Natasha drove her old Ford Focus through the Sirius Software security checkpoint, parked it at the temporary office, and walked inside.
The air conditioning blasted her with cold air as she entered. She stood still for a mont, letting the cold air wash over her.
Aaron’s office door opened, and he stepped out, dressed in his signature black leather suit. He gave her a small smile that sent a shiver down her spine.
"Welco Ms. Parker. Follow ," he said, and led her to a pair of spartan gray concrete lodge-like buildings.
Natasha’s curiosity grew as she followed him into the left building, and was assaulted by the sll of fresh paint.
There was a large break room with a table and a few chairs, and a pair of staircases leading up to the first floor.
Aaron led her up the stairs, to reveal a corridor with a series of doors, secured with hand-print locks.
Natasha gasped as she saw her na on the first door. Aaron gestured for her to open it.
With a trembling hand, she placed her palm on the hand-print lock, and the door opened with a soft beep.
Inside was a small but cozy single-bedroom apartnt, with a small kitchenette and a bathroom. The walls were a freshly painted white, and the furniture was still covered in plastic wrap.
"You will find your uniform and equipnt in the closet. Gear up and report back at the Temporary Office in 30 minutes," said Aaron, leaving her alone in the apartnt.
Natasha sank onto the bed, trying to process what had just happened.
She was used to unexpected situations, but this was sothing else entirely.
She had applied for a security guard job, thinking that it would be the mundane activity of patrolling corridors, checking IDs and monitoring security caras.
The kind of boring job that had a four-hour shift, paid a few bucks an hour, and was a good way to stay in the background while gathering intelligence.
Instead, she had been put through a tactical skill assessnt, and was given a fully furnished apartnt instead of needing to bunk with 8 other employees in a cramped dormitory.
With a sigh, she got up and opened the closet.
"Oh you have got to be kidding !" she exclaid, as she saw the uniform nestled in the closet.
It was constructed from thick black leather. Not the thin delicate stuff used in haute couture, or the fake stuff used in mass-production - this was pure cowhide leather, tanned jet-black and polished to a high sheen.
The uniform consisted of an over-bust corset with heavy boning, clearly designed to be worn without a shirt.
It included a high-waisted pencil skirt cut to mid-thigh and a pair of thick black pantyhose with reinforced toes, heels, gusset, and waistband.
The shoes were thigh-high leather boots with 10 cm tal stiletto heels that glead wickedly.
A single-breasted blazer with a nipped waist and a stylish peaked-lapel collar added a formal touch.
Finally, the uniform featured gauntlet-style leather gloves that extended to the forearms and had tal studs on the knuckles.
"What the hell is this boy thinking? Am I supposed to be so kind of fetish model or cosplayer?" she growled in indignation, grabbing the blazer.
Her hand stilled as she felt tal under the satin lining of the blazer.
Anger gave way to curiosity as she carefully pulled it out of the closet and felt the weight.
It was heavier than a regular leather blazer, but not by much. She placed it on the bed and spread it open.
"Armor plating?" she asked herself as she ran her fingers over the lining, feeling the presence of a back protector along with shoulder and elbow pads.
She pulled out the corset and skirt. The corset’s satin lining also belied the presence of so kind of chain-mail armor, and the skirt featured an integrated waist-level gun belt.
With a shrug, she changed into the pantyhose, corset and skirt.
After zipping up the boots, she experinted walking around the apartnt.
The boot heels made a nacing click on the floor, and she found herself walking with a confident stride, her hips swaying slightly.
The boots seed to have reinforcents in the heels, toes and ankles that made her feel planted and stable, despite the 8 cm heels - in fact, they were even more comfortable than the low-heeled pumps of her army dress-uniform. She stopped in front of the mirror and was surprised at how good she looked, even without the blazer and gloves.
"With this much tal the uniform should feel a lot heavier," she thought, as she examined her reflection.
Bracing herself, she carefully lifted her right leg as high as she could.
The skirt yielded effortlessly to her movent, with darts and vents opening up to allow her to easily lift her leg till she was in a standing split, the titanium toe-box, instep and heel of her left boot giving her the stability to hold the pose.
"I just did a standing split in a pencil skirt and stiletto heels," she chuckled wryly, as she lowered her leg.
She picked up one of the gloves and examined the tal on the knuckles.
"Don’t tell that the armor is titanium!" she said incredulously, finally recognizing the tal.
"Titanium knuckle-dusters? Of course, why not?" she chuckled, pulling on the gloves and flexing her gloved fingers.
"Whoa!" she exclaid as her thumb pressed a switch hidden in the palm of the gloves, and electricity crackled through the titanium spikes on her knuckles.
She finally pulled on the blazer and buttoned it closed.
"Making a tired old woman who’s pushing 40 dress like so comic book fem fatale for a security guard job! You are one sick individual Aaron Zakhrov," she said, as she examined her reflection in the mirror.
The uniform seed to have taken 10 years off her age, and she looked like a cross between a dominatrix and a villainess rather than a nondescript security guard that was ant to blend in.
She opened the closet started to equip the rest of her gear: two 9 mm handguns with built-in LED flashlights, 4 magazines of low-velocity non-lethal rubber bullets, a pair of 30 cm long titanium knives, a zip-tie dispenser, and a baton.
With a final look in the mirror, she walked out of the apartnt and headed to the temporary office.
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