Check it out, what's the harm?

Three hours later, Susan found herself standing outside Sakura-Mai, the pink neon sign casting an otherworldly glow over the street. She'd gone home first, showered away the sweat from her earlier dance, and spent nearly an hour talking herself out of coming here.

Yet here she was.

If she was going to do this – and she hadn't decided she would – she couldn't rely on the anonymity of full-body latex. Not in a strip club environment. She needed an identity, a persona that would shield Susan Storm from discovery.

She'd chosen her outfit carefully: a midnight-blue latex dress that hugged every curve without being too overtly fetishistic, paired with thigh-high vinyl boots. The perception filter technology she'd "borrowed" from Reed's lab was already active, subtly altering her appearance to anyone who saw her. Her blonde hair now appeared raven black with a single streak of electric blue. Her facial features were just different enough – higher cheekbones, slightly fuller lips, a more angular jawline – that no one who knew Susan Storm would connect her to this woman.

"Suzanne," she whispered to herself, testing the name she'd selected for this alter ego. "I'm Suzanne tonight."

Taking a deep breath, she approached the bouncer, Sajima's card in hand. "Mr. Sajima is expecting me," she said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded despite the thundering of her heart.

The large man gave her an appraising look, then nodded and stepped aside. "Go in, he's at the bar."

The interior of Sakura-Mai assaulted her senses immediately. The bass-heavy music was cranked to near-painful levels, the air thick with perfume, ****, and an underlying musk of arousal. Multicolored lights swept across the main room, illuminating the central stage where a statuesque redhead performed an athletic routine around a pole.

Susan paused in the entrance, taking it all in. The club was busy but not packed, with mostly male clientele scattered around tables and along the bar. Three smaller side stages stood at various points around the room, one empty, the other two featuring dancers in various stages of undress.

She spotted Sajima at the far end of the bar and made her way toward him, acutely aware of the eyes that followed her. Not stares of recognition, but the appreciative glances of men who saw an attractive woman in form-fitting clothes. It sent a forbidden thrill through her.

"You came," Sajima said, genuine pleasure in his voice as he rose to greet her. "I'm glad."

"Just to look," Susan reminded him, settling onto the barstool he offered.

"Of course." He signaled the bartender. "What's your pleasure?"