On the negotiator’s information, the bomb squad rolls into the bank. Clearing the lobby and making their way upstairs, they break the lock on the hostages’ room, perform a sweep, and usher everybody out. The crew combs the room but turns up empty-handed. They search the adjoining room, until they open a cabinet and a red puff ball rolls out onto the floor. The team leaps to safety behind desks and shields, peeking out after nothing happens. A member cautiously approaches the ball. A note tied to the outside informs them that all the phones and devices confiscated from the hostages are inside and to give an apology to the nice people.
Officers swarm the bank, looking for clues, trying to identify how much money was stolen, and interviewing the hostages, who all had nice things to say about the Bandits and how well they treated the hostages. Suddenly, the bank is abuzz with radios chirping to life and every officer’s phone buzzing.
In the tactical van, a crew talks to the panicked officers on the line. The jail is under siege. Gigantic red puffs balls started rolling down the halls, sealing off hallways and trapping the staff in their offices, just before an explosion was heard in the cells.
Using his gown to force his way into the van and bounce away officers, the negotiator shouts for details. He points at somebody working the computer and orders him to pull up every one of his recent negotiations and to find every women arrested afterwards when a flash bang was used.
The officers trapped in the jail security room report seeing two figures wearing blue and yellow wigs through the hole blown in the jail wall, but the officers suddenly start gagging. One barely manages to shout “Gas!” before he passes out and the line goes quiet.
Back at the station, the negotiator stands at attention in the chief’s office. He glances out the window and sees the few officers still in the station pointing and snickering at him and his outfit before the chief angrily yanks the cord on the blinds and resumes chewing out our lead. With all the commotion he caused, the Bandits escaped into the city with the bank's money. News crews documented the whole fiasco live. A prison break let the only Bandit they’ve caught get away. He’s damn lucky the hostages were okay because if that went bad, there would be a riot and mob calling for the force to be disbanded! The negotiator is taking the fall for this. He screwed up so bad that the chief is suspending him for a month with only half pay.
The negotiator winces and at least asks for help from the lab on getting the costume off. It’s become stuck on and he needs some solvent to- But the chief says that until the negotiator is back from the suspension and able to actually stop crimes, he’s banned from the station and labs, so that outfit's nobody's problem but his own.
Back home, the negotiator is dropped out of the van and one of the officers helps shove him and his outfit through the front door. Within minutes, the gown has knocked over a coffee cup, a plant and its pot, and an end table and every file on top of it. He collapses onto his bed with an angry groan and stares at the ceiling. After wallowing in self-pity long enough, he goes to rise, but finds he can’t. The outfit is too thick to bend and every motion to jerk himself up just leads to the inflated chest softly slapping him in the face. He kicks and thrusts his body to the side, but between the skirt and puffed up shoulders, he can’t get enough momentum to get off his side. After a stream of cursing and shouts, he gives up for the night and slaps his bouffant down and uses that as his pillow before quickly falling asleep.
The next morning, his bed sheets are covered in an explosion of fuzz and fur. A trail of shed fluff leads from the bedroom, down the hall past the discarded heeled boots, and to the bathroom, where the negotiator is standing at the mirror. The mounds of fallen fluff are all that remain of the gown and bouffant but he looks in horror as he still fills out the lingerie with its fur framing his cleavage. It’s no longer the fuzzy beach balls he had yesterday, but nobody would mistake him for a man now. He grabs at the strands of purple hair fallen over his face before returning to the sink to angrily scrub the remaining eyeshadow and lipstick that won’t so much as smudge.
He hears a door slam and races out, water still streaming from his face. A package topped with a purple puff ball sits inside his hallway. A note reads “Have fun! From your Sisters in the Bandits” signed off with a kiss of lipstick. He plods to the kitchen, silently grabs a knife, and slices the package top open. The box is jam packed with all the lingerie he could need and it all looks like it will fit his new curves just right.