Tloche was sitting on a chair in the living room, trying to cover her shoulders and neckline with a small green shawl she managed to grab before she was dragged from her room. Now that she was surrounded by three burly men, who had besides closed the door to her apartment, wearing a skimpy camisole and shorts and nothing else did not seem like a good idea. The fire alarm kept blaring throughout. Mal-Jabloki was sitting on a chair beside her, sobbing quietly, her back to Tloche, who could see stark purple bruises in the blonde waif’s thin arms; she had obviously been manhandled.

Although the men wore firefighter uniforms, it was pretty clear these were undercover policemen or something like that, as they did not carry any tools except for the fearsome , two feet long studded hardwood cudgels, painted red, which were called “tiger’s cock” by some, and were used by the cops and thugs alike. There were other two men ransacking the whole flat with a vengeance, obviously on the lookout for… Paat-shooh, which thankfully was nowhere to be seen. Tloche was now willing to bet two months’ pay the fire alarm was an excuse to infiltrate the building and have the three women at their mercy… luckily Trano was not around, apparently having been detained by her waitress job.

This left Tloche with an uneasy mix of emotions: relief, as he was apparently out of any danger, and a sense of disappointment and betrayal, as the little man had apparently taken off with no notice… she had noticed, however, he did not take his purple outfit with him, which she could see laying on the floor of her room even from where she was sitting. What if he ran outside and was stepped on? She worried, with a laden feeling on her gut.

She was shaken out of her reverie by one of the men surrounding her, the slenderer of them all, abruptly pulling her shawl and taking it away from her; she did not dare resist, as the man carried a gun openly in his belt, his free hand sitting carelessly on the handle. Without her shawl, Tloche crossed her arms under her breasts and squirmed awkwardly on her seat, feeling too bare, as her very loose camisole had a plunging neckline, and she was wearing no chest strap nor loincloth, her pale legs completely revealed by the very skimpy shorts.

Although the men around her wore black firefighter masks and goggles, she could tell they were leering openly at her, encouraged by the slender man, who seemed to be the boss, and who, although not leering, had knowingly made Tloche uncomfortable on purpose by removing the shawl. Being surrounded by unknown, hostile, faceless brawny men, while being so scantily clad, was a situation intended to break her will… and…

“Where is it?”

There come the questions, Tloche sighed inwardly, as the next logical step in this hellish day came to pass. And one way or the other, she had no answers to give… something she did not expect, though, was the slender man, who had asked the question, was, unmistakably a woman, judging by her voice, which was clearly used to command and to be obeyed. Dejectedly, Cantutloche raised her eyes and gazed at the tall woman’s eye slits on her fireproof mask…