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BUNNIE TOY MUST DIE By Ingrid Halb Special Agent John Devon had a grim look on his face when he entered the briefing room. It was not often that he and his partner received an assignment call direct from the Deputy District Chief. This was almost certainly serious. His partner tagging along behind him, Special Agent Brad Simpson, had a much more placid look on his face. The two men were physically quite different. Devon was a tall, square- shouldered man in his mid-thirties. His black, close-cropped hair screamed 'Fed', as did the conservative jacket and tie he neatly wore. Simpson was on the short side of average in height, and had a doughy softness to him that suggested he spent more time on his computer than in a gym. He was clearly younger then Devon, and while he emulated the taller man's style of dress, he did not wear it as well. Simpson's jacket and tie looked just vaguely disheveled, almost as if he had been sleeping in those same clothes. His sandy brown hair had a similar refusal to look neat, despite his most careful attempts with a comb. The two men marched into the small briefing room. An oak veneer table, big enough for about eight people, nearly filled it but for an extra row of padded office chairs along the back wall and a high definition monitor at the front. The monitor currently displayed the words 'Secure Access Only' on a solid red background. "Gentlemen, please sit down." The Deputy District Chief was a dour, humorless man, who tended to not waste time on social niceties. He held a file and waited impatiently on the two agents. He started talking almost as soon as they took their seats. The monitor came to life, seemingly by itself, displaying images timed neatly to the Deputy District Chief's words. "Three weeks ago Cyber Command detected a security breach at a Los Alamos research facility. They thought it a run of the mill hacker until the breach reached level III firewalls. Two weeks ago, a hacker with the same signature made their way into the Minot Air Base ICBM lifecycle replacement program. Since then, there have been two more breaches with the same pattern. One got into the navigation computer on a SBBN tender at Kings Bay Submarine Base, and the other got into a Defense Procurement project for Missile Command. Gentlemen, I think it is obvious what we are up against." Devon and Simpson stared vacantly. "Someone is trying to get a nuclear weapon," the Deputy District Chief said, by way of explanation. "The Chinese," Simpson said, nodding his head. "The Chinese already have nuclear weapons," Devon said, with a hint of annoyance. "It has to be the Iranians." "We suspect terrorism, but can't link the breaches to any organized cell. Therefore, we cannot rule out domestic extremists." "Are there any leads at all?" Devon asked. The Deputy District Chief seemed annoyed at the interruption, but answered the question anyway. "We've managed to track the digital footprints to a commercial computer node centered on the Valley View High School and the Sunshine Mall area. There have been an unusual number of high-end scientific instruments and technical equipment purchased and shipped to that area under a variety of shell corporations and questionable trusts. This person has been identified as the recipient of most of that equipment." The Deputy District Chief handed the file folder he had been holding over to Devon, who took it with solemn seriousness. A curious, confused look soon replaced the solemnity as he read the title and flipped through some of the contents. "Is this a joke?" he asked, as Simpson strained to look at the contents over and around Devon's shoulder. "This is deadly serious," the Deputy District Chief said, glaring. "We think someone is building a nuclear weapon. Your mission is for surveillance on this subject. She's obviously not our terrorist, but she's our only lead to the mad scientific mastermind who is." Devon looked again at the name on the front of the file. 'TOY, BUNNIE' it said. The photo inside showed a dark-haired teenage girl with large breasts. *** Pixie Miller would rather have been most anywhere rather than where she was right now. Pixie, like your typical 16-year old girl was not overjoyed at the prospect of spending her Saturday in a basement lab, assisting in the construction of a scientific apparatus of dubious viability. The fact that she was assisting in the construction of Bunnie's latest project, was precisely because Pixie, despite her appearance and several comprehensive medical examinations to the contrary, was not a typical 16-year old girl. For, while the passing of time had indeed made her 16, it was Bunnie Toy that had made her a girl. "Hand me the 9/16ths socket," Bunnie said, poking her hand out from under a large metal orb. Bunnie had her upper torso buried under an open access panel. There was little to be seen of her beyond the tight fitting jeans on her legs and her favorite calf-high boots with the 4- inch heel, and of course the grease smeared but well manicured hand currently snapping its fingers impatiently. Pixie sighed, and got up carefully off the lab stool to retrieve the socket and put it in Bunnie's hand. She was careful because she did not want not snag her hose on the bench. They had cost her a significant amount of money for a teenager. She would have known better than to wear her miniskirt and colored nylons to the lab, but when Bunnie had called her to come over and help with a beauty project, she had assumed they would be going to the mall, and had dressed to be seen. She resumed her perch on the stool. "Not this one, Pixie. This is a 9/16ths," Bunnie said with annoyance in her voice, sticking her hand back out with the offending tool. "You said 9/16ths!" "No, I'm pretty sure I said 5/8ths." Pixie sighed again, before clambering down to hand Bunnie the 5/8ths socket she had intended. She had grown somewhat used to Bunnie's vagaries after two years of serving as friend and lab assistant. This time she stayed knees bent low, her hands keeping her skirt modest, except to brush a long lock of her golden hair back so she could speak more directly with Bunnie. "Bunnie," she said. "Hmmm?" "You know how when we first started hanging out, we had that deal?" "Hmm... hanging out... yes." "How you were going to get me good grades, if I did what you said?" "Grades... uh huh." "And you had me start dressing like a girl, then things started to change, like my hair and breasts and stuff, but you said it was all normal." "Normal girl... yup." "I was wondering if maybe I could go back now? I mean, I don't think this is normal anymore. My breasts are huge, not as big as yours maybe, but bigger than most of the other girls in class. And I'm shorter than the guys, even in heels, and I don't think I'm growing any taller. There's other things, too." The only response was the ratcheting noise of Bunnie turning a wrench. "Are you listening?" Pixie knew that when Bunnie was engrossed in her work, it could be hard to get her attention. "Everyone thinks I'm really a girl. I mean a real girl. Everyone! My Mother took me to her gynecologist, and she said I was perfectly healthy." The ratchet of the wrench was replaced by the banging of a hammer, or more likely the banging of a wrench being used as a hammer. Pixie was forced to talk increasingly louder to be heard over the noise. "I'm beginning to think this is permanent!" she shouted. "Mom's been leaving around brochures for a women's college and she's started introducing me to her friends' sons. I want to go back! Can you hear me? I want to be a guy again! Guys don't have periods! I NEED A PENIS!" Bunnie had stopped hammering towards the end of Pixie's yelling so that the last four words hung loudly in a suddenly quiet room. Bunnie slid out from under the orb on the mechanics creeper she had been using. "What about Greg?" Bunnie asked. "Doesn't he have a penis? I'm sure he'll let you hold it." "That's not what I meant," Pixie said, red with embarrassment. "I want my own penis." "Ah! You want me to graft Greg's penis onto you," Bunnie said nodding. "WHAT? NO! Wait... you can do that?" "Not me, Pixie. Science! Okay, really me, but your transsexual fantasies will have to wait, for I have just completed an invention that will benefit all of humanity!" Pixie was going to argue that it was hardly a transsexual fantasy to return to one's original gender, but the concept of Bunnie doing anything to benefit humanity was too distracting to ignore. "What is it?" she asked. "This!" Bunnie said proudly as she got to her feet still holding the wrench, straightened her lab coat, and brushed off the front of the machine with her free hand. "Is an automated beauty machine! I call it the Focused Elegance Modality Baseline Stimulator, or FEM-BS for short." "What's it do?" "What's it do! What's it do!" Bunnie seemed offended, then confused for a moment. "What does it do? Oh, yeah, I remember. It makes things beautiful!" "So, like makeup and stuff?" Pixie asked. "Makeup and stuff? Oh, please." Bunnie rolled her eyes, and then looked thoughtful. "Although, that would be a good idea... No, what the FEM-BS does is search for alternate realities that match parameter inputs and focuses those realities onto our own." "Isn't that dangerous?" "Phthth, no!" Bunnie said, dismissively. "Here, I'll turn it on. Behold!" Pixie tensed and squinted her eyes in anticipation. Nothing happened. Bunnie flipped the switch a few more times, then hauled back and kicked the machine. "Stupid pile of crap!" she said as she started to repeatedly hit the orb with her wrench. "Why does nothing ever work! Why, why, why?" "Oh, hey. It wasn't plugged in," Pixie said. "I got it." *** Meanwhile, Special Agents Devon and Simpson were inside a windowless panel van parked around the corner from Bunnie's lab. Several tape machines were running and both men were wearing earphones. "You know, I don't think she's a terrorist," Simpson said. "Shhh!" Devon replied. Both men listened quietly for a while. "That Pixie girl seems a little weird, though," Simpson said. "What was that about her boyfriend's penis? I didn't hear it over that loud banging noise." "Will you be quiet!" Devon yelled loudly. "How are we supposed to conduct surveillance if you're always yammering on about every little thing? Oh, there, see what you did? We missed her description of the machine. Now we're going to have to play the whole tape over again from the beginning. Are you happy?" "I think she's going to plug it in," Simpson said. Both men heard a muffled boom, which shook the van slightly. They did not have time to reflect on this as a blue energy pulsed out of their earphones and seemed to electrocute the two men as the light danced over their bodies. Their fearful twitching stopped as soon as the light stopped and both men stared at each other in shock as smoke wafted out of their headphones and the tape machine. What held their attention, was their clothes. Instead of the conservative grey jacket, tie, and white shirt, Devon was now wearing a shiny silk blazer with a fitted cut over a peach blouse with a frilly collar, and a kicky little scarf. His pants and shoes had also been replaced with a pencil skirt and heels. Simpson had also undergone a wardrobe change. He was now wearing skin-tight white jeans and ballet flats, with a baby-blue tank top that did not quite cover his stomach. He also seemed to have acquired a pair of earrings. "Okay, maybe she is a terrorist," Simpson said. *** "No," Steele said. "But I want it!" Bunnie cried, while kicking her feet and striking the armchair with frenzied blows from her clenched fists. The two were in the study at Steele's house, where Bunnie had come to ask for an advance on next year's funding. "Throwing a tantrum won't help," said Steele. He was sitting at his desk, propped up on his elbows, holding his head in his hands. Bunnie could be very persistent, and he was wearying. "The money just isn't there." "Bull cookies! There's plenty of money in the trust!" she said. "Yes," Steele said, explaining it all once again. "The trust funds are solid. But we can't access those for another two years. Your research funds have been coming out of a stock indexed fund that was supposed to be our education fund." "School's overrated," she said. "I'm already a genius! Pay me now." "I have been paying you," Steele said. "What do you think bought you your lab?" "I need more," Bunnie said petulantly. "That's what I'm telling you!" Steele said, exasperation getting the better of him. "There is no more! Until the stock market recovers, there is only enough money for the daily accounts. We're effectively broke!" "What do you mean, we're broke?" Bunnie said. "I need plutonium!" "Bunnie," Steele said, taking a moment to choose his words carefully. "Why do you need plutonium?" "Just some experiments," Bunnie answered, avoiding eye contact. *** Nicolai Evgenivych had seen much in a relatively short but violent life. A mere boy, at the collapse of the U.S.S.R., he had found himself alone and cast out upon the streets of Petrograd. He had an affinity for crime and the intelligence to survive the streets. He would have spent his life as an ordinary street thug, had not his intelligence and in particular, his ruthlessness got him noticed by the crime bosses in Moscow. Life at the capital had turned out good for him, if not so good for those who drew his attention. Now, he was here in this new land looking for opportunity. Nicolai was aware that opportunity came in many forms. "$10,000,000" he said. "That's outrageous!" Bunnie shouted, standing on her chair to better lean across the table and shout at Nicolai. "Bunnie," Pixie said. "I don't think it's a good idea to shout at the nice men with the guns." Bunnie sat back down and crossed her arms with a harrumph to glare at Nicolai. Pixie looked around nervously at the half dozen very large men in the smoke-filled room. Nicolai was amused. The diminutive girl was resourceful enough to gain his attention. The question was, were her resources enough to get what she was looking for? His sources and instincts told him she might. Nicolai was not particularly worried. If she came up with the money, fine. If not, she and her leggy friend had other assets. There were those that would pay well for two young girls, especially the blonde one. "Nonetheless," he said. "That is the cost. Unless perhaps, you are willing to consider a trade?" "A trade, huh?" Bunnie said, thoughtfully. "Okay, how about $10,000 and I give you a mention in the Acknowledgments section of my next paper?" "I was thinking more along the lines of your friend here," Nicolai said, indicating Pixie. "Me?" Pixie said, with a nervous squeak. "Hmmm," Bunnie said, scratching her chin, as she looked Pixie over. "Bunnie!" Pixie yelled, punching Bunnie on the arm. "Ow! Okay, okay," she said. "Can't do it, Nickie. She's my only assistant. How's about $12,000 and you get to be a co-author on my next paper. Junior author, of course." Nicolai's glare showed he was no longer amused. Pixie began to tug nervously on Bunnie's arm. "No, huh," Bunnie said. "Okay, how about this. I'll throw in free makeovers for you and your men. Ha? Think about it; free makeovers. You know, because, just between you and me, some of your guys could really use one, if you know what I mean." Pixie was never so happy as when she and Bunnie were allowed to walk out of the dingy caf? in one piece. "I can't believe that!" she said, turning angrily toward Bunnie. "I know!" Bunnie said incredulously. "He turned down a co-authorship and free makeovers! How did Russia ever become a world power?" "Not him! You!" Pixie said. "You could have got us killed. Or worse!" "Pixie, Pixie, Pixie," Bunnie said, shaking her head. "I had everything calculated, trust me." Nicolai watched the two strange girls leave. He was not one to indulge his curiosity, but here he smelled opportunity. There was something about that dark-haired girl. "Dmitri," he called to one of his men. "Follow them. Find out where they live." *** Special Agents Devon and Simpson sat nervously in the Deputy District Chief's office. Devon suspected this had something to do with their being found wearing women's clothing. They had stopped to buy new clothes prior to bringing the surveillance van back. Devon still cringed to remember walking into that store wearing the skirt and heels. He had thought that both he and Simpson had gotten properly dressed without anyone at work being the wiser, but had not counted on the interior monitoring camera of the van recording everything after the blue flash. Everything prior to the blue flash having been conveniently erased. It did not take long for the footage to make its way around the agency. Someone had even hunted down the clothing store's security camera footage, showing both men clearly in drag as they entered the store. The call to the Deputy District Chief's office had come shortly thereafter. Devon was sure his career was over. There was no way he was going to be able to convince the Chief that a 16-year old girl was the cause of their cross-dressing. "Glad to see you two ladies could make it here so quickly," the Deputy District Chief said, in his usual gruff voice. "Chief, I can explain," Devon said. "We're not really ladies," Simpson said in earnest tones. "Simpson..." Devon said, unable to finish the sentence. "What? We're not," Simpson answered, adamantly but confused. "Enough!" the Deputy District Chief said. "While you two were playing dress up, our friend Toy was busy meeting with the Russian mob." "The Russian mob!" Devon shouted. "So, it's the Russians who are trying to get the bomb," Simpson said, nodding thoughtfully. "We think Toy is running as the go-between," the Deputy District Chief said. "Someone is looking for plutonium and we think the Russians are willing to provide it. I need you two to stick with Toy. Find out who she's talking to, find out who she sees. She could be the link to a whole sleeper cell. Now get on it!" "Right Chief!" both men chanted as they stood up to near attention. "One more thing," the Deputy District Chief said, as both men were turning to leave. "I don't want to see you in dresses while you're on the job. Keep that transvestite nonsense on your own time." "We will, Chief!" Simpson said, cheerfully. "Come on," Devon said, angrily pushing Simpson out the door. *** "Hurry up!" Bunnie yelled, sticking her head out from the basement window. A small but sturdy wire ran beside her, originating from somewhere deep in the lab and reaching outside where it was tied off on a large metal key. The key itself hung on a thin line tied to a homemade kite. The kite was bouncing jaggedly against the ground as gusts of wind threw it around. "I'm trying!" Pixie called back over her shoulder as she struggled with the stubborn kite. This was harder than she remembered. Of course the last time she had done this, she had not had to cope with long hair that kept whipping in her face, or a skirt that threatened to blow upward with every gust. She also had not tried to fly a kite in a drizzling rainstorm before. At least I'm not wearing heels, she thought, although the bright yellow rubber boots proved awkward enough. The matching yellow poncho also billowed with every gust, causing Pixie to lose her grip on the kite string, her hair, her skirt, the hood of the poncho, and her dignity in rapid succession. The kite continued to bounce energetically against the ground. "Remind me again, why I'm doing this?" she called. "For science!" Bunnie yelled back, before ducking back into the basement to check on the lead wire to the FEM-BS. And because stupid Steele won't give me the stupid money to buy plutonium from the stupid Russians, she thought bitterly. This will show them, though. Who needs plutonium when she can harness the primal power of nature itself! All she needed was one good lightning bolt. Well, maybe two. "I meant tell me why I was doing this," Pixie muttered, finally getting her skirt down and hair back at the same time. A sudden gust of wind caught the kite and lifted it upwards. "Hey! I think I got it!" Pixie yelled, as line peeled off from the spool with the rapidly ascending kite. "I got it, Bunnie! Bunnie?" Bunnie stuck her head back out the window. "That's great! Just a little more altitude, then hold it!" "Bunnie, I don't think you two should be playing outside in this weather," Deborah, Bunnie's foster mother said, poking her head out the back door. Deborah was holding an umbrella over her head as she stepped out wearing only a robe and her slippers. "We're not playing, we're experimenting!" Bunnie said, rolling her eyes. "Whatever it is, I don't think you two should be outside. It's starting to storm." "Du-uh," Bunnie said. "Is that a kite?" Deborah said. "Why is there a key tied to it?" Special Agents Devon and Simpson had decided that a direct electronic connection to Bunnie's lab was asking for trouble. To that end, both men were stationed in a safe house across the street and were observing Bunnie and Pixie through high-powered binoculars. "Who's the woman?" Simpson asked. "Shhh," Devon said. "I'm trying to read lips." Simpson stood quietly for a while with a thoughtful expression on his face. "If you're reading lips, why do you need me to stay quiet?" he asked. "Quiet!" Devon shouted. "That's Deborah Altschuler, she owns the house. I think she was asking them why they have a kite out in the storm." "Why do they have a kite out in the storm?" Simpson asked. "It doesn't seem very safe." "Look, I don't know. They're terrorists. Terrorists do unsafe things," Devon said, his irritation showing. "I don't think they're terrorists," Simpson said. "Terrorists attack people." "Whatever," Devon said. "I'm not taking any chances. As long as whatever they are doing stays over there, we're safe. I'd love to see them try to reach us over here." Both men turned their binoculars back towards the girls just as the lightning struck the kite. The ear-piercing clap of thunder and brilliant flash temporarily froze everything in place, just before a sympathetic pulse of brilliant blue light shot out from the basement. Devon and Simpson were frozen in place as the blue light shot through their binoculars, focusing on their heads in that static-laden energy field they had felt before. "Wha...?" Devon said, turning to look at his partner, only to be stunned into silence by what he saw. Simpson's hair was now shoulder-length, still tousled and unkempt but now with blonde streaks and highlights. Similarly, his eyebrows looked finer, and there was a hint of color to his eyes and cheeks. His skin looked softer, too. Simpson was similarly startled to see Devon with very long, full-bodied jet-black hair that fell over his shoulders in thick rolls. His eyes were darkly lined in black, as were his full, thick lashes. There was a swath of shaded color on Devon's eyelids, and his lips were bright red. Filigree earrings of thin gold hung from each ear. His skin looked perfect. "What the hell was that?" Devon said. *** "A gender bomb?" The Deputy District Chief looked skeptically at his two agents. "Yes!" Devon said. The Deputy District Chief did not look convinced. "Okay, maybe not a bomb, but definitely some sort of gender related weapon." Devon was feeling self-conscious. He had stopped for a haircut, but a misunderstanding with the stylist resulted in the shag bob cut he now had, instead of the crew cut he had wanted. In the stylist's defense, it did frame his face nicely, and highlighted his complexion. That complexion worried Devon. His face was a lot softer and smoother now than it should have been, with no obvious sign of his beard returning. His lips may have been a little fuller too, although Devon attributed that to his unsuccessful attempts to remove the rosy-red color that persisted despite his vigorous scrubbing. The overall effect, for someone trying to reclaim a masculine look, was less than androgynous. "How else do you explain Simpson?" Devon asked, deflecting attention to his partner. Simpson shrugged his shoulders and smiled wanly, as if to repeat the question. He had been less vigorous in his attempts to undo the effects of the blue light, mostly because he had less to undo. His face had been given a healthy, everyday look as opposed to Devon's full makeup, special event look. He had also not gotten a haircut, choosing instead to pull his hair back into a ponytail. The impression given was curiously both more and less feminine than Devon. "I don't try to explain anything, anymore," the Deputy District Chief said, sadly shaking his head. "You know, in the old days I would have just fired you two. Now, everyone's so afraid of lawsuits that you can't take a politically correct crap without offending someone with an agenda." Devon and Simpson looked at each other and shrugged. "Look, I don't care if these are more tolerant and open-minded times!" the Deputy District Chief said, jabbing his finger at Devon and Simpson as he spoke. "I can still fire you for incompetence! Someone out there is playing with nukes and this girl Toy is our only lead. Now, I don't want to hear any more about Gender Bombs or mysterious blue lights. I want facts not fantasy! Do you understand me?" "Yes, Sir!" Devon and Simpson chanted in unison. "Then get out of here and don't come back until you know what Toy is up to!" *** "So, what are we doing out here again?" Pixie asked. "Looking for a bigger and more stable source of power, d'uh," Bunnie said, rolling her eyes as she cut through the last few links of the chain-link fence surrounding their local power substation. "I thought the problem was too much power," Pixie said, looking around nervously for any sign of the authorities. "I mean, there were explosions and stuff." "Of course there were explosions. You don't tap into an alternate universe to create reality spheres and expect things to match up energetically." "Uh huh," Pixie said, as she followed Bunnie through the hole in the fence. "So why do we need more power?" "To contain the effect," Bunnie said, exasperation in her voice. "Honestly, what's the point of building a high-energy trans-dimensional beauty enhancement device if you can't focus it on your problem areas?" "None that I can think of," Pixie said. "Exactly!" Bunnie said. "Now, hand me the hyper relay." "I thought we were going to hook up the FEM-BS." Pixie handed over a bulky contraption she had been carrying. It resembled a small pair of scuba diver tanks except for a stubby antennae and set of car jumper cables. "Are you kidding? That thing weighs like a ton," Bunnie said, as she busied herself connecting the relay device to one of the transformers. "I had the genius idea to just relay the FEM-BS signal to the power source, and then rebroadcast it out after the boost." "That's... smart, I guess," Pixie said, warily. "It's freaking brilliant! We should be able to pick up this signal anywhere in town," Bunnie said, as she bolted in the last few connections. "Hah! It's done," she said, stepping back to admire her work. "Why mess with puny nature, when we can harness the awesomeness that is technology! Now Pixie, throw the first switch!" Several miles away, Steele was sitting outside a fast food restaurant, finishing off his hamburger and fries, when he heard a deep, throbbing hum noise fill the air. Simultaneously all the power in the restaurant cut off. He could also hear what sounded like a car accident, or possibly multiple car accidents. He looked up just in time to see a boy he recognized as being on the varsity football team, run by wearing a cheerleader's outfit complete with pompoms. Off in another direction, it sounded like a woman was screaming in frightened tones. It was something along the lines of 'Oh my God, I'm a girl'. Steele took a moment in thought to sip on his drink. "Bunnie," he said with a curt nod, as the wail of emergency vehicle sirens began to resonate through the neighborhood. *** "What on earth were you thinking?" Deborah said. "Wait, don't tell me. You and Pixie didn't come close enough to electrocuting yourselves in that rainstorm, so you broke into that substation in some harebrained attempt to get more power for an experiment. But something went wrong, and it all blew up in your faces." "Wow, she's good," Pixie said. "No, she's not!" Bunnie said in a quick aside to Pixie, before turning back to Deborah. "Ha! Show's what you know. The FEM-BS is proven technology, not some 'experiment' as you put it." "I thought we were experimenting with it?" Pixie asked. "Shut up!" Bunnie said in a loud whisper. Deborah glared at her ward for a moment, and then sighed. "You could have been killed," she said. "As it was, you blacked out half the city. You're just lucky I found you before the police did. There's bound to be an investigation. Do you have any idea of what that will cost? What were you thinking?" Deborah's tirade continued with minimal input from Bunnie and Pixie. The three of them were in the kitchen of Deborah's house, with Bunnie and Pixie seated at the table while Deborah prepared washcloths and broke out a small first aid kit. The girls were not seriously hurt, but they did have a few minor singe marks from when the relay arced. The most noticeable effect was the tendency for loose strands of their hair to stand upright. Pixie was preoccupied with keeping her hair down, that and avoiding an occasional wicked static electricity shock whenever she got to close to Bunnie. "Ow! Quit it!" Bunnie said after the latest electrical snap. "Sorry, I can't help it," Pixie said. "Then stay over there!" "You two girls are in so much trouble! I mean, this is the power company! They'll probably raise the rates, or worse!" Deborah was quite upset, and continued uninterruptable in this vein. Bunnie drummed her fingers on the tabletop and muttered under her breath the whole while Deborah talked. "It's no good, Pixie," she said. "I'm ready to give in. I can't see any way around it." "It's just as well," Pixie said, nodding her agreement. "I'm still twitching. And look at my hair." "Hoo boy, yeah! That's some doo," Bunny said, moving her hand around and watching Pixie's hair follow it. "Don't worry, the FEM-BS will take care of that. It'll be good as new! Till then, you might want to wear a hat." "The FEM-BS will...? I thought you said you were giving in?" "I am," Bunnie said, looking perplexed. "There's no way we'll be able to contain the effect with secondary sources of power. What did you think I was talking about?" "Nothing," Pixie said, sighing and mentally berating herself for not knowing better. This was Bunnie Toy, after all. "So we're going back to the Russians?" "Have to," Bunnie said with a shrug. "We need the plutonium. And you can't get that from the local sources. Believe me, I've tried." "So where are we going to get $10,000,000?" Pixie asked. "Are you two listening to me?" Deborah asked, barely stopping to take a breath. "Just wait till I get a hold of Steele's lawyer with this one! I don't get paid nearly enough for this!" *** Special Agents Devon and Simpson were kept waiting outside the Deputy District Chief's office. Devon was nervous. This time he was certain he was going to be fired. Every piece of clothing he owned had been transformed during that last power outage. He was not sure how, but he was certain Bunnie Toy was involved. Devon looked down at his clothes. He was currently wearing a grey plaid skirt and white blouse with quarter length sleeves. He was also wearing a short black vest with red piping. I'm dressed like a freaking schoolgirl, he thought. He was mostly correct. The short length of his skirt and the fact that he was wearing bright red pumps with a five-inch heel implied that he was dressed more like a slutty schoolgirl. The translucent nature of his blouse and the restoration of his long flowing hair emphasized the more adult nature of his outfit. Special Agent Simpson sat beside him quietly. Simpson was wearing black stirrup pants and a long pink knit top. His hair was still in a ponytail, but was noticeably blonder than it had been before. He was busy tapping the toes of his ankle boots together to some internal rhythm. Devon looked at his partner with annoyance. "How come you always get pants?" he asked. Simpson just shrugged his shoulders. Devon scowled, nervously rubbing his exposed thighs, wishing his skirt longer. He would not admit it, but his legs worried him. They were too smooth, and his knees seemed rounder somehow. Further contemplation was cut short by the arrival of the Deputy District Chief. "Devon, Simpson. Nice to see you two," he said in lighthearted tones. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Please, come in." Devon and Simpson looked at each nervously. The Deputy District Chief just smiled and held the door open for them. The two agents entered warily. "Why is he being nice?" Simpson whispered. "It's going to be bad," Devon whispered back. "Maybe Guantanamo bad." "Have a seat," the Deputy District Chief said. "Can I get you two anything?" "Um... no. No, we're good," Devon said. "You sure? It's no problem." "We're fine thanks." "Very well," the Deputy District Chief said, sitting down, putting on his glasses, before leafing through the reports on his desk. "It seems you have found no further evidence linking Miss Toy to the Russian mob. You have no leads on the shipments of high tech nuclear components. And you have made no progress tracking the supposed plutonium shipments. Is that correct?" Devon and Simpson nodded glumly. "And your only claim of findings all pertain to a mysterious blue light and something you describe as a 'gender bomb'?" The Deputy District Chief looked questioningly at the two Special Agents. Devon and Simpson nodded glumly, again. Here it comes, Devon thought. "Well, I'm sure you tried your best," the Deputy District Chief. "Get back at it and let me know as soon as you find something solid." Devon and Simpson stared blankly. "That's it?" Devon asked. "Just 'get back to work'? You're not going to say anything about how we're dressed?" "Oh, I'm sorry," the Deputy District Chief said. "You both look quite nice." Devon and Simpson left in great confusion. "What the heck happened in there?" Devon asked. "Weird," Simpson said. "It was like some sort of twilight zone where they switched us to an alternate Deputy District Chief." "Don't be stupid," Devon said. "Nobody switched the Chief." *** "Now, Pixie! Throw the second switch!" "I already threw the second switch! You had me do it five minutes ago!" "Then throw the third one! We need more power!" Steele paused with mixed feelings outside the door to Bunnie's basement lab as he listened to the interplay inside. On one hand, Bunnie's maniacal chortling brought out a comfortable nostalgia for the mad experimentation of their previous lives. On the other hand, Steele knew firsthand how unreasonable and sneaky Bunnie could get when she was intent on one of her experiments. She's like a slippery pit bull, Steele thought as he drew a deep breath and opened the lab door to step inside. "That's it! That's it!" Bunnie yelled. She was perched atop a viewing platform, with a dominating view of the FEM-BS below. She was wearing her traditional lab coat. "Now! Throw the third switch!" "Fourth?" Pixie asked. "Whatever, just throw it!" "Hello Bunnie, what're you up to?" Steele said. "Steele! You're.... here," Bunnie said, looking around nervously. "We were just... doing... inventories." "Inventories?" Steele asked in a skeptical tone. "With a pocket nuclear reactor?" "Yes, absolutely," she said. "Pixie, make a note of that; one pocket nuclear reactor." "What about the switches?" Pixie asked. "Count those too." "Stop it, already," Steele said. "I know you're up to something. And judging by that Schrodinger generator array, I'd say you're playing with alternate realities." "Alright, fine," Bunnie said looking heavenward. "I try to make the world a better place and all I get is judgment. Like I'm the only one who's ever created an unstable wormhole. Power down, Pixie." "I know I shouldn't ask," Steele said, a note of exasperation in his voice. "But how exactly are you making the world a better place?" "I'm glad you asked." Bunnie continued talking as she strode down the access steps towards Steele, trailing her hand lovingly along the housing of the FEM-BS. "What I have accomplished will revolutionize the cosmetics industry! My Focused Elegance Modality Baseline Stimulator harnesses micro-universe probability spheres to enhance aspects of feminine beauty! Think of it, instant makeovers! I'll be rich! I mean... we'll be rich." "Focused elegance...." Steele stopped as Bunnie's words sunk in. "You're using artificially induced bubble universes as a beauty aid?" "No," Bunnie said with exaggerated defensiveness. "Probability spheres. Bubble universes sounds stupid." "I like that," Pixie said. "Bubble universes. Sounds floaty." "Science is not floaty!" Bunnie snapped. "At least, it's not supposed to be. There have been some setbacks." "I would expect so," Steele said, looking over the FEM-BS in detail. "How did you equalize the energy differentials?" "Simple, I forced them," Bunnie said. "It's amazing what you can do with the proper application of nuclear technology." "Or how unstable the improper application would be," Steele said. "And where did you get the plutonium?" "That would be from me," Nicolai said, walking in with Deborah in front of him, holding a gun to her head. "Bunnie, is this a friend of yours?" Deborah asked nervously. "Who are you?" Steele asked in alarm. "Steele Nicolai, Nicolai Steele," Bunnie said. "I believe you've already met Deborah." "Indeed," Nicolai said. "She has been most cooperative. However, she seems to know nothing about the $10,000,000 that seems to have been hacked out of our offshore accounts. I assume you do." Steele, Pixie, and Deborah all turned to look at Bunnie. "What?" she said, innocently. "Bunnie," Steele said. "Okay, fine," she said, throwing her arms in the air. "I may know something. But someone had to stop that payment. I mean, where was I supposed to get the kind of financial backing to make good on an electronic transference like that?" Further conversation was interrupted by the ripping noise of automatic weapons fire accompanied by the crystal sound of broken window glass and the angry pings of ricochets. Everyone in the room hit the ground reflexively. "Senorita Toy, we need our money," called a heavily accented voice from somewhere outside. Bunnie scowled as she picked herself off the floor, brushing dirt off her lab coat before hopping onto a lab bench to yell outside the basement window. "I don't have your stupid drug money, El Feo!" she yelled, defiantly. "I took it to pay Nicolai for the plutonium!" "Oh crap!" she said, just before ducking as another burst of weapons fire smashed the remnants of the windowpanes. Bunnie wound up beside Steele, underneath the lab bench. "You took money from a Mexican drug cartel?" he asked incredulously. Bunnie just rolled her eyes. "I can't be expected to pay attention to every minor benefactor interested in my research," she said. Bunnie and Steele scrambled away on their hands and knees, as Nicolai began popping pistol shots in their direction. "Blyadischa!" Nicolai yelled, before he too was forced to take cover as another burst of automatic weapons fire rattled through the lab. Bunnie and Steele wound up hiding under the FEM-BS as Nicolai took opportunistic shots at them around the staccato of gunfire coming from outside. "If you took the cartel's drug money to pay Nicolai, why is he shooting at us?" Steele shouted over the noice. "Cost overruns," Bunnie yelled back. "Perfectly normal for any application of innovative science." "Normal for you anyway." "Well, if you had gotten me the plutonium when I asked, we wouldn't be in this mess." "You can't possibly be blaming me for you not being able to stay within the budget." "Guys, can we talk about finances later?" Deborah yelled, as Nicolai continued to use her as a shield while he fired at Bunnie. Meanwhile, Pixie had been trying to sneak around the FEM-BS to make her way toward the exit. Nicolai noticing her, fired a quick shot in her direction. The bullet ricocheted near her head before striking and throwing the fourth switch. Pixie screamed and jumped, and in doing so happened to whack her head on the fifth and sixth switches. The hum of the reactor began to build and blue pulses of light begun to flash through the lab as Pixie crumpled to the ground. A loud explosion and popping of flash grenades briefly drowned out the gunfire and rising hum of the nuclear reactor as one side of the basement wall disintegrated in a cloud of dust. Special Agents Devon and Simpson burst through the suddenly gaping hole, brandishing handguns and flashing badges. Devon was elegantly dressed in a little black cocktail dress and heels, while Simpson was sporting a red leather bodysuit with knee boots. "Bunnie Toy, you're under arrest for high treason," Devon called, as he brushed a length of his long black hair away from his face. "Yeah, I'm a little busy right now," Bunnie called back. She was forced to yell quite loudly as the noise of the reactor was rising to a level that threatened to drown out the gunfire. "Hey, look!" she said, showing her hands to Steele. "My nails are beautiful! The FEM-BS works!" Nicolai came around the corner, not five feet from where Bunnie and Steele were cowering. "Suka!" he shouted, aiming the gun directly at Bunnie's head. "You bring the police in on us? I will enjoy killing you for this." At that point, the pulsing hum of the nuclear reactor coalesced into one continuous whine that drowned out any further conversation. The accompanying pulses of blue light also coalesced, suffusing the entire lab with a pale blue color that started to dissolve the details of the room. *** The former Special Agent John Devon was trying to keep surveillance on Bunnie and Pixie as they talked by their lockers in the hallway of their high school. This was actually easier than it would have been prior to the attempted raid on the lab, as Devon was now a student at the high school. More precisely, John Devon was now Janice Driscoll, a 17-year old junior at Valley View High, and had been for the last two weeks. "Hey Jan, nice dress. You're really starting to get the hang of this," former Special Agent Brad Simpson, now Bethany Saunders, said as she walked up to the neighboring locker. Truth was she was being kind. Janice's outfit was quality but poorly coordinated. The dress looked too summery for knee socks, and those platform shoes had nothing to do with the rest of the outfit. "Thanks," Janice said. "I've been working on it." Janice was thankful for the compliment. Fashion was harder than she thought and seemed to take up most of her free time. "You look good, too. You just get back from the SciFi club?" "Uh huh," Bethany said. Her outfit consisted of tight fitting jeans with strategic holes cut in and a loose but formfitting sweater. It was casual and comfortable looking, yet still very feminine. "I don't see why you hang out with those dweebs," Janice said. "I dunno," Bethany said, with a shrug and flip of her hair. "They're smart, and SciFi seems kind of appropriate. Plus, I'm like the only girl there so I get a lot of attention. You should come out some time. It's fun." Janice just sniffed. "Whatever," she said, turning her attention back to Bunnie and Pixie. "You still stalking Toy?" Bethany asked. "I'm not stalking, I'm keeping her under surveillance." "Why?" "Why?! Because she's dangerous!" Janice said, obviously upset by the question. "She's clearly a criminal and probably a terrorist. She needs to be brought to justice and I intend to see that she is!" "I don't know why you can't just leave well enough alone," Bethany said in a tone that implied they had this conversation before. "Because she turned us into girls!" Janice hissed angrily. "Look at us! We used to be Special Agents with guns and everything! We were men! Now the entire world thinks we're schoolgirls! Give me one good reason why I should leave well enough alone!" "Roger Holloway thinks you're cute," Bethany said with a shy grin. *** "I've got to hand it to you, Bunnie," Pixie said. "My hair's never been better and my nails are beautiful! Your FEM-BS totally worked. I think I may even have lost weight." "Genius, isn't it?" Bunnie said smugly. "Those fools at Maybelline will rue the day they turned me down." "Well, to be fair," Pixie said. "We did have to build a pocket nuclear reactor and come up with $10,000,000 for plutonium. Kind of a lot for a makeover." "Phthh, simple economics of scale would have taken care of that," Bunnie said. "Why do they have a marketing department then, huh? Answer me that." Pixie just shrugged. There was very little point to arguing with Bunnie, especially when she had a small measure of success. Instead, she continued switching out books from her locker in preparation for the next class. "Still kind of weird though, that time we first used the reactor to power the FEM-BS," Pixie said, checking herself in the mirror hung on the inside of her locker door. "I mean, I remember Steele showing up and something about Deborah. But after that, everything just kind of... turned blue. I swear there were other people there." "Minor side effect of the probability spheres impacting on the visual cortex," Bunnie said, dismissively. "I'm sure we can get it straightened out for the production model. Trust me, there was nobody else there." "I guess," Pixie said. "Just lately I get this creepy feeling that someone is watching us, someone who really, really wants to hurt us." "That's just silly," Bunnie said. "I'm a genius. What did I ever do to make someone that mad?" *** Nicole Evers watched Bunnie and Pixie from the shadows of the stairwell. There was hatred in her eyes. No one does this to me, she thought. Nobody turns Nicolai Evgenivych into a girl and gets away with it. Bunnie Toy must pay for what she'd done. Pixie and Deborah too, and probably Steele. Although Steele was cute, and he was supposed to be coming into money in a couple of years. That was worth thinking about. But Bunnie Toy would know her vengeance. The sound of the school bell disturbed her thoughts. "Shit!" Nicole said aloud. She was late for cheerleader practice. That new girl would probably be trying to lead the squad without her. If that Mexican bitch thought she could muscle in as head cheerleader, she would learn how brutal cheerleading could be. What was her name, Faye or something? Whatever, she was on her list, right after Bunnie Toy. "Nobody makes a fool of Nicole Evers!" she said in menacing tones, straightening her uniform as she went. THE END