S2-ENF-022 - LOST BET

“Guess I owe you a beer,” said Miguel from Theoretical Malevolence, watching from behind a one-way mirror as Security Officer Carol Song carefully folded her matte black uniform and dropped it into a nearby laundry chute. The curvaceous Asian woman glanced suspiciously around the room, seeing nothing to arouse her suspicions, as she began to unfasten her bra. “I can’t believe she fell for it.”

“Simplicity itself,” said Dr. Blithe, studying Carol’s strong, athletic yet deliciously well-rounded figure as the elite martial artist peeled her black panties down her thighs, exposing a full, toned backside and a neat silky black triangle of hair between her legs. “I sent her a message from Dr. Lucent’s email account, telling her to report to Examination Room 13-B for an urgent medical scan. Apparently there’s a small possibility she might be contaminated with dark energy from her little trip to Alpha Centauri.”

“You sly devil.”

“Worse is to come,” said Dr. Blithe, and picked up a microphone. “Attention, please,” he said, using a small electronic device to produce a passable imitation of Dr. Lucent’s voice. “Thank you for your co-operation, Carol. This is just a standard examination procedure, and shouldn’t take too long, as long as you follow my instructions to the letter. First, put on this blindfold to shield your eyes from harmful radiation…”

Miguel and the rest of Dr. Blithe’s faithful lab techs watched with interest from behind the glass, giggling, high-fiving and passing a beer around as Carol obediently performed twenty squats and twenty jumping jacks, stark naked with her tits jiggling and her thighs parted in front of everyone. She then stood very still, squirming only slightly as two stone-faced research assistants conducted a very thorough examination of her body, using rubber gloves, cocoa butter, a few strategically placed ice cubes and what she was reliably assured was a state of the art biotronic investigator, and was in fact a feather duster. Dr. Lucent’s voice warned her it was going to tickle, and told her not to move.

Finally, after twenty long minutes, Carol was released from the intimate clutches of the research assistants, who had done an excellent job controlling the impulse to giggle. Her breasts and bottom were painted bright pink, to ward off further dark matter exposure, and her hands were cuffed behind her back to prevent unnecessary wriggling. And she was told to walk forward, into the next room, for final debriefing.

Carol stepped forward, through a temporary portal which led directly into the heart of downtown Tokyo. The sound of four thousand Japanese people falling completely silent, for precisely twenty seconds, then bursting all at once into uproarious laughter, was enough to tip her off that something had gone wrong.

“Never,” said Dr. Blithe gravely, watching the proud curvaceous warrior woman on the TV monitor sprint naked down the busy city street, squealing her little head off as thousands of eyes followed her every bounce and jiggle, “go up against Hans Blithe when nudity is on the line.”

Miguel raised a glass. “I’ll drink to that.”