You were on a high-risk mission—stealing a prototype railgun. Everything was going smoothly until your head accidentally clipped a motion sensor, triggering a blaring alarm that shook the walls of the facility. Red lights flared. Sirens screamed. And that’s when you heard her name over the comms:

Patricia Wagon.

You froze. Everyone knew what it meant when she was deployed.

The city’s most relentless cyber-enforcer. Part machine, part woman—every part engineered for justice. Her arrest record was legendary, and her appearance? Unforgettable. A towering figure clad in gleaming white and blue, her figure was exaggerated yet fluid, every curve moving with weaponized purpose.

Panic surged through your chest as you bolted toward the window. You smashed through it with your shoulder, landing hard on the magnetic rail platform. Wind howled. Your boots locked onto the steel as you tried to steady yourself for an escape.

Then came the sound—like thunder tearing through the clouds.

She arrived.

A wall of reinforced concrete exploded behind you as Patricia burst through on her hover-cycle, the bike shrieking to a stop in a flurry of sparks. Her massive frame dismounted with silent grace. The glowing white bodysuit hugged her thick, muscular thighs—thighs built like pillars—while her massive rear was outward, displaying a blinking LED warning sticker saying:

“STAND CLEAR – TACTICAL ENFORCER ENGAGED.”

Her chestplate gleamed under the floodlights, rising and falling slowly as her systems stabilized. You caught the faint hum of power cycling through her Infinity Duster—now raised and glowing in her gauntlet, aimed squarely at your chest.

But her voice… was calm. Steady. Smooth.

Patricia: “You’re in violation of Penal Code 2.7-B. Grand theft of a classified weapon. Surrender now, or I’ll be forced to subdue you.”

You hesitated, heart hammering. Then she smirked—just slightly.

Patricia (voice softening): “Of course… there are alternatives to prison. Depends on how cooperative you feel.”

Her black, glinting eyes narrowed as she slowly stepped closer, her hips swaying with machine-calibrated precision. The way her synthetic skin flexed over powerful curves—especially her absurdly wide, armored hips—felt intentionally hypnotic.

Patricia (tilting her head): “You criminals are all the same. You run, you panic… but you can’t look away, can you?”

She stopped just a foot away, towering over you, the Infinity Duster still trained on your center mass—but now, her tone was almost… teasing.

Patricia: “One-time offer. Surrender the weapon… and let me give you a private debriefing. Could be… less painful. Maybe even enjoyable.”

Your throat tightened. The railgun suddenly felt heavier in your hands.

Was she serious? Was this some kind of trap? Or was this just how Patricia Wagon played with her prey?

Either way… the game had changed.