"

"Her name is Bridget Baxter," Ms. Caldwell replied. "And it's time someone put a stop to her."

Very nice start and welcome back.

Good story! I missed a few of the instalments, but it can be enjoyed nonetheless.
I found it funny that no woman wore matching underwear in the story

well, an impressive return.

Miss Baxter has become a sort of deity of the Uniform Stealing, from the very starting scene where she solves every issue to the final line of the installment, when even one of her archenemies implicitly concedes that the reporter is almost unstoppable

and finally the cultural and political implications of our all-female genre are known and recognized as impossible to reconcile with the modern feminism

Uniform stealing is bad for society, and damaging to female empowerment."

welcome back mr Tirepanted!

( and welcome back Ashley, the security guard who wants to be an unwilling victim and a uniform donor )

FeMilImpos: Thanks! It's been over a year since I've focused on the main series (not counting a few spinoff stories) and it's great to be back.

Torreken: I know the series has gotten quite complicated over the years, but I do try to keep it easy enough to follow even for new readers, or people who haven't read every installment. Glad you enjoy.

A little variety in underwear goes a long way in these stories. I think it adds some extra detail to the USB scenes, though it can indeed be a bit humorous at times.

Esercito Thank you! Bridget is a very fun character to write for, in part because of her cunning and resourcefulness in getting out of any situation. I do try not to make her too unstoppable, as these stories need conflict and she needs to face formidable villains. And hopefully, this story will highlight some of her personal vulnerabilities. But in terms of her disguise and infiltration techniques, she's certainly something of a USB role model.

The exploration of uniform stealing and its impact on the culture are another factor that motivated me to continue the series, as I think there's a lot to explore there. Hopefully the series can find interesting material there as well.

And yes, Ashley's character is in something of a pickle as a perpetually unwilling uniform donor. But her arc in the saga is not over, and she'll be playing a part in this story as well...

Thanks Tirepanted for continuing the story!

I particularly enjoyed the beginning scene of taking out the guards outside the facility.

First it starts with the great scene with Jessa. Perfect example of a guard trying to be diligent but not paying enough attention to the bushes. Then we get the good old fashioned chloro attack.

The scene with Felicia and Bobbi was so cool. Loved Felicia screwing up and basically getting caught. Then the guard falls for Bobbi's stolen uniform and is quickly, and rather roughly, knocked out.

The interaction with Bobbi and Felicia is really fun.

Description of Jessa's struggles was awesome. I loved "Jessa struggled in her assailant's arms, trying to break free. Her boots kicked up small clouds of dust, but there was no one in close proximity to notice them. She squirmed and wriggled as the chloroform began to take effect, as she was dragged deeper into the bushes and out of sight. The leaves and branches shook, and the sounds of struggling grew lower and softer. Then, gradually, the area became still and quiet." So well described.

I also liked with the second guard the description of "She grasped the unconscious guard by her underarms and dragged her into the underbrush." There is something so cool about an dragging an unconscious guard off in that manner.

I also really enjoyed the way Bridget took out the cleaning girl with a quick neck chop. Also loved the idea of her slumped over her cart being rolled out of sight.

The neck chop was a common use in this chapter. I think I counted four. It is so convenient that one special spot on the neck that puts a woman out!


Glad to get a new story!

Thanks, Meditions! I figured you'd like the guard takedowns.

The early scenes with Bobbi, Felicia, and the guards were a good way to reintroduce the main characters and focus on how they've changed in recent volumes. A bit of character development and fun dialogue to help liven up the uniform thefts, plus the fear that Felicia may have botched the mugging before it begins.

Glad you like the descriptions. I try to keep them tense and interesting, though it's always a challenge to figure out how much or how little to describe, and what is worth leaving to the imagination.

There were quite a few neck chops in this chapter. I wanted to make it a point as an quick and efficient but relatively harmless way to knock a woman out when chloroform isn't handy. Bridget always carries some chloroform pads in her handbag, but Bobbi and Felicia may have to resort to more direct means of mugging (another thing that doesn't sit well with Felicia).

Beatrice hummed to herself as she loaded the white crates into the back of her truck. Despite the late hour, there was still work to be done.

The boxes buzzed as she added each one of the vehicle. And why not? They were filled with bees, the small flying insects that were Beatrice's stock-and-trade. She had grown used to the sounds over the years, and even found in them a musical quality.

A light-skinned woman with a ponytail of natural honey-blonde hair, Beatrice was a professional a beekeeper, and worked hard to cultivate the little insects at her local apiary. At this time of year, production season was in full effect, and she worked long hours to ensure that all the bees' honey was collected and ready for transport. The bees, too, would need transport now and then, as the apiary itself could only accommodate so many at once.

There were those who mocked Beatrice for her job - "How's it buzzing, Bea?" was a common witticism - but she didn't care. She loved her work, and happily donned her uniform each day.

The uniform in question consisted of a full white bodysuit, plus white gloves and black boots. It was topped off with a wide-brimmed white hat that was equipped with a veil of netting. The netting mostly obscured her face, but it afforded her protection from any aggressive bee stings.

Beatrice finished loading the last crate, then shut the rear doors of the truck. She checked her watch. If she hurried, she could make this last job in about fifteen minutes...

As she stepped toward the cab of the truck, however, a noise alerted her. Beatrice glanced around - it sounded like footsteps, but there didn't appear to be anyone there. Though it was a bit difficult to see clearly in the darkness, beneath the netting. She lifted her veil to get a better look...

At once, Beatrice felt herself get seized from behind. A hand covered her now-exposed mouth, and an arm wrapped around her throat. Helpless and silenced, Beatrice could only struggle in shock and confusion as she was roughly dragged backwards toward the nearby bushes.

"Don't panic, darling," a woman's voice whispered in her ear. "I just need to borrow your things for a while."

Beatrice's fears were not allayed by the whispers, but she could do nothing to break the woman's viselike grip. The beekeeper squirmed helplessly as she disappeared into the bushes.

All was silent for several minutes, save the low buzzing sounds from within the truck.

Then a woman emerged from the bushes, dressed from head to toe in beekeeper garb. She approached the truck, stepped inside, and started the ignition.

The watchman looked up as the truck approached the apiary exit. He could not see the driver's face beneath the netting, but he could see her nametag.

"Have a good trip, Beatrice." He opened the gate to let the truck drive through. The driver simply nodded, and steered the truck out onto the open road.

Beatrice remained unconscious in the bushes, stripped to a bikini bra and hipsters with a matching yellow honeycomb pattern, bound with white rope and gagged with green tape. She would awaken in a few hours, with no idea of who had stolen her uniform and truck... or why.

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

Sonja crossed her arms and affixed a stubborn glare in the direction of her former colleague.

"I told you... No," she said staunchly. "I'm not rejoining the SVR. My days with the Russian police are over."

Oksana sighed as she steered the prison release van through the grassy roads. "I understand your reluctance, Sonja... But our superiors would not have arranged to pull these strings - to get you released from American prison - if they didn't have urgent need of you."

"I don't care what they need of me," Sonja replied. "I've left that life behind... and I'm never going back."

Chandra kept silent, but eyed Oksana with a mix of concern and apprehension. She could already tell she did not like this woman.

"I have good news, Agent Baranova," Oksana pressed. "The new mission we have for you... It is in the United States. You would work here in America, helping us with our mission."

Sonja seemed to consider this for a moment, but then shook her head. "I'm an American now," she said. "I don't want to work as a foreign agent in this country. I like it here - good food, good business. And the women here have colorful and creative underwear... unlike the boring, unfashionable women I used to mug for disguises in Russia."

Chandra suppressed a chuckle. Sonja smiled at her.

"Sonja," Oksana said, stopping the vehicle. "I'm afraid this is not negotiable. We freed you from prison, as well as your friend - even though we have no use for her. And I'm afraid this mission is too important for you to hold up because of your conflicting loyalties."

She pulled out her dart gun, aimed it, and squeezed the trigger. "Pleasant dreams, dorogaya."

The tranquilizer dart hit Sonja square in the neck. She gasped, and slumped over in her seat.

"You bitch!" Chandra growled. She stood up to lunge at Oksana, but the Russian woman was faster. Another squeeze of the trigger, the whistle of a tranquilizer flitting through the air, and Chandra was down for the count.

Oksana dragged the unconscious Chandra from the vehicle and to the side of the road. "I'm sorry, dear girl, but you are not a part of this. Do svidaniya."

She got back in the van and drove off, leaving the slumbering Chandra lying by the dark and cold midnight roads.

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

Bridget moved cautiously from office to office, disguised in the uniform of the poor cleaning woman. She did a cursory cleaning job on each room, partly to stay in character and partly to help with the fine details of her search. She swept the rooms, literally and figuratively, looking for clues that could help her investigation.

However, most of the office searches turned up little more than some errant dust bunnies. Part of the problem was her limited access - she could not turn on the computers without alerting their owners of unwarranted access, particularly as she did not know any passwords.

Bridget could hear sounds of snoring as she approached the last office. She silently nudged the door open and peeked inside. A burly, well-dressed man sat in his chair, hunched over, eyes closed. Judging by his fancy suit, he was one of the head executives at this office - and judging by his posture, he had fallen asleep in the midst of his work.

Bridget smiled. A stroke of good fortune.

She tiptoed into the room, sidling up to the slumbering man, and was pleased to see that his computer was still on. Not only that, but several files were open. Bridget scrolled down the list, noting several files on scientists who were affiliated with top-level NASA programs.

Bridget scanned through the list, recognizing a few names from previous encounters. Luann Grace... Taryn Petrella...

Bridget shivered slightly at one name. Julia Chen...

Despite her misgivings, she clicked on the file. It opened, displaying a picture of Dr. Chen, along with some supplemental text.

Name: Julia Chen
Status: Unknown, presumed deceased
Dr. Julia Chen is a former NASA administrator and convicted criminal. Following her attempts to sabotage the launch of the first all-female spaceflight, she was arrested and all her governmental ties have been severed. She escaped from custody and her current whereabouts remain unknown, although rumors have begun circulating about her death. Although Dr. Chen is no longer associated with NASA, her prior research has proven vital to the development of Project Pluto.

Bridget's eyes narrowed. "Project Pluto"? What was that? Was NASA really using the research of Dr. Chen - a power-mad and murderous criminal - as a basis for their next project?

Despite the room's effective heating system, Bridget felt a chill in the air. She had stumbled upon a story, for certain... but the implications of it were more disturbing than she was prepared for...

"Hey!"

Bridget looked up with a start. There was a woman standing in the office doorway, holding a tray of coffee.

"You're not supposed to touch the computers," the woman said, a note of suspicion in her voice.

She was tall and light-skinned, with her reddish-brown hair slicked back into a bun. She wore a black apron over a white cotton shirt, dark blue jeans, and black sneakers. She appeared to be a barista from the building's coffee shop, down on the first floor. Apparently, the man in the office had ordered some drinks before nodding off.

The barista set down her tray and reached for the phone on the wall. "I'm calling security."

Bridget thought quickly. "Please... no understand," she said in thickly-accented, broken English. "I clean rooms... I clean desk."

The barista looked at her strangely. "You're not supposed to touch the computers. A lot of sensitive information on there."

"Please, I clean rooms." Bridget approached the woman, holding up her washrag. "Is very good. Need job, need money. Please no fire."

"I don't want you fired," the barista replied. "I just want to know why you were... mmppphh?!?"

Bridget jumped the woman, pressing the washrag against her face. It had previously been treated with liberal application of chloroform.

"Shh... Shh... This won't hurt a bit." Bridget tried to use a soothing voice as the barista struggled in her grip. "Just breathe... Breathe, honey, breathe..."

The barista's legs flopped around, her arms windmilled in futility. The strength slowly ebbed from her body, and her eyes fluttered closed as the chloroform did its work.

As the woman went limp in Bridget's arms, the ace reporter glanced over at the desk. The man stirred slightly, seemingly awakened by the noise.

Bridget held her breath, not daring to move.

The man snorted again and went back to sleep.

Bridget allowed herself a sigh of relief. Too close. She dropped the barista into one of the office chairs; the sleeping woman's head lolled to one side.

Bridget removed a flash drive from her pocket and inserted it from her computer. She would download as much of the info as she could; this definitely warranted further investigation.

However, she also needed to get out of the facility without attracting attention. It was too early in the night for the cleaning woman to exit; people would get suspicious.

Bridget eyed the sleeping barista. They were about the same size...

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

Ashley watched in silence as Lacie poured her a piping hot cup of tea.

"Here you go." Lacie set the cup down on the table in front of her coworker, then began pouring herself a cup as well.

Ashley nodded. "Thanks."

The two security guards were sitting in the employee lounge of the Gosford theater. It was a quiet area at this moment, a way for the women to get away and talk for a bit.

Lacie sat down in the cushioned chair across from Ashley and crossed her legs. "Now, why don't you tell me what's wrong."

Ashley sighed. "With my life? Everything."

Lacie stirred her cup and took a sip. "Ashley dear, what makes you say that? You're a smart and attractive woman. You have a well-paying job at the Gosford..."

Ashley rolled her eyes. "Yeah... until someone steals my uniform and I get fired again."

Lacie looked at her in confusion. "Steals your uniform?"

Ashley nodded. "You know the deal. I'm a female security guard working at a pricey establishment. At some point, some crazy woman is going to sneak up on me, drag me into a closet, and put on my uniform. I'll just be left tied up in my underwear. Again and again. Forever."

Lacie raised an eyebrow. "Has that... happened to you before?"

"Of course," Ashley said. "Plenty of times. Female security guards are always getting their uniforms stolen. It's one of life's sick jokes."

Lacie set her cup down. "Ashley, I've been working as a security guard for six years. That's never happened to me."

Ashley glanced at her in surprise. "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Lacie nodded. "I mean, I've heard stories on the news of women getting their clothes stolen, but I've thankfully never had that experience myself. And I don't think any other security guards I know have gone through it either."

Ashley's face fell. "So it's just me then... I'm just the universe's pincushion... a born loser."

"Hey, hey," Lacie replied. "You're not a loser. It sounds like you've had a string of bad luck... but that's no reason to give up. You just need to reassess yourself. Be more confident."

Ashley shrugged. "Confidence is just an act."

"Maybe, but it works," Lacie replied. "Maybe the reason you get mugged for your uniforms is that other women see you as an easy mark. You need to look tougher, be more assertive. Don't just shrug your shoulders and let other women push you around."

Ashley was silent for a moment, absorbing her friend's perspective. "You really think so?"

"I do," Lacie replied. "You're a strong and smart woman, Ashley. You just need to project yourself better. Stay strong, stay confident, and I bet no one will ever try to attack you or steal your uniform again."

She glanced at her watch. "Look, I have to get back to my post. Think about what I said, okay?"

She smiled at Ashley, then rose from her chair and left the lounge.

Ashley remained in her seat. She lifted the teacup, staring at her vague reflection in the dark, rippling liquid.

"Confidence," she murmured softly.

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

Bobbi strode into the lab complex, Felicia following behind. Their disguises appeared to work; no one paid them any attention.

"I'll search the western side," Bobbi whispered. "You take the east side. We'll meet in the middle. Try not to get caught doing anything suspicious, okay?"

Felicia nodded. "Okay."

She watched Bobbi walk off. Felicia's head was still filled with complicated thoughts about her friend's recent behavior, but she tried to push them to the back of her mind. Now was the time to focus. She advanced to the eastern side of the laboratory.

Wearing her lab coat and carrying the clipboard, she was just another one of the eggheads. She stopped by each of the desks, watching what the scientist stationed there was working on. But most of the projects appeared to be menial in nature, hardly worth further exploration.

Near the back of the room, one of the lab-coated scientists was fiddling with an electronic gadget. She was an attractive young woman, about Felicia's age, with caramel skin and long dark hair tied back in a ponytail.

The woman caught Felicia's reflection in one of the metal cannisters lining her desk. She turned and smiled. "Hi. Need some help?"

Something about this woman appeared familiar, but Felicia wasn't sure what it was. She smiled back. "Oh, I just couldn't help but notice that device you're working on. Seems pretty high-tech."

"It is," the lab worker replied. "Pretty expensive, too. It's a new type of micro-transmitter. We're trying to fine-tune it for the next time the astronauts go up."

Felicia nodded. "Impressive. You know, I've always been fascinated by the space program."

The woman smiled. "Me too. I've been wanting to work here since I was a little girl."

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Dr. Lawrence, by the way. But you can call me Ellen."

The recollection hit Felicia like a brick. Ellen Lawrence.

She'd seen the name on a name tag, from what seemed like ages past. It was the name of the lab technician she had mugged all those months ago, the first time she had infiltrated NASA. The night she first came face-to-face with Dr. Chen, and inadvertently started a chain of events that had turned her life and the lives of her friends inside-out.

Felicia stood dumbfounded for a moment, absorbing the sight of the woman before her. "I, er... um..."

Ellen looked at her with concern. "Are you okay?"

Felicia cleared her throat, then shook the woman's hand. "Hi, I'm Felic... Felicity. My name's Felicity." She felt flustered.

"Nice to meet you," Ellen replied. "And that's a nice coincidence. Felicity is my daughter's name."

"...Daughter?"

Ellen removed a photo from her pocket and handed it to Felicia. It was a picture of herself, smiling in a sundress, lifting and hugging a toddler. "She just turned two years old last week. Wonderful girl."

Felicia stared at the photo for several long seconds. She felt sick.

"I would do anything for my daughter," Ellen continued. "I'm keeping this job to pay for her future education. It's worth the risks, even if I've endured some... stressful situations."

Felicia looked up. "What do you mean?"

Ellen sighed. "A while ago, while working at the primary NASA site... I was attacked. Some horrible woman grabbed me, chloroformed me, and stole my clothes. I spent the whole night tied up and gagged in a bathroom stall. I was so scared, I was crying... I wasn't sure I would ever see my little girl again."

She wiped away a tear and took the photo back from Felicia. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't burden you with my problems. That was a long time ago, and I'm doing much better now."

She glanced back at her desk. "So, you wanted to ask about the micro-transmitter?"

Felicia swallowed. "Um... actually, I need to get going. I have... other projects."

Ellen nodded. "That's all right. Nice to meet you. Guess I'll see you around."

Felicia nodded. "I guess... guess you will."

She quickly turned and walked off.

Felicia felt dizzy - nauseous, even. She had never before had that sort of casual conversation with a woman whose clothes she had previously stolen.

And now she was wearing another lab coat and clothes, stolen from another NASA scientist. Another woman whom she had grabbed, knocked out, stripped, and tied up. Another woman who would now spend the night in an enclosed space, scared and worried about her family...

Felicia found Bobbi poring over an electric terminal, secretly taking photos with her wristwatch-camera.

Bobbi looked up as Felicia approached. "Hey, girl. Check this out - very futuristic, almost alien. Look interesting?"

"Let's go," Felicia said.

"What?"

"I said, let's go," Felicia repeated. "We're leaving now."

Bobbi looked at her strangely. "'Licia, it was your idea to come here."

"And now it's my idea to leave. Let's find Bridget and get the hell out of here."

Bobbi wanted to protest, but could see that her friend was not in the mood for argument.

She nodded. "Okay. We'll go."

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

Ding! Ding!

"Hello? Anyone here?" The businessman's voice was impatient, and understandably so. He had entered the hotel after a long flight, and was eager to get his room for the night and get some sleep. However, the hotel's luxurious lobby appeared empty, and even ringing the bell at the front desk did not seem to summon anyone.

"Is someone there?" the man repeated. "The website said this place is open at all hours."

From the back room behind the desk came a woman's voice. "Sorry for the delay, sir. I'll be with you in a minute."

The man sighed. "Hurry it up, I'm exhausted."

In the private back room, Moira hastened to dress herself in the concierge uniform. It was a tighter fit than she had anticipated; hence why the process of donning it was taking a while.

The uniform consisted of a black jacket over a white cotton shirt, black pencil skirt, black high heels and a grey neckerchief. The shirt itself had been difficult to button, due to the scale of Moira's anatomy compared to that of the woman who had previously worn it. Nevertheless, she was almost dressed, and was currently knotting the neckerchief around her collar.

As she put the finishing touches on her new uniform, Moira glanced at the corner of the room. The real concierge sat against the wall, fast asleep, her auburn hair drooping over her alabaster shoulders. She wore nothing at this moment apart from a blue comfort bra and white bikini panties. Her wrists and ankles had been secured with rubber wiring, and a washcloth now gagged her mouth.

The bell of the front desk dinged again, reverberating into the back room. "Hello?" the man called.

"Sorry," Moira whispered to the real concierge. She quickly checked herself in the wall mirror and headed out to the front desk.

"Apologies for keeping you waiting, sir," she said in her most professional voice. "How can I help you?"

"I have a reservation," the man responded. "The name is Carl Cambron."

Moira quickly typed away at the computer. "Yes indeed, Mr. Cambron. Four hundred dollars, please, and we'll get you all settled in for the night."

"About time," the man grumbled as he handed over his card.

Moira swiftly glanced at the card as she ran it through the system, memorizing all its numbers. This would prove useful later, as she had some more research to do on this man.

Although she had played a key role in helping expose the Rucon scandal the prior week, Moira was disappointed to learn than the company's CEO, Cheryl Cambron, had funneled away some of her ill-gotten money before she was arrested. Moira's compulsive need to investigate further had now motivated her to tap the phone's of Cheryl's brother Carl, who appeared to have some hand in his sister's illegal activities. The story had led her now to this hotel, where she was just in time to snag the man's credit card info for later use.

"Room 214, sir," Moira smiled as she handed him the card and room key. "Sleep well."

"I plan to," the man replied as he hoisted his suitcase and walked off.

Moira grinned proudly to herself. A year ago, she would probably not have been able to pull off a caper like this. But Bridget's tips and advice had served her well, and she was proud to call her fellow journalist a friend.

Moira's phone buzzed. She glanced down at the email she had just received.

It appeared to be sent on behalf of her bosses at the paper. "In response to your hard work and great dedication... we are pleased to present you with this bonus... two free tickets to a ballet recital at Gosford theater."

Moira's eyebrows raised as she scanned the message. Gosford was one of the most prestigious theaters in the business. She had been trying to reserve tickets to one of their shows for weeks, but the prices were too expensive, even when tickets were available at all. Now she had the opportunity...

"Two tickets..." Moira had a number of friends who would love a seat at the ballet. But her mind went immediately to Prema, and her heart skipped a beat at the thought.

Moira had not called Prema since the night of their kiss. She was still trying to untangle her feelings about it. It was the first time she had ever shared a kiss with another woman, but it had been one of the most thrilling moments of her life.

Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to explore their relationship further...

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

Bridget checked her reflection in the mirrored glass of the supply room door.

She saw a woman in a barista uniform, dressed from shirt and apron to jeans and sneakers. Not a terribly imposing or fancy uniform, but it would do the job.

Bridget ran her fingers through her jet-black hair several times, giving it a messy and disoriented look. After all, she wanted to appear the part of a low-wage employee working the all-night shift. The clothes were important, but they weren't everything.

The real barista, however, had neither the clothes nor the appearance that defined her profession. Instead, she was lying unconscious on the cold tiled floor of the supply room closet, dressed only in a skimpy pair of blue sports bra and matching tap pants. She was bound with white elastic cords and gagged with grey packaging tape.

Bridget covered the barista with a moth-eaten curtain, to preserve both her warmth and her modesty. "Sorry about the chloroform... but don't worry, you'll just wake up with a mild headache."

She shut the door and retrieved the flash drive from the computer, admiring the executive's ability to continue sleeping despite the recent events that had just transpired in his office. Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her apron and calmly strode out.

Felicia's voice came in on her earpiece. "Bridget, you there? I'm ready to leave."

Bridget nodded. "I may have found something interesting. How about you?"

Felicia hesitated before speaking. "No... nothing interesting down here."

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

"Uurrgghh..."

Chandra slowly stirred as consciousness returned to her. She sat up weakly, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"What the hell...?"

Slowly her brain refocused. She was lying on the cold grass by a dark roadside, with no one else around.

Sonja was gone - kidnapped. And now Chandra was alone.

She staggered to her feet, still groggy from the tranquilizer dart. She looked around - perhaps there was some way of telling where she was, or where she could go from here.

There were no lights around; Chandra could barely see. She had no choice but to start walking, in hopes she would end up somewhere better.

The cool air cleared her head and strengthened her resolve. Sonja needs help... I have to find her.

She recalled that Sonja had told her about Oksana, and about the calls to bring her back to the SVR. But she also knew that Sonja wanted no part of it. Chandra had already lost contact with Lucille Weldon-Grant over the last few weeks; she could not bear to lose her best friend as well.

Don't lose hope, Sonja. I'll find you... somehow.

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

The drive home was mostly silent. Bridget drove her silver Sonata through the quiet midnight streets, Felicia staring out the window beside her. Bobbi sat at the back of the car, tapping away at her phone.

Bridget tried breaking the silence. "So... I found some suspicious files. Wondering if we should look through them now or wait till morning."

Felicia's eyes did not waver from the window. "I'm kind of tired," she said. "Maybe we could wait."

Bridget looked over at her friend. "Everything okay, honey?"

Felicia glanced at Bobbi in the rearview mirror. "I'm just... very tired."

Bobbi looked up from her phone. "Hey, Bridget... could you drop me off here? I can walk the rest of the way."

Bridget looked surprised. "It's not that far from your house, Bobbi. Are you sure? Besides, you may not want to walk alone through the city this time of night."

Bobbi rolled her eyes. "I know four types of martial arts, Bridget. I think I'll be fine." She paused. "I just want to take a walk around the area for a bit."

Bridget nodded. "Well, if you're sure."

She pulled over to the curb and let Bobbi get out, backpack in hand. "Good night."

"G'night, Bridget..." Bobbi glanced over at her other friend. "G'nite, Felicia."

Felicia nodded. "See you." But she still sounded out of it.

Bridget drove off, more cognizant of her friend's sour mood than ever.

"Felicia, is something wrong? Did something happen back at that base?"

Felicia sighed. "I think we should talk about it in the morning... if that's okay."

Even with her journalistic instincts and inborn curiosity, Bridget knew not to press further. She nodded. "Okay. But you should know I'm always available to talk."

Felicia nodded, and managed a slight smile. "I know."

At the next red light, Bridget's phone buzzed with an email. She picked it up. "Hmm... what's this? It says I've won two free tickets to tomorrow night's ballet program at Gosford." She scrolled through. "Looks like it's being sponsored by my newspaper, as a thank you for all my work."

She smiled. "Sometimes I love my job, you know?"

Felicia nodded. "I can tell."

But Felicia was now less in love with her job than ever.

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

Bobbi had not been lying to Bridget about her concerns regarding the city at night. It was indeed a quiet and perhaps dangerous area, but she was as skilled in self-defense as any woman, and did not fear any trouble.

She had been lying slightly, though, in regards to her destination. She was going to walk home eventually... but first she had an appointment to keep.

The gymnasium was closed to the public at this late hour, but that was of little concern to Bobbi. She walked up to the front entrance and tried the door. Much to her satisfaction, it was unlocked.

The lobby of the gymnasium was empty, though a light at the front desk suggested that the security guard was on duty. Bobbi frowned. She hadn't expected that.

But then again, the desk was empty. Perhaps she was simply being overly cautious...

"Hold it right there, missy!"

Bobbi whirled in surprise. Standing behind her was a woman in security guard uniform - tan button-down shirt, black pants, brown shoes, green peaked cap, and dark Aviator sunglasses.

"Trespassing on these premises is strictly forbidden," the guard continued, pointing her nightstick at Bobbi. "You are in serious trouble, little girl."

Bobbi blinked, and looked at the guard again. "...Zuhal?"

There was silence.

Then the woman laughed. She reached up and removed her hat and sunglasses.

"You should've seen your face," Zuhal chuckled. "You thought I was a real security guard, didn't you? Classic."

Bobbi folded her arms in annoyance, though she couldn't help smiling herself. "Nice outfit. You're lucky I didn't punch you in the face."

Zuhal rolled her eyes. "You'll get the chance in a few minutes," she said. "Do you have your gym clothes?"

Bobbi pointed to her backpack. "Right here... I assume you won't be wearing that uniform during our training?"

"This old thing?" Zuhal looked down at the security uniform. "I wasn't planning on wearing it at all. But when I showed up here about a half-hour ago, the real security guard told me the place was closed, and didn't want to let me in. Eventually, I... persuaded her to end her shift early. She also generously supplied me with her uniform, so I could play that little prank on you."

Now it was Bobbi's turn to roll her eyes. "You didn't hurt her, did you?"

"No more than necessary." Zuhal opened the coat closet door. "Ah, it looks like she's still enjoying a good night's sleep."

On the floor of the closet sat a young woman with light skin and ponytailed blonde hair. She wore nothing more than a plain white exercise bra and matching control briefs. She had been bound with black cords and gagged with a grey dishcloth.

"So boring," Zuhal shook her head. "Why can't security guards ever wear colorful or interesting underwear?"

Bobbi shrugged. "I've mugged a lot of security guards for their uniforms. Some of them have pretty good underwear."

"Well, the ones I mug never do," Zuhal groused as she shut the closet door. "I guess I just have bad luck."

She brightened as she turned back to Bobbi. "So, looks like we have the place all to ourselves. Ready to cut loose on the wrestling mat?"

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

Gina Caldwell's mansion was lush and lavish - and, as the expression went, even bigger on the inside. She had staked her reputation as one of the wealthiest women in the southern USA, and spared no expense in showing it. Lavish paintings lined the walls, ornate vases sparkled from desks and end tables. Caldwell had also taken pains to guard all of her works, from a state-of-the-art alarm system to an all-female security team.

One of these security guards, a bronze-skinned, dark-haired woman named Fernanda, met Evelyn, Harper, and Jenna at the doorway. "You're late," she said tersely. "Ms. Caldwell will see you now."

Jenna winced slightly as she noticed Fernanda eyeing her. The security guards at the mansion had been loyal to Gina for years, and it seemed they were not happy with the trio of newcomers in her employ. Fernanda in particular seemed to relish the opportunity to put the three women in their place whenever she could.

"Follow me," Fernanda said. "And try to keep up."

Jenna made a face as Fernanda turned her back, but followed her friends as the guard led them down the lavish corridor.

Tilly, Gina Caldwell's secretary, sat typing away at her desk outside the main office. She nodded silently as the women passed.

Fernanda knocked on Caldwell's office door. "The new girls are here, ma'am."

"Send them in," came the reply.

Fernanda opened the door and allowed the three women to enter. She stationed herself just outside the door, arms crossed.

Ms. Caldwell sat at her large oaken desk, a stony expression on her face. She gestured for Evelyn, Harper, and Jenna to take seats across from her.

"I'll get right to the point," she said. "Business has not been great recently. Over the last few months, several of my most valuable stocks have gone down, due to an increased number of corporate scandals that have surfaced. Dennison Drilling, Cerberus Chemicals, Rucon Steel... I've lost a lot of potential money from these exposures. And the police have been snooping around, investigating those connected with the scandals. It's only a matter of time before they trace something back to me."

"Want us to deal with the authorities, ma'am?" Evelyn asked. "We acquired a couple of police uniforms earlier tonight. We could..."

"No, my lawyers can deal with the police, should the need arise," Caldwell responded. "As I said on the phone, I need you to handle the people exposing these stories in the first place."

She slid open her desk drawer and removed a file folder. She opened it and spread a few photos out on the desk.

"Recognize any of these women?" she asked.

Evelyn shook her head. "Are they enemy spies?"

"In a manner of speaking," Caldwell said dryly. "They're reporters. Meddling newshounds who can't keep their noses out of other people's business. And lately, they've been chiefly responsible for my headaches."

She pointed at one of the photos, a young and demure-looking blonde woman. "Moira Mills. She's the one who broke the story on Rucon. My stocks took a nosedive that day, all because this woman wanted a juicy story."

She pointed to another picture. "Felicia Wright. Part-time aspiring journalist. Haven't been able to gather a lot of info on her, but she's apparently had a hand in breaking the recent Dennison scandal."

She held up the third photo. "Here's the worst of them all. Bridget Baxter. A nosy muckraker whom we've traced to multiple scandals. Dennison, Cerberus, Hobson, and probably a few others. Her columns have cost me tens of thousands in investments." She glared at the photo. "But it all stops now."

"What do you want us to do?" Harper asked, with a note of eagerness that made Jenna wince.

"It's very simple," Caldwell said. "Tomorrow night, the Gosford theater is hosting an extravagant ballet recital. Baxter and Mills will both be in attendance - and with luck, Wright will be as well."

"How can you be sure they'll attend?" Evelyn asked.

"Because I've anonymously provided them with free tickets," Caldwell explained, eyes agleam. "It's one of the most prestigious shows of the year, and they'd be fools to resist. This will draw them out in public, and with luck, they will let their guard down."

Harper grinned. "I'm liking this plan already."

Jenna raised her hand. "You... don't want us to kill them, do you?" she asked uncomfortably.

"Of course not." Caldwell bared all her teeth in a Cheshire grin. "I just want you to scare them, that's all. Maybe rough them up a little. Infiltrate the theater, kidnap the reporters, and give them a fright that will convince them never to write another exposé again."

Her face grew serious. "Do the job well, and you will be paid handsomely. Screw it up... and I will be extremely cross. Understand?"

Evelyn nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

Harper rubbed her hands together. "I can't wait for tomorrow night."

Jenna nodded, silently. She didn't know what to say.

"Very good." Caldwell gave a wave of her hand. "Dismissed."

Evelyn stood up, followed by Harper and Jenna. The three women left the office.

Fernanda watched them go, then stepped into Caldwell's office.

"Due respect, boss," she said. "Do you really think those three are up to the task? I'm not sure they could give a fright to a bumblebee."

"I expect they'll do fine," Caldwell replied. "But on the chance that I'm wrong, you and your team may have to deal with Ms. Baxter and her friends in a more... permanent capacity." Her face took on a serious visage as she looked at Fernanda. "Will that be a problem?"

Fernanda grinned, her white teeth glimmering beneath the room's fluorescent lights. "Not at all, boss... not at all."

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

Zuhal made the first move - a swift judo kick, aimed for the head. Bobbi dodged easily.

"You'll have to better than that," Bobbi smiled, assuming a defensive position.

"Just getting warmed up," Zuhal cooed.

She let loose with a couple of karate chops. Bobbi avoided those as well, using her own arms as defense.

"So how's life?" Zuhal asked. "Anything new with your friends?"

Bobbi winced, just barely. "I... don't want to talk about it."

"Oh, come on," Zuhal pressed. "Half the point of our little nighttime sessions is to have some girl talk. Fighting is fun, but it's not all the fun."

As Bobbi spun around to dodge her next blow, Zuhal discretely tripped her up and wrapped her in a headlock.

"Come on, talk," Zuhal urged. "You sound stressed."

"It's... nothing." Bobbi tried prying Zuhal's arm loose. "Not much. Felicia's just being too fussy, that's all."

"Fussy?" Zuhal absent-mindedly loosened her grip

Bobbi took the opportunity. She grabbed Zuhal's shoulder and flipped the woman over onto her back, pinned her shoulders to the mat.

"Ow," Zuhal winced. "What, pray tell, is Felicia being fussy over?"

"She just... She still thinks I'm being too harsh. Too rude when we're out in the field. Stupid crap like that." Bobbi rolled her eyes dismissively to accentuate the point.

"Hey, you don't need to take that attitude with me," Zuhal said. "I've seen the way you handle women when mugging them. You can be pretty cold, girl."

Bobbi scowled. "I thought we were past that conversation. I told you, I'm not evil... I just... Whoa!"

She gasped as Zuhal leveraged her strength and flipped her over, pinning her to the mat with a muscular pair of legs.

"I know you're not evil, Bobbi," Zuhal replied. "Remember what I told you when we met on the ice cream truck? There's more to this world than heroes and villains. Mugging women for their clothes is not inherently immoral - in some circumstances, it's the good and even necessary thing to do. It's all in the motivation."

Bobbi sighed. "I... don't know what to think anymore. I'm not trying to be good or bad, I just want to be... me. And in these last few months, I've been more happy with myself and my life than I've ever been before... And yet Felicia wants me to feel guilty over it. Even though she's the one who introduced me to the world of uniform thievery in the first place."

Zuhal got to her feet and held out a hand, helping Bobbi upward. "Honey... you can't go through life worrying about what Felicia thinks of you... even if she is your best friend. First things first, you need to be true to yourself. Yourself, above anyone else."

Bobbi nodded. "I... I guess."

"You're a smart woman," Zuhal continued. "And quite honestly, you're one of the toughest, most badass bitches I've ever met. If you have the strength and will to mug other women for their uniforms, and you're doing it for the right reasons, then by all means... keep it up. You're an inspiration."

Bobbi smiled. "Thanks. Thank you."

Zuhal patted her shoulder. "My pleasure, kid."

She glanced at her watch. "Getting pretty late... but I'm still game for some more tussling. Want to go another couple rounds?"

Bobbi cracked her knuckles and smiled. "You read my mind."

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

Chandra's stomach growled. She was cold, exhausted, and hungry.

She had been walking down the long, lonely stretch of mountainous road for nearly two hours, and had yet to come across any signs of civilization. She was completely lost, without a phone or any directional device. For all she knew, it could be miles to the nearest city.

Chandra figured it would be easy to flag down and steal a car - and perhaps some clothes, if the driver was the right gender and size. But there were no cars out and about at this hour, certainly not on the barren road that Chandra now found herself.

But as her feet began to ache, and her hope began to dwindle, Chandra squinted up ahead. Was that a light? Dare she hope?

As she got closer, Chandra could see that it was indeed a light, emanating from a small roadside rest stop and gas station.

Chandra felt a wave of relief wash over her and a surge of strength return to her body as she approached the station.

There was a lone gas station attendant on duty. She was currently sitting in a rickety chair, arms folded, her head lolling to one side. She appeared to be fast asleep.

Chandra sized the woman up. It was a bit difficult to tell, since the attendant was seated and partly slumped over, but she appeared to be the right size. The woman's green coveralls smelled of gasoline, as did her thick brown boots, tan gloves, and green woolen cap. Her light skin and sandy blonde hair had a touch of grease stains, suggesting the woman had been working hard all day at fueling and oiling her customers.

Chandra didn't care for the smell of the uniform, but she didn't exactly have an abundance of options. Besides, the woman was already asleep, so Chandra did not even need to take the trouble of knocking her out.

But as Chandra approached the woman, her foot slipped on a puddle of oil. She stumbled forward, dexterously catching herself with her hands.

The station attendant stirred. "Hmm... wha...?" She opened her eyes, groggy and confused.

Chandra got to her feet and sighed. "Not time for you to wake up yet, dear."

The attendant rubbed her eyes and blinked. Her vision cleared just in time for her to see Chandra's fist speeding towards her.

Chandra dragged the re-slumbering blonde back and around to the other side of the gas station where the restrooms were situated. She used the keys on the woman's belt to unlock the doors to the ladies' room, then dragged her unconscious burden inside.

Fifteen rejuvenating minutes later, Chandra exited the restroom, fresh in both clothes and mind. The green uniform didn't smell great, and the boots pinched her already-aching feet, but Chandra could live with the inconvenience.

In any event, she was less inconvenienced than the real gas station attendant, who now sat slumbering on one of the distended bathroom stalls. Stripped to her orange bandeau bra and white lace-cut hipsters, she had been secured to the toilet with copious amounts of silver duct tape.

After relocking the restroom door, Chandra circled around to the front of the small rest station, using another key to unlock the office.

The inside of the small rest station was cramped and cluttered, but it featured two things that Chandra was in desperate need of - food and directions.

Chandra munched a stale oatmeal bar as she consulted one of the crinkled maps lining the desk. The nearest city wasn't far - just about six miles as the crow flew. She could get there quickly if she had some wheels - and she planned on getting some shortly.

Eyeing the computer on the desk, Chandra decided to play a hunch. The gas station had security cameras, and if she could access the tapes...

The laptop was password-protected, but this was no difficulty for Chandra, whose computer hacking skills remained above reproach. Within a minute, she had bypassed the security system and was accessing the security footage from earlier that night.

Chandra scanned the footage, searching for any sign of the van that Oksana had driven, either at the station or driving along the road that ran parallel to it. Something... anything that could give her a clue to Sonja's whereabouts.

But no clues emerged. Chandra cupped her chin in her hands and took a deep breath through her nose, trying to stay calm. She was stuck.

At that moment, her eye fell upon a dog-eared newspaper lying on the desk. A few diverting news items peppered its front page - a political scandal, a foreign conflict, a celebrity divorce.

One item - a story about some corporate malfeasance - jumped out at her, as she recognized the byline. Bridget Baxter.

Chandra wrinkled her nose as she recalled her earlier encounters with Bridget. Only a few days ago, the reporter had bested her in a fight, leaving her stripped and tied up for the authorities. Chandra felt her blood boil just thinking about it...

Chandra glanced at the paper again. This time, a thoughtful look crossed her face. True, Bridget had been a headache in her life... but she was also undeniably a smart woman, with a mind for investigating and solving mysteries.

Perhaps she could help... but no! Bridget was her enemy. There was no way...

Chandra rubbed the bridge of her nose. She was growing tired, and her mind was clearly dabbling with absurd ideas. She needed some rest... yes, just a brief nap before getting back on her feet.

She leaned back in the padded red chair. Within minutes, she had dozed off.

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

Sonja pulled against the straps that bound her wrists to the chair. She glared at Oksana.

"You're lucky I'm tied up right now, or I'd beat your ass to the ground."

"That tone is unnecessary," Oksana replied from across the room, not looking up from her computer. "We're all friends here, Sonja. Or at least... we were."

"Friends don't shoot each other with tranquilizers and tie them up," Sonja countered.

"They do when the mission is so important," Oksana replied. "Now stop being so brash. This facility we're in is guarded by a dozen other women. And even if you somehow get past them, we're in the middle of nowhere. No one is coming to rescue you."

"Where's Chandra?" Sonja asked, still seething.

"She's fine," Oksana replied. "But she's irrelevant. It's you we want."

The door to the small containment room opened, and Polina walked in, holding a file folder. She grinned sheepishly at the captive. "Hi, Sonja."

"Polina, let me go," Sonja said in anger. "Unless you want me to pound you into the pavement."

"Sorry, Sonja, no can do," Polina replied. "This mission is too important, and we need you aboard. You should feel grateful that we got you out of jail."

"I could have escaped on my own," Sonja grumbled. "And what's so damned important that you needed me? I haven't been part of the SVR in years."

"No, but you've been living in America," Polina replied, opening the file folder. "And your help could prove invaluable."

She drew some photos from the folder and lay them down on the table before Sonja. "Take a look at these."

Sonja scanned the photos. Her eyebrows raised in surprise.

Oksana approached, hands on her hips. "Now do you see why we need your help?"

Sonja hesitated, then looked up at her two former colleagues, less angry than before. "What is it that you want?"

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

It had been a good workout - for Bobbi, certainly, but also for Zuhal.

The Arab woman was still wanted by the authorities, though she had been successfully evading them for several weeks now. And her budding friendship with Bobbi had become one of the few highlights of her current life.

Zuhal felt a sense of calmness as she motorbiked home, having bid Bobbi adieu at the gym. The young woman really did remind her of herself - smart, resourceful, and perhaps just a bit overly callous and cruel.

Zuhal grinned. She had not anticipated becoming a mentor to any young woman - let alone a woman she had previously considered an enemy. But her life had taken some surprising turns in the past few weeks.

She reached the building which housed her home, a small apartment she had rented under an assumed name. It was getting late, and she was looking forward to a little shut-eye.

Zuhal noticed a strange-looking truck parked near the building. A yellow-and-black vehicle with the image of a few cartoon bees on the side.

Involuntarily, she shuddered. From a young age, she had developed a strong aversion to bees, due to the allergic reactions she would get from their stings. Even as a grown woman, she would bristle at the thought of the little buzzing menaces.

Zuhal shook off the feeling; after all, she had faced much worse than a few bees in her life. She rolled her motorbike back to the rear of the building.

Standing over the apartment's undernourished garden was a figure - seemingly a woman - dressed from head to toe in beekeeper garb, with white bodysuit and hat with netting that obscured her face. She was tiding over the flowers, spraying them with smoke from a metal cannister attached to her back.

Curiously, Zuhal approached her. "Hey... excuse me, did the superintendent call you? Are we having bee problems in the area?"

The woman looked up and, through the netting, Zuhal could detect the faint traces of a smile. "No, darling... the bees won't be a problem. The only real problem around here is you."

Zuhal raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

Without warning, the woman turned her hose on Zuhal and pressed the button. A spray of smoke shot out, quickly enveloping Zuhal.

It only took one whiff for Zuhal to realize the cannister had not been filled with smoke, but with knockout gas. She coughed once, twice, and fell to her knees.

"Wh-what... uurrkk..." She slowly slumped to the ground as the strength drained from her body.

The uniformed woman stood over her triumphantly, hands placed on her hips. "So good to see you again, Zuhal," she said with a sinister chuckle.

Those were the last words Zuhal heard before her world went dark.

Wonderful and fun new chapter.

I really liked the scene with the barista. I enjoy the idea of of a woman coming across the intruder and, despite the disguise, being suspicious enough to do the old "I"m calling security" thing. Of course that is always followed by the disguised intruder pulling off a good of enough act to delay the security call long enough to take out the woman. Just like Bridget did here.

And great comment to the barista ""Shh... Shh... This won't hurt a bit. Just breathe... Breathe, honey, breathe..."

And I enjoyed the description "The strength slowly ebbed from her body, and her eyes fluttered closed as the chloroform did its work." I found that rather sexy.

And the parting "Sorry about the chloroform... but don't worry, you'll just wake up with a mild headache." was a nice touch.


The scene involving Zuhal and Bobbi had some fun dialogue. Talking about the guard, I liked the comment "Eventually, I... persuaded her to end her shift early. She also generously supplied me with her uniform."

I liked the response to Bobbi's "You didn't hurt her, did you?" The reply of "No more than necessary. Ah, it looks like she's still enjoying a good night's sleep." was great. Hmm, did Zuhal get a bit rough with the poor blonde?

And I loved the discussion about the guard's boring underwear.

Thanks Meditions.

It's been a while since I used the "calling security" scenario as you describe, and I tried to make it a good one in description and dialogue. A good way to show that even a professional like Bridget can still make mistakes, even if she's resourceful enough to get out of them.

Zuhal and Bobbi's conversation was also fun to write. Zuhal has something of a cruel streak to her - she's no longer a true villain, but she still has no compunction about mugging civilians - so it's entirely possible she got a bit rougher with the guard than necessary. Which of course emphasizes that she's perhaps not the best mentor for Bobbi.

The conversation about security guards' underwear is a callback to Volume 2 of the series, where Zuhal laments that the guards she mugs wear boring or colorless underwear. Obviously most other characters in the series don't have this problem when they mug security guards, but I like to keep the continuity running through the series.