Tamara - The Case Of The (corrupted) Suits (Patreon)

(Damn! Where Is The Zipper? - Movimento 3)

Part 1

Tamara lived in a small apartment, barely fourty square meters. She was a woman of almost 50 years, no longer looking young, but still very fit. She was no longer a charming woman, her dedication to her work had caused her husband to divorce her and her subsequent relationships had not lasted long. The years in her job had taken its toll and made her hard in body and mind. Her wit was sharp and fast, and she took no nonsense from anyone.

It could be said that she was something of an official, although her company was private, she was hired by the government, since it was not going to stain its hands with the issues that her agency had to resolve. And the company seemed to be the only one capable of getting the job done. In this company she held the position of behavior analyst and forensic examination coordinator.

Do not think too macabre, she did not have to handle corpses, indeed, what was so particular about this case was, that no one had been injured or had died, quite the contrary. Her mission was to coordinate the technicians when examining the crime scene, before they started cleaning the scenes where they had to intervene and sterilize. If there were any failures or something was left behind, that would put people in danger again, she would be the one responsible.

Too many people had disappeared for the government agencies to ignore the whole thing. The established agencies weren't up to the task. But her agency, and even more the unit to which she was assigned, seemed to be able to control the situation in the spotlight. This special unit always managed to isolate the area, collect all the evidence, put the victim in quarantine and disappear before the media and journalists caught any glimpse of what was happening.

She was now an agent of the FMT-unit, Forbidden Magic Tracking. But in this agency, until a few years ago, she used to control those people who were dedicated to resurrect magic, through ancient texts. Like the Men In Black, the FMT arrived with special units at the places where they were needed, having the nessessary authority. With an envelope in hand, which they handed over to the police or other law enforcement agencies who had arrived before them, they took over the scene. For a few years now, her agency had been investigating some strange cases, together making it something of a twisted and bizarre story.

But let's focus on Tamara. Every morning she got up at 4:30 am. She would come out of her bedroom where there was only her bed, a cheap bedside table, a closet without a door with three suits for her work, some casual clothes for when she was home. The only other things worth mentioning were a tracksuit, two pairs of leggings, an old dress and some underwear. The bedroom window overlooked an ugly brown brick wall of an old abandoned factory in an anti-romantic way. The only glamorous thing in her room was a large mirror left behind by the former tenant of the apartment.

From the bedroom she went directly to the living room, which was connected to the kitchen. And next to the bedroom door, was the access to the bathroom. These parts of the apartment were no more furnished than the bedroom, in the living room a sofa, a box as a makeshift table with an ashtray, a TV on a recycled piece of furniture. The kitchen was barely a shelf, a sink next to it, and the stove, which hadn't been used once since Tamara moved in. Tamara almost always ate in the dining room of the building where she worked or in the diner across from it. And not only eating lunch there, but also having breakfast or dinner.

Some will wonder what she does on the weekends, not that she had too many for herself. She did not do much besides preparing next weeks work and apart from daily going to the gym that was in the mall, she stayed home. In the mall she bought pre-cooked food. She did not take advantage of those trips to buy anything nice, she never went to the spa for relaxing, or to the beauty salons, and after the end of her first marriage she did not visit the pubs either. She also did not go to the nightclubs of modern music or any place of entertainment and fun that was fashionable. She had a stoic, almost frugal life, deprived of any opulence no matter how simple it was.

Her tragedy began on an ordinary working day. She was watching her boss in action, she was listening carefully, standing behind the mirror, to the girl in the interrogation room. Her team leader, Frank, a charismatic man dedicated to his work, knew how to make everyone who sat in that room talk. Although it took a lot longer with this girl than with the other girls, the information they were getting this time was worth the time invested. Tamara sometimes saw her boss as more than just a boss or a man, his character and his determination made him unique and the ideal man for his position.

She was the last girl they had found trapped inside a suit made of nanoparticles, similar to latex. She and some others like her. Tamara and three other coworkers of hers had been following the case since the incident of that girl, whose costume had transformed her into a dragonfly of anthropomorphic proportions, along with another second girl, who had been transformed into a praying mantis.

These two adolescent-looking women were somewhat different from the rest of the people they had usually had to catch or investigate. The agency knew there was an establishment that, under security precautions, sold special suits, which satisfied very eccentric desires and fetishes. But in secret and supposedly out of control of the agency, wayward acolytes, fond of using magic to make some extra money, created more dangerous costumes for the truly adventurous. That did not cause any real concern, as the agency knew how to handle this. But concerning these two girls, the agency had a more problematic suspicion, that there was an organization out there that wanted to create panic and chaos.

What made these two young women, or apparently teenagers, so special was that they could not be released from their suits. And the more time they spent in these suits, the more they accepted that catsuit as a part of themselves, that they did not want to lose. They hadn't been the only ones, there were seven other girls who had acquired one of those suits, but they were able to be located and released before the suit became a part of them. These girls were now trying to get back to their routine life and were under constant surveillance.

Despite the agency's achievements with these cases so far, Tamara and the team captain were convinced that there must be more cases, of which they still didn't know anything. And every time they released another girl and listened to her story, it was the same as with the others. They barely remembered anything of their life before they had put on the suit. All of them did not have a body as well cared for or as healthy prior to when the suit was taken off, as their medical records showed. Some had been well past their teens, according to their birth certificates. Except in the case of the girl now in the interrogation room, her story was different. She was the only one who could not remember her name, but paradoxically she claimed really to have been a young man before putting on the suit, that it was given to her by someone, who she believes was her girlfriend.

"Look at her, a girl for whom modeling agencies would pay millionaire figures, or other women would kill to know how she has managed to rejuvenate and have perfect curves," Sam commented before taking a sip of his coffee, " if it weren't for all that I have seen in this case . . . with that perfect young body, I would not mind sleeping with her, like I was also a teenager again, dominated by my hormones like in puberty . . ."

Sam was the oldest of the group, with four divorces behind him, the leader in broken marriages, each ending in less time than the last. He was a stout, athletic person. Intimidating looking, two meters tall. With an inquisitive look, calculating, clearly intelligent and he knew how to control his fears when he was working outside the headquarters, but in private life . . . that was another story. He was at the same time a true misogynist and a pervert in Tamara's eyes, since he did not stop making degrading comments about the victims, uttering perversities and did not mince words in describing what he would like to do with those women.

Tamara looked at him without hiding the disgust she felt for him when he said things like that. Sam with the part of him, that seemed to care about anything at all, thought he had to get a sexual comment in for everything and since his last wife divorced him, it had gotten worse. However, unlike the other times when Sam said something like that, Tamara had not looked at him disapprovingly, this time she was staring blankly at the girl they were questioning. Unlike with the other girls questioned, this time she really needed to know more. To hear the simple, often repeated, “you can't understand”, from the victim, was not enough for her.

With partners like Sam, she was grateful to be well over fourty and off his perverted sexual radar. Even though she wasn't that young anymore, and didn't look younger than her age, he didn't spare her from his perverted comments or his sex stories. At first when it was her turn to work with him, sometimes she did not feel like a woman, when talked to like this. There were colleagues who complained about him, alleged sexual harassment, but since the comments were not directed at the companions personally and only his own misadventures were told, everything always remained at the level of a reprimand or a strong admonition from the Director of the Center.

"How I would like to take myself to a meeting at the warehouse where we found this . . . " Sam began to say and Tamara already knew that he would test her patience to the limit, "and fuck her until I need viagra and two bottles of lubricant, and I would continue until I run dry . . ."

That comment made her patience wear out. She could no longer ignore him. The agent gathered up her things and brushed her partner aside, ignoring his questions. She was disgusted, the endless comments from him kept her from thinking clearly and she needed to get out of there. As she left the room, she pretended not to listen to Sam, as if he didn't exist. She needed to think, to put all the information together in her mind and make sense of everything they knew about the case, and then. . . one of Sam's earlier comments made her realize where she was going to be able to focus everything.

She drove across the city until she reached the warehouse that had been closed by her agency and was now guarded by a patrol officer of the Port Police. Until further notice, that place would remain sealed, forbidden to everyone without proper clearance. She looked at the building, which seemed abandoned for years. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly. Her pulse began to race, and she felt very nervous. This was strange and not at all like her usual behaviour. Something of her common sense urged her not to enter that place alone.

to be continued...

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