They search me.

I stayed pressed against the side of the squad car, feeling the cold, damp metal of the bodywork against my unprotected back. My black satin bodysuit was in tatters after the violent struggle at the donation bin, and the crisp morning air hit my skin with a cruelty that made me shiver uncontrollably. The blue and red siren lights rotated rhythmically above my head, bathing my purple hair and my body in a frantic sequence of colors. I felt like I was under a perverse spotlight, exposed in the middle of a public street for anyone to see. My glasses, dirty and fogged by tears, barely let me make out the officers' expressions.

“Hold on a second, Ramirez,” said the first officer, Miller, stopping me with a firm arm just before opening the back door. “We can’t put her in like this. Look at that garment—it has too many folds, and it’s torn. She could have anything hidden: a blade, substances, or whatever she tried to pull out of that container. We have to search her. Right here.”

“What?! No!” I screamed, feeling absolute panic overflow in my chest. “Where would I hide anything in these clothes? It’s practically nothing! The satin is already torn, and this outfit doesn’t even have pockets! Please, just let me get in the car and get this over with!”

“Rules are rules, ‘student,’” Officer Ramirez said with a icy smile that made my blood run cold. “So cooperate. Take it all off. Now.”

I looked toward the avenue, desperate. Even though it was a semi-industrial area bordering the campus, every now and then a car would pass by, slowing down at the sight of the flashing police lights. The mere thought that someone from the faculty might drive by and recognize me in this condition made me sick to my stomach. Under the overwhelming pressure of the situation, I brought my trembling hands to the torn remnants of the black bodysuit. With a sob that tore through my throat, I slid down the straps and unfastened the snaps at the crotch, sliding the textured satin down my thighs until I let it drop to the ground.

I was left completely naked in the middle of the street, under the harsh, flickering light of the sirens, trying in vain to use my purple hair and my hands to cover myself.

“Turn around,” Miller ordered. “Hands on the hood. Lean forward.”

I obeyed mechanically, feeling the cold metal on my palms. Arching my back in that forced position, I became painfully aware of how my large breasts hung unprotected, and how both officers' gazes traveled with unbearable slowness over every inch of my back, my wide hips, and my legs shivering from the morning cold. I felt a deep surge of nausea.

“Well, well...” Ramirez said. I felt the concentrated beam of his flashlight burning the skin of my buttocks, focusing directly on the reddish marks that Clara’s spankings had left on my skin. “Looks like someone’s already been playing with you this morning, gorgeous. You’ve got a bright red rear end.”

“They forced me! A girl took my clothes and set me up!” I pleaded, burying my humiliated face against the metal of the police car.

I heard the sharp thud of a standard-issue nightstick striking the squad car’s tire, an intimidating sound that made me jump. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Officer Miller use the tip of his boot to nudge the shredded satin bodysuit on the ground, kicking the white pom-pom as if searching for something hidden within the seams of the costume.

“Well, looks like you were right,” Miller concluded after what felt like an eternity. “She’s not carrying anything. She’s clean.”

“Can I... can I put my clothes back on now?” my voice asked, reduced to a barely audible whisper, as I tried to press my knees together to hide my lower body, which throbbed with pure vulnerability and shame before their eyes.

“No. This costume is now physical evidence of a potential crime of burglary and public indecency,” Miller replied, picking up the shreds of black satin with latex gloves to put them into a clear plastic bag. “But we’re not savages. You’re not going barefoot—put your heels on. And we don’t want you leaving marks on the squad car seat.”

I stared at him in horror through my fogged lenses. Getting into the vehicle completely naked meant being stripped of the very last physical barrier against two armed men who had just inspected every inch of my anatomy. With my hands stiff from the cold and humiliation, I put on the stiletto shoes. The posture arched my crimson buttocks once more, involuntarily accentuating my exposed curves under the patrol’s scrutiny.

“Get up, move,” Ramirez said, swinging the back door wide open. His eyes gleamed with a predatory glint as he took in my total nudity under the morning light. “Let’s see what they say at station about a purple-haired ‘student’ who breaks into donation bins and walks around looking like this.”

I climbed sideways onto the hard, cold plastic seat of the patrol car, feeling the direct brush of the synthetic surface against my exposed skin. Immediately after, the heavy door slammed shut with a sharp thud, and I heard the metallic click of the locks engaging from the front dashboard. I was trapped in the back, completely naked, exposed, and at the mercy of two men who no longer saw me as a student, but as marked prey.