With a chase

The park was a stage of constant shame. Every glance, every whisper, every stifled laugh was a pinprick to Magi's already battered emotional armor. She walked beside Rubio, acutely aware of the rub of the black lace biting her skin, the sheer blouse sticking to the cold sweat on her back, and the skirt that seemed to shrink with every step. The pink uniform wasn't a disguise; it was a textile prison that suffocated her.

Rubio, clearly enjoying the spectacle, commented on every detail with a mocking smile.

"Relax, bookworm. At least it's not cold today. Take advantage of the... fresh air."

Magi clenched her jaw, keeping her eyes fixed on the gravel path they walked on. She tried to disengage, to retreat to that mental space where words and stares couldn't reach her. But it was impossible. The physical oppression of the uniform and the underwear was a constant reminder.

That's when they spotted him.

A thin figure, hood pulled low and movements twitchy, was struggling with the lock of a city bike parked near a kiosk. The scene screamed "robbery in progress" even from a distance.

"Hey, you! Stop!" Rubio yelled, immediately adopting a tone of authority that brutally contrasted with his attitude from a second ago.

The suspect looked up, his white eyes visible between the hood and his chin. Without thinking, he dropped the bicycle and sprinted down an alley.

"Go!" Rubio ordered, taking off running.

Magi, driven by a professional instinct she thought was extinguished, ran after him. But the uniform was a trap. The tight skirt prevented her from opening her legs sufficiently; every stride was a struggle against the fabric digging into her thighs. Her low-heeled shoes, unsuitable for running, slipped on the gravel. The tight pink jacket constricted her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Even so, she kept running. Adrenaline briefly clouded the shame. Rubio, faster and better equipped, gained ground ahead of her.

The suspect cut through a low hedge toward an area of gardens fenced with ornamental metal railings. Rubio followed, leaping over with agility. Magi, her heart slamming against her chest, tried to imitate him.

It was a mistake.

As she jumped, the heel of her shoe caught on the top of the fence. She didn't fall immediately; she hung grotesquely for a moment, swaying, one leg over the railing and the other trapped. A dry, violent rip tore through the air.

The **** of the tug and the weight of her body were stronger than the delicate fabric of the skirt. The side seam, already strained to the maximum, gave way completely from the waist to the hem, tearing with a burst of pink cloth.

Magi fell heavily to the ground on the other side, the impact shaking her bones. The sharp pain in her ankle, twisted in the fall, was the second thing she felt. The first was the cold air licking her skin where the fabric used to be.

She lay on her side, panting, her vision blurred. Slowly, she looked up. Her right leg was almost completely exposed. The shredded skirt hung from her waist only on the left side, like a grotesque banner of her failure. The rest was her skin, tanned and covered in small bruises, and the black lace thong, now completely in view, biting cruelly into her hip and groin. The sheer, sweaty, and dirty blouse had ridden up, exposing her stomach and the bottom of the equally black bra.

The laughter came first. Rubio, who had the suspect pinned against a lamppost, was laughing openly, nodding toward her.

"Look what you did, bookworm! Quite the way to make an arrest!"

The suspect, even immobilized, let out a scornful laugh.

"Damn, lady! Is this what the police look like now? I like it!"

But it wasn't just them. Passersby, children playing, an older couple on a bench... everyone's eyes were fixed on her. On her bare leg, on the exposed underwear, on the shredded uniform that was physical proof of her ineptitude. The sound of a phone taking a picture made a dry click that sounded like a gunshot.

Magi tried to get up, but the pain in her ankle made her fall back down with a stifled groan. Gravel dug into her palms. The heat of shame rose from her neck to her ears, so intense that she felt dizzy. She wanted to disappear, to merge with the earth, for the ground to swallow her.

Rubio approached, dragging the still-smiling suspect.

"Well, well. This is quite a mess. Sub-Officer Costa is not going to be happy at all." His tone was one of false concern. "Need me to help you... cover up?"

The offer was another taunt. There was nothing to cover up with. Only the shreds of her uniform and the stares of dozens of people.

"No," Magi managed to articulate, in a voice she didn't recognize, hoarse and broken. "I can manage."

With superhuman effort, she crawled to the fence and grabbed the bars to pull herself up, ignoring the stabbing pain. She leaned against the cold metal, trying to gather the pieces of the torn skirt, an impossible mission. Every movement revealed more; every attempt to cover up was more pathetic.

The return to the academy was a via crucis. Limping visibly, with the ruined uniform hanging from her body and her underwear completely exposed, she walked, followed by the stares, whispers, and laughter of those they encountered along the way. Rubio marched beside her, enjoying the show, commenting on every step in a low voice.

Crossing the academy gate, Sub-Officer Costa was already there, waiting for them. Her cold eyes swept over Magi from head to toe, from her messy hair to her swollen ankle, pausing at the black lace garment that seemed to be the only thing intact on her entire body.

She said nothing for a long moment. Then, her voice cut the air like a whip.

"Cadet Rojas. It seems your patrol was... productive. Report to the infirmary for that ankle. Then, to my office." She paused, and a shadow of what might be pure cruelty crossed her gaze. "Bring the remains of your uniform. We need to assess the damage and the consequences."

Magi lowered her head, unable to meet that gaze. Tears, finally, rolled down her cheeks, tracing paths through the dirt and shame. She wasn't crying from the physical pain, but from the certainty that there was no bottom. Every humiliation was just the step to the next. And this time, she had taken the show to the streets.