Milla

You watch as Susanne continues her laps on the pitch, the setting sun casting long shadows across the field. The decision is made; you turn your back to the field and head towards the changing rooms. Milla had a good head start, but the changing rooms aren't far, and if she's showering, you might have a few minutes of privacy to attempt using the pen.

Your heart is racing, partly from the thrill of doing something so outlandish and partly from the fear of getting caught. As you approach the changing rooms, you slow down your pace to avoid drawing attention. You can hear the faint sound of a shower running and the occasional echo of a locker door closing.

You reach the entrance to the changing rooms and hesitate for a moment. This is the point of no return. You take a deep breath and push the door open quietly, slipping inside. The sound of the shower is louder now, and you can hear the faint hum of the ventilation system.

The changing room is empty, save for the sound of water. Milla's bag is on one of the benches, her clothes neatly folded beside it. You move towards her bag and notice the pen in your pocket. It feels heavier now, as if it's aware of the imminent use.

You pull the pen out, examining it closely for a moment. It looks like an ordinary pen, but you know better. You recall the instructions: click the knob five times to extend the pen's mine, aim it at the person, and press the knob to activate its function.

Your hand shakes slightly as you click the pen, each click echoing slightly in the tiled room. One, two, three, four, five. The mine extends with a soft click. You can hear Milla humming a tune from the showers, oblivious to the world outside her watery sanctuary.

You take a step towards the showers, the pen aimed forward. You reach the entrance to the showers and peer around the corner. Milla is there, her back to you, the water cascading down her athletic figure. She seems relaxed, the perfect target.

You press the knob down, holding your breath. Time seems to slow as you wait for something to happen. Two seconds pass, and then Milla's form shudders. It's almost imperceptible at first, but then it's unmistakable—she's deflating, her body collapsing in on itself until all that's left is a suit, perfectly shaped like her, lying on the shower floor, water pooling around it.

Your mouth goes dry. It worked. It actually worked.

Now comes the next part. You step into the shower, the water now cold as it sprays over you and the suit. You feel a pang of guilt looking at Milla's deflated form, but the allure of the experience, the power of the pen, pushes those thoughts aside.