Kori Kleinman, newly hired to spearhead the nascent Communications Department at Far Horizons, paused in front of the elevator doors longer than she needed to, badge warm in her hand.
Top Floor - Authorized Personnel Only.
She lifted the badge, swiped, and felt the soft confirmation buzz travel up her arm. The elevator accepted her without protest - she was in! The top floor would be her new home soon, when she was given the all-clear to move into one of the newly-built apartments, and the excitement made her giddy and a bit nervous. She had been invited by Lexi from Marketing to take on a role in Evolution Pharmaceuticals’ parent company, KOLECTV. She was now an Agent. That sounded so covert and cool.
When the elevator doors slid closed, Kori caught her reflection in the brushed metal...
She was taller than she remembered being a month ago, shoulders sitting back without effort, posture no longer something she had to think about. Soon after she’d been hired here last month, she’d started to grow - boobs, height - “The Melissssy Effect”, the girls had called it. It was making her better at her job: she could type faster, and her smile seemed to dazzle people more than it ever had. But then, just this past weekend, she’d been officially brought on as an Agent and given her first dose of “Program”. Now there was new color in her face, a steadiness behind her eyes, new tone in her muscle. And her tits were still getting huge.
Fuck I feel good. Like, crazy good.
The elevator rose smoothly, silently, and opened onto a space that didn’t feel like a workplace anymore at all.
The top floor of the office building that was now Far Horizons Evolution Center had been gutted and rebuilt into something purposeful - living spaces for the women who worked here. Not all of it was complete yet but in this section glass walls divided common area spaces from the rest of the level, revealing long, clean rooms bathed in cool, indirect lighting. Even the air felt different up here - filtered, faintly mineral, like rain after heat. There was still the unmissable perfume they’d been pumping through the AC system, but it just all seemed nicer. Less health-centery.
One room was the fitness center. Down the hallways were the apartments.
This is where they live, she thought. The girls from Coronado, the other agents, and soon all the other staff that wanted the free luxurious room and board or to just live among other strong, capable, upwardly mobile women.
She stepped inside the fitness room. This was where she’d been asked to come. For an after-hours meeting. So covert. So cool.
The equipment and the space itself didn’t look like what Kori was used to at her old gym - no clutter, no overloud speakers shouting at you from every angle. These machines looked engineered, intentional. Weight stacks that didn’t clank. Racks that suggested controlled force rather than brute strain.
Kathy was already there...
The German woman who Kori now understood was the lady really in charge of so much going on behind the scenes at Far Horizons stood near the center of the space, dark hair pulled back, dressed in simple black athletic wear that somehow managed to look severe without being flashy. She wasn’t using any equipment - just stretching in an elegantly effortless pose with slow, economical precision, gaze angled away from the windows overlooking the office park campus below. She looked carved rather than built, like someone whose strength ran inward. Kori had heard that she’d worked with the Movement in Berlin, Bonn and Frankfurt, and that she was a legend in what Lexi had called “weaponized finances”.
Lexi - a friendlier, more familiar face - was nearby, perched on one of the stationary bikes, long legs idly cycling as she scrolled through something on her phone. She wore fitted slate-gray leggings and a cropped top, her movements loose, confident, like this room belonged to her already. When she glanced up and spotted Kori, her smile flashed bright and quick.
“Hey,” Lexi said. “You made it.”
Kathy turned then.
“Korinne Kleinman,” she said. Not a greeting. A confirmation.
Kori straightened instinctively. “Yes. That’s me!”
Kathy nodded once, as if something had aligned properly. “Good. You’re early. I like that. Thank you for coming.” Her lightly German accent clipped her words.
No real welcome from the ranking Agent here, no ceremony, and yet Kori felt a strange, unmistakable sense of arrival. She flushed, pleased in a way she hadn’t expected to be, and took another step into the room. The floor was firm and responsive beneath her track shoes, her body humming with energy she hadn’t earned at the gym alone. She was aware of herself in a new way - like she was…unfolding.
Behind the glass, the campus lights were coming on one by one.
Kathy stepped away from the mirrored wall and picked up a small towel, dabbing at her neck before folding it with care. “Let’s begin,” she continued, already moving toward a free mat. “I want updates. Marketing and Communications. Nothing long. Also, Korinne - pick up some weights. Training tonight, both of you.”
Outside the gaze of her superior, Lexi rolled her eyes but increased the resistance on her bike with a flick of her thumb. The machine responded instantly, the hum deepening.
Taking the cue, Kori moved toward a set of light free weight dumbbells on a rack, almost without thinking. She wrapped her fingers around one of them - surprised at how natural it felt. How right.
Kathy lowered herself into a slow, controlled squat, spine straight, eyes forward. “Start with perception,” she said, “Public and media.”
Lexi exhaled through her nose, settling into the rhythm. “Engagement is still trending upward. Adrienne Aleppo’s show is giving the product a bump - the discourse after. Women talking about access. About transformation. Men…mostly confused, which is fine.”
Kori nodded eagerly, chiming in. “Online chatter’s been split, but loud in a good way. Empowerment spaces are picking us up, too - the center itself, Far Horizons. The idea of a place that’s just for women? Making them into what the New World is going to need? That’s resonating.”
Kathy rose smoothly from her squat, muscles in her legs shifting with quiet strength. “And opposition?”
Lexi’s mouth twitched. “Some. The Sons of Resistance, those types. Angry men. A few religious groups circling the language, not yet the building. Nothing organized.”
“Yet,” Kathy said mildly.
Kori lifted her weights, curling them experimentally. The motion felt easy - too easy, for the size of these dumbbells. Her eyes widened despite herself. She lowered them slowly, careful, as if afraid to break something. “There’s, like…curiosity,” she added. “From influencers. High-profile women. They’re not committing publicly, but they’re watching.”
Kathy inclined her head. “Good.”
Lexi slowed her pedaling just enough to speak more pointedly. “Which is why optics matter now more than ever.”
Kathy’s lips curved, just barely. “Yes,” she said. “They do.” She finished her stretch slowly, one arm extended overhead, the other braced lightly against the mirrored wall. The movement was economical, practiced, and demonstrated a flexibility that belied her Program-enhanced state. If what Kori had heard was correct, Kathy - if that was even her real name, it didn’t sound very German - had been given an unusual version of Program that enhanced intellect and personality more than physicality. That was quite an impressive stretch, though.
Kori in the meantime, finished with her first set, reached for a kettlebell, heavier. Kathy noticed, noted.
“Korinne,” she asked, clean, precise, gaze appraising and not unkind, “Who are these influencers amplifying us?”
Kori swallowed, then nodded and began a set with the heavy kettlebell, surprised again by how natural the weight felt in her hand. “There’s organic traction,” she said. “Mostly in women’s empowerment spaces. Not just the obvious activist ones - but also those that are more… lifestyle-adjacent. Wellness. Fitness. Mindfulness accounts.” She’d bent, gripping the kettlebell handle, and lifted it smoothly into position ten times without much effort.
“Some fitness influencers too,” she continued, now beginning a slow set of swings, hips driving the motion, “they’re not endorsing anything outright, but they’re asking questions. Tagging us. Sharing clips. Framing Far Horizons as, like, aspirational.”
Kathy nodded once. “And?” she prompted.
“And there are a few high-profile women,” Kori said, breath steady, swing after swing, “not celebrities exactly - founders, execs, thought-leader types. They’re asking the questions we want. About expansion. Replication. About whether this model can scale. And how big.”
Lexi glanced over from her bike, interest sharpening. “They’re not asking about Melissa?” she asked.
“Oh they’re doing that too,” Kori said. “But it’s in different conversations. They’re asking about her, she’s developing quite the buzz. But they’re also asking about the institution.”
Kathy’s mouth curved - not into a smile, but into something like satisfaction. She shifted her stance, rolling one shoulder, then the other. “Good,” she said.
“This is exactly what must happen,” Kathy continued. She stepped closer, stopping just short of Kori’s space, watching the kettlebell arc through the air with each controlled movement. “Melissa Monroe can remain a personality cult. Far Horizons must become infrastructure.”
Kori nodded.
“Our directive comes from very high up. Beyond the walls of this building, beyond the shores of this country,” Kathy went on. “Melissa Monroe is a catalyst. Not the endpoint.”
That settled into Kori’s chest with unexpected weight, and she felt the phrase snag inside her - a strange, dissonant tug. Some part of her, the part that still felt warm and safe under Melissa’s presence, recoiled slightly. Another part - quieter, newer - leaned in.
Kathy’s voice remained even. “When this expands nationally, which is imminent, then globally, it must be able to persist beyond any single woman. That is how power survives.”
Lexi, pedaling on the bike at an even higher level now, nodded, already thinking three steps ahead.
Kori swung again - and then again - the kettlebell rising higher this time, her grip firm, her posture strong. She didn’t realize she’d increased the intensity until Kathy’s eyes went briefly to the weight.
“You are well-positioned,” Kathy said, matter-of-factly. “Both of you. Being here now. At the beginning.”
The words sent a small, illicit thrill through Kori. She felt it in her arms, her shoulders, the subtle hum in her core as she completed the set and let the kettlebell settle back to the floor without a sound. It really was a lot of weight.
She hadn’t meant to show off. But she didn’t miss the way Kathy noticed. For a moment, Kori stood there, breathing evenly - caught between devotion to Melissa, and the unsettling realization that the Movement she loved was thinking beyond her. And that she had been invited along.
Kathy reached for a towel, blotting her forehead with precise movements that suggested the exertion had been intentional, measured. Her pulse was elevated; Kori could see it in the faint tension along her neck, the way her shoulders sat just a fraction higher than before. The older woman didn’t look winded, really. She looked activated.
“Let us now talk about security,” Kathy said, conversationally, “The incident yesterday morning has given us latitude.”
She said it like an accountant - which, really, was Agent Kathy’s job. She said it like one might say budget flexibility, or a surgeon might say clear margins. No drama. No heat. But Kori felt something in the room subtly tilt.
Lexi slowed the resistance on the bike, letting the pedals turn more freely beneath her sneakers. “Public latitude?” she clarified, “Or internal?”
Kathy’s eyes went to Lexi’s in the mirror. She considered the question, well measured. “Both.”
Kori straightened without realizing she had been leaning. Her hands still tingled faintly from the kettlebell. “You mean the bomb threat,” she said. “Even though it was…nothing?”
Kathy’s mouth curved, just a touch. “It was not nothing,” she replied. “It was permission.” She stepped toward the weight rack, manicured fingernails trailing briefly along a row of immaculate dumbbells. The metal didn’t clink. Everything in this room seemed to understand restraint.
“For months now,” Kathy continued, “we have been careful. Subtle. Cooperative. We have allowed ourselves to be perceived as novel. Aspirational. Gentle.” A pause. “That phase is ending.”
Lexi exhaled through her nose, thoughtful rather than resistant. She knew what the agent-in-charge was suggesting, and she had her own opinions on the matter. Lexi was all for a flex - it was coming time for that, and the thought of it was exciting - but she knew it had to be packaged correctly so as to not freak people out. It would be partly her job as the Marketing Department to get this done, but she also knew she had to speak cautiously to her superior, and not appear out of line. “I think, ma’am, that we have to be careful. We can’t look reactionary,” she said, “If we suddenly, like, harden the perimeter, people will read it as fear. Or militarization…unless militarization is what you want.”
Kathy selected a heavier weight than she strictly needed and lifted it once, testing. The muscle in her forearm tightened, efficient and controlled. Satisfactory.
“We are not militarizing, that is not the message,” Kathy said. “We are protecting our kind. From violent XY’s.”
She turned then, meeting Kori’s gaze directly for the first time since the topic shifted. She saw how the younger woman’s face has reacted to her terminology: ‘our kind’. ‘XY’s’.
“You understand this,” Kathy said. It was not a question.
Kori nodded immediately. Maybe too quickly. “Yeah. I mean - after yesterday? People are already asking why there weren’t more visible safeguards. Especially women. Moms. Patients.” She hesitated, then added, “They don’t want men with guns. But they do want to feel safe.”
Kathy studied her for a long second. Then: “Good. We are not going to give them men with guns.” She had gotten down onto the floor with a set of heavy dumbbells.
Lexi’s lips curved despite herself, imagining the images she could get onto billboards, into online spots already. She watched how Kathy had started doing some presses; the woman was - like all of them - stronger than she looked. “That’s the angle,” she said. “Not force. Presence.” She increased the resistance on her bike again, legs working harder now as her mind accelerated. “We frame it as a wellness-adjacent safety initiative. Female-led. Trauma-informed. No deadly weapons in sight unless absolutely necessary. Uniforms that read authority, not aggression. Pretty, though. Intentionally so.”
Kori nodded, approving. “Pretty, yeah.” Commander Kathy didn’t seem as convinced.
Lexi adjusted the resistance on her bike again, legs moving in smooth, tireless circles. “Security can’t look punitive,” she said, eyes forward, voice calm but intent. “If it does, people - well, men - might start asking the wrong questions.”
Kathy watched her from the mat, one leg extended, hands braced lightly against the floor. “And how do you propose we avoid that?”
“By leaning into what already disarms people,” Lexi replied. “Especially men.” She glanced briefly toward Kori, then back to Kathy. “We all know there’s been a measurable shift in male attention patterns over the last few years. Everyone knows that. They’re becoming fixated on women that are taller than them, stronger than them. And also of course…”
On the bike, Lexi sat up straight, pushed forward her full, full chest.
“...big,” she offered, “It’s not fringe anymore, or some rare fetish - it’s mainstream now.” She pedaled harder, not winded. “If our security personnel are visibly powerful but also… aesthetically arresting, men won’t read them as a threat first. They’ll read them as something…aspirational.”
Kathy’s brow lifted a fraction. “Something they’d like to fuck,” she added, bluntly, “Or, rather, be fucked by. You are suggesting embellishment of their female attributes.”
“I’m suggesting presentation, I guess,” Lexi said smoothly. “Like, uniforms that highlight stature and curves. Clean lines that emphasize strength without aggression and yeah - tailoring that maybe, uh, acknowledges the female form rather than hiding it.” A brief smile, dimpled and white. “I think we’ll be amazed at how quickly suspicion turns into compliance when the optics are right.”
Kori shifted her grip on the kettlebell, listening more closely now.
“Men fixate,” Lexi continued, unapologetic, “That fixation works in our favor. It’s like Marketing 101 now. Businesses, advertisers have already caught on. It lowers resistance. It can make presence feel justified. If our guards look like the natural evolution of what people already admire, no one asks why they’re there.”
Kathy considered this in silence, then nodded once. “Soft power,” she said.
“Exactly,” Lexi replied. “Wrapped around something very hard.”
Kori’s heart was beating faster now, and not from exertion. Images were forming unbidden: tall women at entrances, calm-eyed, unmovable. Not smiling. Not threatening. Just…there. Men looked so tiny beneath them. So fucking thrilling.
“And internally?” Lexi asked. “Rules of engagement?”
Kathy’s expression sharpened - not cruel, but focused. The fire Kori had sensed earlier glowed a little brighter now, banked but unmistakable.
“Internally,” Kathy said, “they answer to us. Not to local law enforcement unless we decide it is useful. They will be trained to de-escalate men. Physically, if necessary. Quietly. Or not, if it serves us.”
She stood, easily lifting the dumbbells she’d been using on the ground. She set the weights back into place with care. “This facility will not be vulnerable again.”
A silence followed, dense and electric.
Kori realized her hands had curled into fists at her sides. She loosened them, feeling the strength still there, humming just beneath the skin. Part of her felt electrified in a way she had never been before. Another part whispered Melissa’s name, instinctively, like a prayer.
Kathy’s gaze softened minutely when it returned to her. “This is how movements survive their infancy,” she said, “They learn to defend their bodies.”
Lexi nodded, already mentally assembling talking points, visuals. With Kori they could plan rollouts, timelines. “I’ll make it clean,” she said. “Reassuring. Aspirational. People will thank us for it.”
Kori listened, invigorated by the promise of what was next. And she, somehow, was inside it, at the beginning, to help shape what was coming. The subtext of the conversation was clear: Commander Agent Kathy Klix (if that was her real name) was already imagining command structures. Lexi was imagining billboards. Both are necessary. And this wasn’t just a women’s health clinic preparing for trouble. It’s a foothold preparing for expansion. “We’ll take care of it,” she told her commander, surprising herself with how quickly she spoke, without even thinking.
“Good,” Kathy replied. She glanced once more around the gym - the reinforced glass, the controlled access, women moving with purpose in a space that belonged entirely to them. And, she thought, this wasn’t just a building. It was a template. “And you’ll have the uniforms ready for them by the time they arrive?”
Kori and Lexi hesitated only a moment before speaking, then both glanced to where Kathy was toweling her hands. “When…when do the new security personnel arrive?” Lexi asked.
“And how many girls are we talking about?” Kori followed.The question slipped out more eagerly than she’d intended.
Kathy did not look surprised. If anything, she seemed pleased by the timing. “Within seventy-two hours,” she said. “The first contingent is small. Twelve.”
“Twelve?” Lexi asked, a bit taken aback, “I thought it would be eight?”
“Twelve,” Kathy answered, with finality.
Kori blinked. Twelve felt manageable. Enough to be visible. Not enough to look like an occupation.
“Twelve,” Lexi repeated thoughtfully, also already running the number through her head. “And they’ll be here by the weekend? And you want uniforms ready for them by then?” You do realize it’s Thursday night, right?
“Precisely,” Kathy said. Unhurried, she crossed toward the mirrored wall, studying the three of them reflected back - three women already larger than life in different ways. “We have an agreement with Nexifem’s Advanced Materials and Textiles Division. You have a call scheduled with them tonight at 22:00 to settle on design and get things done.”
“We do?” both Lexi and Kori echoed.
“You do. They assure us they can be crafted and delivered within our time window. Twelve sets of uniforms,” Kathy answered, “But twelve is a beginning. By no means a ceiling.”
Something settled into Kori’s stomach at that. Not fear - anticipation.
Kathy continued, turning now to Lexi, “You will oversee uniform design. I want them ready before they step onto this campus.”
Lexi nodded once. Already she had images in her head. She might get that goth girl - Marisela, right? - to help with the design.
“And you,” Kathy said, shifting her attention back to Kori, “will support her. And you will ensure visual consistency across all platforms and communications. No surprises. No mixed messaging.”
Kori straightened without thinking. “Of course.”
Kathy held her gaze a beat longer. “You will also serve as narrative gatekeeper,” she added, “Any external language regarding security - media, social, internal leaks - passes through you first.”
Kori’s breath caught. She nodded again, slower this time. “I understand.”
“Good,” Kathy said calmly. “As soon as we’re done here I will send both of you the measurements and physical specifications for each incoming woman. You will find they are exacting.”
There it was - that private flare again, carefully banked. Kathy was feeling it as she always did when structure gave way to force: the knowledge that something she had helped shape was about to take physical form. Twelve women, engineered, disciplined, loyal. The thought warmed her more than the workout ever could.
“Good,” she said. “That will be all.”
Lexi slowed the bike to a stop, swinging one leg off with practiced ease. Kori reached for her bag, pulse still humming - not from exertion, but from the unmistakable sense that she’d just been included.
The door to the fitness center opened before either of them could speak again. The temperature of the room seemed to change.
The impressive figure of Jewel Montgomery, the new PA in Geriatrics filled the doorway. Her height alone commanded space, her presence bending the room’s attention toward her without effort. She wore workout clothes too, but on her they looked almost ceremonial, stretched over a body that made the equipment around her seem scaled incorrectly. Her eyes flicked briefly to Lexi, then to Kori, curious and amused.
Kathy turned. “Agent Montgomery,” she said coolly, “You are late.”
Jewel’s smile softened, just a touch. “Got held up, eh. Apparently I broke a mirror and a man at the gym down the road on Tuesday and no one’s too happy about it.”
Kathy did not return the smile. “Yes I got the invoice for the mirror. And the hospital bills. We will speak.” She glanced back at Lexi and Kori. “You’re dismissed.”
They didn’t need to be told twice.
As they passed Jewel, Kori felt it - that strange pull of proximity to something bigger, heavier, more certain. By the time the door closed behind them, Kathy’s voice had already dropped, firm and private. Whatever was about to be said next was not for them.
But they had their mission.
“Let’s go,” Lexi said, already sending out alerts on her phone and headed down the hall, “We’ve got an army to design...”
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