Chapter 3: Charlie’s New Miniskirt
The sterile air of Limburger Industries’ executive floor tasted like expensive cologne and ozone, thick enough to choke on. Charlie shifted her weight nervously, the scratchy nylon of the borrowed secretary’s uniform skirt riding up her thighs with every minute movement. Again. She surreptitiously tugged it down, her knuckles brushing cool skin. It felt absurdly short, the hem barely skimming the tops of her legs in front, the sides gaping open to expose way more thigh than she’d ever willingly reveal. Limburger’s ‘efficiency consultant’ had delivered it this morning with a smirk. "Standard issue for optimal… accessibility," he’d purred. Charlie knew it was just another weapon, another way to make her feel exposed, vulnerable. A sickening echo of Peepers’ invasive lens.
"Miss… Charlotte, was it?" Limburger’s oil-slick voice oozed from the open doorway of his cavernous office. He stood framed in the entrance, impeccably dressed in a suit that probably cost more than the Last Chance Garage, his beady eyes fixed not on her face, but lower. A slow, reptilian smile spread across his jowly features. "Do come in. Let’s see if you can handle this delicate filing task."
Charlie forced a brittle smile, clutching the empty file folder like a shield. "Of course, Mr. Limburger." Her voice sounded thin, alien in the oppressive silence of the plush hallway. She took a step, the damn skirt immediately hiking up again. Tug. She smoothed it, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. She could practically feel his gaze crawling over her skin.
She entered the office, a vast expanse of chrome, black glass, and uncomfortably modern art. The panoramic windows showcased a hazy cityscape, but the real power seemed to radiate from the massive obsidian desk. Limburger gestured languidly towards a smaller, sleek desk positioned unnervingly close to his own. "Your station. I value… proximity."
Charlie eased into the chair, the cool leather a shock. Immediately, the skirt rode up higher at the back, the edge of the thong barely covered. She shifted, trying to angle her legs, but the movement just made the fabric cling and slide. Tug. Her fingers discreetly worked the hem lower. It was like trying to contain water.
Limburger settled into his throne-like chair, steepling his fingers. "Now, Charlotte," he began, his voice a low purr, "let's discuss efficiency. Starting with… posture." His eyes lingered. "A slouch is terribly inefficient. Sit up straight. Let the chair support you properly." It was a command, laced with innuendo.
Gritting her teeth, Charlie straightened, the movement causing the skirt to retreat further. Tug. She focused on the folder, her mission screaming in her head. Plant the device. Under the desk edge. Now. But he was watching. Always watching.
"Darling," Limburger sighed, leaning forward slightly. "You seem terribly preoccupied with that hemline. Is the fit… uncomfortable? Perhaps you’d be more efficient without it?" He chuckled, a wet, unpleasant sound. "Just a thought. Now, the Henderson acquisition reports. Where are we?"
Charlie’s hand trembled as she fumbled with the files. This was worse than Peepers. Peepers was a machine. This was deliberate, personal, a predator savoring his prey’s discomfort. She leaned forward, ostensibly to place a file on his desk, her other hand dipping towards the magnetic tracker Modo had given her, concealed in her palm. Her movement made the skirt ride up alarmingly in the back. Tug. Too slow. Limburger’s hungry gaze followed the motion.
"Focus, Charlotte," he chided, his voice hardening. "Eyes on the task. Not on… adjustments." He tapped a key on his console. "Security? Run a diagnostic sweep on sub-level three. Just… tidying up."
Charlie froze. Sub-level three. Where Throttle and Vinnie were supposed to be creating a diversion. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Distract him. Plant it. NOW.
Suddenly, with a sound like a dumpster falling down stairs, the ceiling directly above Limburger’s desk exploded.
Plaster rained down. Tiles shattered. And through the jagged hole, silhouetted against the flickering emergency lights of the floor above, landed Modo. He hit the obsidian desk hard, the impact spider-webbing the thick glass surface. Dust plumed. His chrome arm whined, still protesting the damage from crushing Peepers, but his organic fist was clenched, his single eye blazing with fury behind his visor.
Limburger shrieked, scrambling back in his ludicrously expensive chair, his face a mask of outrage and fear. "YOU!"
"Me," Modo growled, the word vibrating with pure menace. He ignored the splintered glass under his boots. His gaze snapped to Charlie. "You okay?" It was rough, urgent.
Charlie didn’t hesitate. While Limburger was still sputtering, frozen by the sudden, violent intrusion, she lunged sideways. Her hand slapped against the cool underside of Limburger’s massive desk. The magnetic tracker clicked faintly into place. Done. She scrambled back as plaster dust sifted onto her hair.
"Security! INTRUDER!" Limburger finally bellowed, jabbing frantically at his console.
Modo didn’t wait for reinforcements. He leaped from the desk, clearing it in one bound, landing between Charlie and the spluttering plutocrat. "Time to go, Charlie," he barked, grabbing her arm gently but firmly with his organic hand. "Nice skirt," he added, a flicker of disgust in his eye as he took in the offensive garment. "His idea?"
"Standard efficiency wear," Charlie gasped, relief warring with terror as Modo pulled her towards the shattered window Modo had apparently used as his entrance point – a gaping hole revealing dizzying city heights.
"Disgusting rodent!" Limburger spat, regaining a sliver of composure. He smoothed his tie, though dust smeared his lapels. "You think this is over? You’ve just signed her termination papers! And yours!" He jabbed a thick finger. "Snare Squad! NOW!"
A high-pitched whine filled the air from the corridor outside, followed by heavy, metallic footfalls. Huge, armored figures clad in matte black combat suits, their helmets featureless except for glowing red sensors, filled the blown-open office doorway. Their weapon arms, heavy stun-prods crackling with blue energy, swung towards Modo and Charlie.
Modo shoved Charlie towards the window. "Stay behind me!" He pivoted, his bionic arm coming up. The whine intensified, then a panel slid back. Instead of crushing force, a focused cone of sonic disruption erupted from his fist. It wasn't a blast, but a shrieking wall of sound that slammed into the lead Snare Trooper. The trooper staggered, its sensors flickering wildly, the energy discharge from its prod fizzling out.
"Go, Charlie! Fire escape!" Modo roared, keeping the sonic barrage focused, holding the disoriented troopers at bay. The sound was agonizing, even at the periphery.
Charlie didn't need telling twice. She scrambled over the rubble towards the shattered window, the ridiculous skirt snagging on debris. With a frustrated rip, she tore the flimsy nylon, freeing her legs just as she reached the opening. The rusty skeletal frame of the building's emergency escape ladder beckoned dizzyingly below. She swung a leg over the jagged sill.
Limburger watched from behind the dubious cover of his cracked desk, his face a rictus of fury. "You won't escape the Snare Squad, Modo! Or the consequences! That little display," he hissed, his eyes locking onto Charlie as she clambered out, "cost you dearly. You'll both regret stepping into my office!"
Modo gave one final pulse of the sonic emitter, forcing the recovering troopers back another step. He spared a single, contemptuous glance at Limburger. "Save it for the stockholders, Cheese-Face." Then, in a blur of motion, he turned and leaped through the broken window after Charlie, his powerful form silhouetted against the grimy city sky before vanishing down the ladder. The sonic whine cut off abruptly, leaving only the crackle of the troopers' weapons and Limburger's incoherent sputtering rage echoing in the ruined, dust-choked office.