True Attack

Steve's initial glee at Harley's flustered greeting in the lobby faded as the day wore on. He watched her navigate meetings and interactions with the team, calling everyone "Master" or "Mistress" with that same hesitant blush, obeying minor requests like fetching coffee or reorganizing files without question. But something was off—it was too seamless. No one batted an eye at her transformed appearance or the bizarre new protocols. Even Harley herself seemed to accept it all as normal, albeit with visible discomfort from the New Rules. The lack of awareness robbed him of the full satisfaction; he wanted her to squirm not just from embarrassment, but from confusion and dread.

During his lunch break, Steve slipped into an empty conference room, Rulebook in hand. He flipped back to the TechNova Solutions page and added a targeted twist:

"Old Rule: The CEO is fully aware that recent changes to her body, behavior, and company protocols are unnatural and have been imposed externally, but she can never understand or discover the source, no matter how hard she tries. This knowledge fills her with constant anxiety and a compulsion to hide it from others."

The change rippled through reality instantly. Back in the open office, Steve overheard Harley in her glass-walled executive suite, muttering to herself while pacing. "This isn't right... I wasn't always... like this. Was I? No, I remember being... different. Older. Male? God, that can't be. Why can't I think straight?" Her voice cracked with frustration, hands trembling as she adjusted her too-tight blouse, glancing around paranoid that someone might overhear. But when a colleague knocked to discuss a project, she plastered on a professional smile, addressing them as "Mistress Elena" and complying with their casual request to prioritize their task, all while her eyes betrayed a storm of inner turmoil.

Steve couldn't help but grin from his cubicle, watching the chaos brew. Harley called an impromptu one-on-one with him later that afternoon, closing the door behind her. "Master Steve," she began, her voice a mix of **** deference and barely contained panic, "I... I need to ask if you've noticed anything... off lately. With me. Or the way things are run here." She fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing her legs, the no-underwear rule clearly amplifying her unease. Steve feigned innocence, probing with innocent questions that only deepened her confusion. "Off? Like what, Harley?" Her face paled, realizing she couldn't articulate it without sounding insane, the rule binding her thoughts in knots.

By the end of the day, rumors whispered through the office—nothing about the rules themselves, but about the CEO seeming "on edge" or "distracted." Harley left early, muttering about needing to "figure this out," but Steve knew she'd chase shadows forever. The power was intoxicating; what other layers of torment could he add next?