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Natasha

  Natasha fidgeted nervously in the cheap off-the-rack black polyester

  skirt-suit, and uncomfortable synthetic leather pumps she had bought

  to comply with the dress code mandate mentioned in her interview

  invitation email.

  The fact that it was

  a hot day, and her car's A/C was busted, made her even more

  uncomfortable.

  "I could endure

  the deserts of Iraq, so why am I so nervous and uncomfortable?"

  she thought, as she drove her old, barely functioning Ford Focus

  sedan up to the security checkpoint of the Sirius Software compound,

  with massive semi-trucks rumbling both in front and behind her.

  "Actually, I

  know why. That application made me enter my body measurements and I

  needed to upload a Photo ID, that's why" she thought, as she

  recalled the frankly invasive application form.

  The semi truck in

  front of her rumbled forward. A security boom came down, and a wicked

  set of spikes sprung up behind it, forcing her to stop.

  She rolled down her

  window, and showed the interview email on her phone to the checkpoint

  guard.

  The guard examined

  the email, and then waved her through. The boom lifted, and the

  spikes retracted.

  She drove through

  the checkpoint, and parked in front of a small squat concrete

  building, that was labeled "Temporary Office".

  A blast of ice-cold

  air conditioning hit her as the automatic door slid open, and she

  stepped inside.

  The main foyer was

  lined wall to wall with loud, whirring server racks.

  Unconcealed

  ceiling-mounted HVAC ducts blasted cold air into the room, buffeting

  her hair and clothes, making her shiver.

  At the far end, was

  a featureless black door with a hand-print lock and an intercom

  panel.

  The name "Aaron

  Zakhrov, CEO" was emblazoned on the door in large white letters.

  Natasha walked up to

  the door and buzzed the intercom. "I'm Natasha Parker. I'm here

  for the security guard interview," she said, trying to keep her

  voice steady.

  A dull click

  sounded, and the door swung open with a hiss. Natasha stepped inside,

  and the door closed behind her with a soft thud.

  The room was a small

  office, with a large desk equipped with a massive computer monitor,

  and a single chair in front of it.

  Behind the desk sat

  Aaron, dressed in a sleek black leather business suit, with a black

  shirt and tie.

  He was looking at

  her with a cold, calculating gaze.

  "Have a seat,

  Ms. Parker," he said, in a deep gravelly voice.

  Natasha sat down in

  the chair, the cold air conditioning and the scent of the black

  leather furniture making her feel more comfortable.

  "Let me get

  right to the point. I'm not running some affirmative action charity

  show.

  As a Sirius Software

  security guard, you will need to protect the facilities you are

  assigned to from unauthorized access or entry, and detain or even

  incapacitate intruders or threats.

  If you have the

  skills I require, you're hired. If you don't, then you're wasting my

  time. So are you still interested in this position knowing that you

  might face real bullets and might have to kill someone?" asked

  Aaron, looking at her with a steely gaze.

  "Yes sir. I

  agree to those risks," replied Natasha switching into her

  soldier persona.

  "Come with me,"

  commanded Aaron, getting up and striding to the door.

  Natasha fell into

  step behind him, marvelling at how much his physique had changed

  since she had last seen him.

  He had grown tall.

  She estimated that he would hit 2 meters, and his broad shoulders and

  movements belied a body that was lean and toned from hard training

  instead of steroids and supplements.

  She was in great

  shape, and was trained in close quarters combat, but assessed that he

  had a significant advantage over her in both height leverage and

  upper-body strength.

  Aaron led her out of

  the temporary office building and to another featureless concrete

  building secured with the same kind of heavy door and hand-print

  lock.

  He unlocked the door

  and beckoned her inside.

  Natasha entered to

  find a room lined with lockers and a table in the center with a

  disassembled handgun.

  She recognized it as

  a 9 mm semiautomatic pistol.

  "Your time

  starts now," said Aaron, clicking a stopwatch on his phone.

  Natasha's soldier

  instincts kicked in, and she quickly assembled the handgun.

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  "25 seconds.

  Not bad," said Aaron clicking the stopwatch off.

  He opened a locker

  and pulled out a sleek black leather harness that had two holsters,

  four magazine pouches and two knife sheaths.

  "This has to be

  fully equipped and concealed. You will find the required placeholder

  gear in the changing room," he said, handing her the harness.

  Natasha took the

  harness and walked into the changing room.

  She took off her

  blazer and skirt, and put on the harness, adjusting it to fit.

  She started to equip

  the placeholder gear of two unloaded 9-mm handguns with built-in LED

  flashlights, and two plastic training knives, marvelling at the

  quality of the harness.

  Her blazer and skirt

  created visible bulges around the waist-level holsters and knife

  sheaths, but didn't obstruct her ability to draw the weapons.

  Feeling more

  confident, she exited the changing room.

  "That looks

  passable for now," said Aaron looking her up and down.

  Natasha found

  herself averting her eyes and blushing under his gaze.

  However, she quickly

  regained her composure when he beckoned her to another door, and

  opened another locker.

  "These are

  low-velocity non-lethal rounds," said Aaron, handing her a pair

  of magazines. He opened the door to reveal a brightly lit corridor

  with a series of doors on either side.

  Natasha loaded her

  guns and entered the corridor.

  The door closed

  behind her with an ominous thud.

  She was unsure what

  was expected of her, until corridor lights cut out, plunging it into

  darkness.

  She quickly drew her

  handgun and activated the flashlight, illuminating the corridor.

  A door opened to her

  left, she quickly turned and pointed her flashlight at it, revealing

  a cut-out of a man with a gun.

  She quickly fired a

  shot, hitting the cut-out in the chest, causing it to fall over.

  She moved down the

  corridor, scanning the doors with her flashlight.

  Doors opened and

  closed at random, revealing hostile cut-outs, civilian cut-outs or

  even sometimes nothing at all.

  After 10 minutes,

  the lights came back on, and the door at the end of the corridor

  opened, revealing Aaron standing there with a satisfied smile.

  "Excellent

  work, Ms. Parker. You may take a break, and meet me in the office in

  15 minutes," he said, as he walked away.

  Panting slightly,

  Natasha walked back to the changing room and took off the harness.

  "Still got it!

  I had thought I'd be more rusty after just shadowing people for Sarah

  and now Monica." she thought, as she greedily drank from the

  bottle of cold water that had been left for her.

  ----

  Natasha re-entered

  the office, feeling a little self-conscious about the sweat stains on

  her blouse and blazer.

  "This is your

  employment contract and NDA. Read it carefully, and sign it if you

  agree to the terms," said Aaron, handing her a large tablet

  computer and stylus.

  Natasha carefully

  kept her expression neutral as she read the documents:

  The dress code

  mandate specified a minimum heel height of 8 centimeters, and a BMI

  window so strict, it would make a 1950s airline blush.

  Every detail was

  micromanaged: only skirt-suits were permitted — pants were outright

  banned — and even her nails had to be painted in a specific

  sequence: a white or primer base coat, two coats of regulation color,

  and a transparent top coat.

  Hair could be long,

  braided, or pinned into a bun, but heaven help you if you had a pixie

  cut.

  Tattoos were

  forbidden. So were flat shoes, glitter anything, and any blazer not

  buttoned and tailored like it came from a military parade.

  The kicker? She’d

  need to agree to follow the dress code as part of a binding contract

  before any offer of employment.

  The NDA was

  extensive, and designed to keep extremely tight control over

  intellectual property and social media. Employees were forbidden from

  unionizing, and from discussing almost anything related to Sirius

  Software, with severe financial and legal consequences for any

  breaches.

  She considered

  pushing back that high heels and pencil skirts were impractical for a

  security guard, but decided against it, partly out of curiosity over

  Aaron's motives, and partly because she was still a soldier at heart,

  and had learned to follow orders without asking too many questions.

  She signed the

  contract and NDA, and handed the tablet back to Aaron.

  Aaron swiped the

  tablet screen and handed it back to her.

  "Enter your

  bank account details here, for crediting your salary. You will be

  paid $400,000 a year, plus bonuses for any successful operations you

  undertake," he said.

  "Six figures is

  a lot of money for a security guard job," Natasha thought, as

  she entered her bank account details.

  "Now for your

  biometrics. Place your hand in the scanner, your right first, and

  then your left," said Aaron, holding out a black handprint

  scanner.

  The scanner beeped

  each time Natasha placed her hand on it, and Aaron nodded in

  satisfaction.

  "Report here

  tomorrow at 0800. Welcome to Sirius Software, Ms. Parker," he

  said, as he shook her hand.

  "Thank you, Mr.

  Zakhrov," replied Natasha, as she left the office.

  ----

  Natasha fell on her

  bed, her emotions a mess.

  She had been hired

  by Senator Monica Goldberg to infiltrate and find dirt on Sirius

  Software, and the first step to that mission was already complete.

  She now had access

  to the Sirius Software compound.

  However, the way

  Aaron had treated her, and the way he had designed the skill

  assessment, made her feel more alive than she had in years.

  Despite needing to

  move in a hot and uncomfortable skirt-suit and toe-pinching pumps,

  the skill assessment had resurfaced the same thrill she had felt

  during her deployment in Iraq, where she had been an Army Ranger.

  She stood up, went

  to her sink and splashed water on her face.

  "It's still too

  early. I shouldn't be overthinking this," she thought, before

  changing out of the skirt-suit and pumps.

  She was about to

  curl up and fall asleep, when her phone buzzed.

  With a sigh she

  answered the call.

  "Well? What

  have you found out so far?" demanded Monica Goldberg over the

  line.

  "I just got

  hired by Sirius Software as a security guard, Senator. I start

  working tomorrow," said Natasha wearily.

  "That's it? You

  don't have anything else? I thought you were the best in the

  business!" scoffed Monica.

  "All right,

  here's the more that you want.

  The guy running

  things seems to actually be Aaron Zakhrov.

  He's got hand-print

  biometric locks on everything, the security checkpoint has military

  grade retractable spike strips.

  The compound walls

  are 20 meters high and 2 meters thick, topped with barbed wire and

  electric fencing.

  So, unless you want

  to bring in the military and roll up in a tank, I suggest you let me

  do my job!" snapped Natasha, hanging up before Monica could

  respond.

  The phone buzzed

  again, and Natasha wearily answered it.

  "Now listen

  here you old hag!

  I'm less than

  impressed by dumb kids who think they can play at being

  super-villains, just because they've got a few bucks!

  You get in, find any

  kind of dirt you can, and give it to me.

  I'll decide what to

  do with it.

  Fail, and you'll

  never find a job again!

  Do you understand?"

  screeched Monica.

  "Yes, Senator.

  I understand," replied Natasha, her head throbbing from the

  fatigue and Monica's shrill voice.

  "Good. And

  don't get any dumb ideas, or I swear to God, I'll destroy you along

  with him!" snarled Monica, before hanging up.

  Natasha tossed her

  phone away and succumbed to sleep, too exhausted to think about what

  Monica had just threatened.

  ----

  "Looks like

  we've got a little infiltrator on our hands," chuckled Aaron to

  himself, as he looked over Natasha's information on his computer.

  One of the perks of

  bagging a military contract to secure their databases.

  "Let's begin

  operation convert the infiltrator!" he growled, and dialed

  Harry's number.

  "Harry, I'm

  sending you and Margaret some design specs. See if you can get them

  done by midnight," he said, as he sent the specs and Natasha's

  measurements to Harry's account.

  "You're giving

  me and my wife less than 18 hours to turn titanium and leather into

  an almost fetish-wear styled skirt-suit combat uniform monstrosity.

  You really are a

  sadistic bastard, you know that?" replied Harry petulantly over

  the phone.

  "Coming from

  you, that's a compliment," said Aaron.

  "Hey, Master

  Zakhrov? After we're done with this one, can I make another for

  myself?" asked Margaret coming on the line.

  "Of course you

  can Margaret. Just don't try to sell it. That is a Sirius Software

  proprietary design," said Aaron.

  "Of course I

  won't. I just adore your taste in fashion sir," replied

  Margaret.

  "That's enough

  flirting with the kid, you little minx!

  And don't think

  titanium chain-mail will protect you from my belt!" growled

  Harry in the background as the sharp crack of leather hitting skin

  sounded, and Margaret let out a squeal that was part pain, part

  pleasure.

  "Talk to you

  later, boss. I need to teach my wife some manners," said Harry,

  coming on the line.

  "Alright, I'll

  leave you two to it," chuckled Aaron, as he hung up.

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