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All five applicants had been issued the same spy suit. The first three were not fans of the sleek, rubbery look. It left very little to the imagination.
#1, whose outfit was black with gold trim, kept running her hands down her body and grinning. She’d chuckle every now and then as she stroked her thighs. “I can’t quite remember where I’ve seen this design before, but I know I've seen it."

#2, who was much younger than the middle-aged #1, wore black with green. She furrowed her brow and nodded vigorously. He covered his mouth and chin while speaking, giving #1 the impression of being very deep in thought. “Hmm, UNITY issue, maybe? 1960s design? Maybe surplus?”
The older woman chuckled. “No. No, I’m pretty sure it was on the cover of a DVD with three Xs on it.” She continued to laugh to herself as #2 raised an eyebrow, confused.
#3 wasn’t a fan either, but she didn’t complain. It was made of the same semi-smart materials that MirageCorp favored; thin, stretchy, air-permeable, and programmable. It could be ‘told’ to hold the same shape or to melt away like a viscous liquid, and it was therefore almost entirely recyclable. It was comfortable enough to wear, even if the way it hugged her body made her feel naked. And defenseless. That was probably the point. After all, #3, like the rest of the interviewees, had completed a bevy of initial tests and was now in the final stretches of the interview. She'd be happy to have this finally over.

The fourth applicant leaned against one wall with a stoic expression. He had crossed his legs, trying not to show off the unavoidable bulge around his groin, but it didn’t entirely shield it. #4 surely knew that the fifth agent was eyeing him.
Her English wasn’t perfect, and she had kept to herself since she entered. #1 had made an off-color joke about the KGB, which #5 didn't seem to understand. The rest of them knew that she was probably from some underfunded Foreign Intelligence Service, forced out after some instability had rendered her job obsolete. #5 sat against the wall, tapping the paneling to examine its unusual composition.
The floor seemed to be all smooth metallic tiles. Aside from the doors in and out, they coated the wall, floor, and ceiling alike. #5 knocked against them a few times.
“What’s up with the weird designations?"

#4 nodded to #3, getting her attention. "
#3 shrugged. She was definitely the most physically strong of the group. “No names. No favoritism."

"No cutesey callsigns?"

"Nope. Basically just a barcode."
They all perked up at once when a speaker in the room came to life. “You may begin the test whenever you are ready.”
#5
stood up and briskly walked to the door. She threw it open, and responded with confused horror when she realized that the door only led to more tiles.
“Test beginning.”
The room filled with squeak and zzzip and the thwip-thwip of each spy’s suit activating at the same time, followed a second or two later with loud grunting, the meaty sound of someone falling to the floor, and the desperate strain against unrelenting restraints.
#1 knew right away that she was out of a job. Her suit had become a thin straitjacket, but sealed up with so many straps she knew that she couldn’t get out. #1 tugged left and right, slowly going to the floor and kneeling down. The sleeves tucked behind her back and seemed to glue together around her solar plexus. She was the most experienced in this sort of peril, so it seemed only fitting that her should be the most impossible to escape. Instead, she politely sat against the wall, admitting to herself, the other applicants, and the company that this test was beyond her.
#2 had plenty of energy, but none of the experience that the rest of them did. In fact, it was pretty clear that he might not have had any experience at all. The moment the trap activated, his suit slid six bands of thick rubbery restraint over his arms, forcing them behind his back and then into the air. A cable from the ceiling hooked on to his armbinder, forcing #2 forward. Two more straps went from his arm-sheath to his shoulders, harnessing it tight and preventing him from simply slipping out of it. If he’d been faster, he might have avoided it… but he wasn’t. He didn’t manage to get the cuffs around his ankles, either, nor the ones that formed around his knees. He did manage to spew some curse words before a bulb slipped between his lips and inflated. And he almost spit out his gag before a hood expanded over his mouth and head. Unfortunately, the interview wasn’t testing how he could ‘almost’ escape, and he was stiffly secured.
The other spies didn’t have time to see what happened to #5. When she opened the door, the silvery tiles beneath her feet morphed in density and color. #1 I abruptly fell into a shiny black abyss, leaving an inky black pool of liquid ichor in her place.

Phantom tapped a pen against her lips.
“Well, it was going to happen to one of them,” she said.
Violi was scrolling on a tablet computer. “I was hoping she’d last a bit longer! It says that she trained in-”
“No names, no personal details,” shot Phantom. “Remember, this is supposed to be an impartial test.”

“Right!” Violi responded with an earnest enthusiasm. “Very well. I’ll have her decanted from her tube and ready for processing.”
“Thank you so very much,” said Phantom. “I can send someone if you like.”
Violi waved her off. “No need, no need. I want to be the one to see her moaning when the foam hardens. All that lovely squirming is such a treat!”
Phantom smiled, but didn’t look away. Applicant #1 was smart. She had been bound with her hands in mittens, raised above her head and lashed to the ceiling - and with a fat ball-gag for fun. Measurements indicated she’d have trouble being terribly flexible, but she was stronger than anticipated - she was yanking hard on her bonds, and it looked like she might just brute force her way out.
#4 was the second one to go. Cables and cuffs around his wrists met with matching shackles around his ankles. The sudden hogtie made him yelp, and he rolled to his side. When he tried to tuck in his knees and shimmy out of his bonds, he rolled again - disappearing into a pit and ending his trial.

Unlike the rest, #3 kept calm. She'd read about the MCI's background, so this was hardly a surprise. Her adversary was a floating tape-dispensing drone, and she'd spent time training against them. It was already dispensing a nice layer of bright blue tape around her ankles when she took action - she'd need to make it quick.

She tucked her arms close behind her back, as if welcoming the mummified fate of a failed applicant. The drone automatically shifted to take advantage of her pose, moving up from her ankles to her torso... and right into an outstretched hand! She nabbed it as it rose, the one time she'd been able to predict its normally erratic movements. It spewed out tape and jerked wildly in her hand until she managed to trap it in a cocoon of its own ribbons. Hoisted by its own petard, she let it drop to the tiled floor.

It didn't clatter, but instead began to sink. The entire floor seemed to be made of the programmable material, and it had been told to revert to a neutral form - a black, rubbery ichor. It was sticky, too - sticky enough to keep #1 from moving very much as her tile disappeared, removing her from the room. With just #2 left, the third applicant saw no other choice.

She leapt through the air to #2, planting her feet in the ground. Hopefully, she'd have a few seconds before she became entirely stuck. She unclipped the metal leash that ran from the ceiling to his armbinder, removing him from the strappado. He fell forward to his knees and shook off the gag.

"Thank you. I'm glad we could work together."

The other three applicants had been retrieved. Four and five where wheeled away; they'd been cleaned off and strapped to hand trolleys. Phantom caught a glimpse of them being placed in the freight elevator, bound and squirming against dozens of straps, while the escorts spent some time chatting. Unfortunately, they were the worst of the lot, and they'd be used as such - like products rather than employees.

#1 was just enjoying herself too much, stretching and straining against the bonds of her straitjacket. Violi suggested she be kept on as a contractor; Phantom imagined that she'd make a very nice trophy or objet d'art to show off around the office. It as probably going to be far more fun than whatever retirement plans she had cooked up. They compromised, fitting a heavy inflatable helmet over her head and then encasing that in a leather hood. They'd want to keep her 'job offer' a surprise.

#3 hauled herself up on the leash, up and out of the rubbery floor. #2's expression turned to fury - not at losing the test, but at having his hopes raised and then so cruelly dashed! #3 forced him to his knees, then down - pressing his head and body into the floor, first as a stepping-stool to get a better grip on the cable, and then - well, and then just for fun.

"I win," #3 muttered to herself." #2 disappeared. She held on, holding herself up and away from the floor. The strain started to get to her - there wasn't enough length to get a really solid grip. Number three was pleased when a voice cracked over the intercom.

"Congratulations, Applicant Number Three. You're the last one standing."

She panted and dropped from the cable, landing on now-solid flooring.

"We're impressed by your performance. We're of course going to offer you a job. Your skills are impeccable - all the other exams you passed with flying colors. There's just one thing that I think we need to work on..."

#3's suit was heavier, thicker, and stiffer than her spy-suit. She'd seen it in the mirror a few times - polished rubber with a zipper than ran from back to front. It was covered now by a very tall collar, one which mated with the rubber hood as well. It made for a fun visual, wherein there wasn't any visible way to get her out of the suit - not without taking off the collar, and the fat padlock around it made that easier said than done.

Or easier thought than done. Her gag was an internal rubber sheath that ended in a fake pair of lips, gums, and teeth - all squishy silicone, of course - that kept her mouth perpetually just open enough to be teased. It was just large enough for another gag, or for a visitor to come by and stick a finger into her latex-coated gums.

After trying one time too many to take it out of her mouth, #3 had been given a fat pair of mittens ending in bulbous spheres. The bondage mitts containing her balled-up fists were then lashed together with a pair of leather cuffs. When she still tried to take out her gag, a pair of cuffs around her biceps were added, forming a T-shape that kept her wrists and forearms in place - with a strap that ran between her legs and up to her collar on her back. Trying to do anything more with her hands than flail was now only forcing that strap harder between her legs.

"All right," said Phantom to the gathered crowd. "The first object of our morning briefing - showing you all how to best use a team player..."

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

All five applicants had been issued the same spy suit. The first three were not fans of the sleek, rubbery look. It left very little to the imagination.
#1, whose outfit was black with gold trim, kept running her hands down her body and grinning. She’d chuckle every now and then as she stroked her thighs. “I can’t quite remember where I’ve seen this design before, but I know I've seen it."

#2, who was much younger than the middle-aged #1, wore black with green. She furrowed her brow and nodded vigorously. He covered his mouth and chin while speaking, giving #1 the impression of being very deep in thought. “Hmm, UNITY issue, maybe? 1960s design? Maybe surplus?”
The older woman chuckled. “No. No, I’m pretty sure it was on the cover of a DVD with three Xs on it.” She continued to laugh to herself as #2 raised an eyebrow, confused.
#3 wasn’t a fan either, but she didn’t complain. It was made of the same semi-smart materials that MirageCorp favored; thin, stretchy, air-permeable, and programmable. It could be ‘told’ to hold the same shape or to melt away like a viscous liquid, and it was therefore almost entirely recyclable. It was comfortable enough to wear, even if the way it hugged her body made her feel naked. And defenseless. That was probably the point. After all, #3, like the rest of the interviewees, had completed a bevy of initial tests and was now in the final stretches of the interview. She'd be happy to have this finally over.

The fourth applicant leaned against one wall with a stoic expression. He had crossed his legs, trying not to show off the unavoidable bulge around his groin, but it didn’t entirely shield it. #4 surely knew that the fifth agent was eyeing him.
Her English wasn’t perfect, and she had kept to herself since she entered. #1 had made an off-color joke about the KGB, which #5 didn't seem to understand. The rest of them knew that she was probably from some underfunded Foreign Intelligence Service, forced out after some instability had rendered her job obsolete. #5 sat against the wall, tapping the paneling to examine its unusual composition.
The floor seemed to be all smooth metallic tiles. Aside from the doors in and out, they coated the wall, floor, and ceiling alike. #5 knocked against them a few times.
“What’s up with the weird designations?"

#4 nodded to #3, getting her attention. "
#3 shrugged. She was definitely the most physically strong of the group. “No names. No favoritism."

"No cutesey callsigns?"

"Nope. Basically just a barcode."
They all perked up at once when a speaker in the room came to life. “You may begin the test whenever you are ready.”
#5
stood up and briskly walked to the door. She threw it open, and responded with confused horror when she realized that the door only led to more tiles.
“Test beginning.”
The room filled with squeak and zzzip and the thwip-thwip of each spy’s suit activating at the same time, followed a second or two later with loud grunting, the meaty sound of someone falling to the floor, and the desperate strain against unrelenting restraints.
#1 knew right away that she was out of a job. Her suit had become a thin straitjacket, but sealed up with so many straps she knew that she couldn’t get out. #1 tugged left and right, slowly going to the floor and kneeling down. The sleeves tucked behind her back and seemed to glue together around her solar plexus. She was the most experienced in this sort of peril, so it seemed only fitting that her should be the most impossible to escape. Instead, she politely sat against the wall, admitting to herself, the other applicants, and the company that this test was beyond her.
#2 had plenty of energy, but none of the experience that the rest of them did. In fact, it was pretty clear that he might not have had any experience at all. The moment the trap activated, his suit slid six bands of thick rubbery restraint over his arms, forcing them behind his back and then into the air. A cable from the ceiling hooked on to his armbinder, forcing #2 forward. Two more straps went from his arm-sheath to his shoulders, harnessing it tight and preventing him from simply slipping out of it. If he’d been faster, he might have avoided it… but he wasn’t. He didn’t manage to get the cuffs around his ankles, either, nor the ones that formed around his knees. He did manage to spew some curse words before a bulb slipped between his lips and inflated. And he almost spit out his gag before a hood expanded over his mouth and head. Unfortunately, the interview wasn’t testing how he could ‘almost’ escape, and he was stiffly secured.
The other spies didn’t have time to see what happened to #5. When she opened the door, the silvery tiles beneath her feet morphed in density and color. #1 I abruptly fell into a shiny black abyss, leaving an inky black pool of liquid ichor in her place.

Phantom tapped a pen against her lips.
“Well, it was going to happen to one of them,” she said.
Violi was scrolling on a tablet computer. “I was hoping she’d last a bit longer! It says that she trained in-”
“No names, no personal details,” shot Phantom. “Remember, this is supposed to be an impartial test.”

“Right!” Violi responded with an earnest enthusiasm. “Very well. I’ll have her decanted from her tube and ready for processing.”
“Thank you so very much,” said Phantom. “I can send someone if you like.”
Violi waved her off. “No need, no need. I want to be the one to see her moaning when the foam hardens. All that lovely squirming is such a treat!”
Phantom smiled, but didn’t look away. Applicant #1 was smart. She had been bound with her hands in mittens, raised above her head and lashed to the ceiling - and with a fat ball-gag for fun. Measurements indicated she’d have trouble being terribly flexible, but she was stronger than anticipated - she was yanking hard on her bonds, and it looked like she might just brute force her way out.
#4 was the second one to go. Cables and cuffs around his wrists met with matching shackles around his ankles. The sudden hogtie made him yelp, and he rolled to his side. When he tried to tuck in his knees and shimmy out of his bonds, he rolled again - disappearing into a pit and ending his trial.

Unlike the rest, #3 kept calm. She'd read about the MCI's background, so this was hardly a surprise. Her adversary was a floating tape-dispensing drone, and she'd spent time training against them. It was already dispensing a nice layer of bright blue tape around her ankles when she took action - she'd need to make it quick.

She tucked her arms close behind her back, as if welcoming the mummified fate of a failed applicant. The drone automatically shifted to take advantage of her pose, moving up from her ankles to her torso... and right into an outstretched hand! She nabbed it as it rose, the one time she'd been able to predict its normally erratic movements. It spewed out tape and jerked wildly in her hand until she managed to trap it in a cocoon of its own ribbons. Hoisted by its own petard, she let it drop to the tiled floor.

It didn't clatter, but instead began to sink. The entire floor seemed to be made of the programmable material, and it had been told to revert to a neutral form - a black, rubbery ichor. It was sticky, too - sticky enough to keep #1 from moving very much as her tile disappeared, removing her from the room. With just #2 left, the third applicant saw no other choice.

She leapt through the air to #2, planting her feet in the ground. Hopefully, she'd have a few seconds before she became entirely stuck. She unclipped the metal leash that ran from the ceiling to his armbinder, removing him from the strappado. He fell forward to his knees and shook off the gag.

"Thank you. I'm glad we could work together."

The other three applicants had been retrieved. Four and five where wheeled away; they'd been cleaned off and strapped to hand trolleys. Phantom caught a glimpse of them being placed in the freight elevator, bound and squirming against dozens of straps, while the escorts spent some time chatting. Unfortunately, they were the worst of the lot, and they'd be used as such - like products rather than employees.

#1 was just enjoying herself too much, stretching and straining against the bonds of her straitjacket. Violi suggested she be kept on as a contractor; Phantom imagined that she'd make a very nice trophy or objet d'art to show off around the office. It as probably going to be far more fun than whatever retirement plans she had cooked up. They compromised, fitting a heavy inflatable helmet over her head and then encasing that in a leather hood. They'd want to keep her 'job offer' a surprise.

#3 hauled herself up on the leash, up and out of the rubbery floor. #2's expression turned to fury - not at losing the test, but at having his hopes raised and then so cruelly dashed! #3 forced him to his knees, then down - pressing his head and body into the floor, first as a stepping-stool to get a better grip on the cable, and then - well, and then just for fun.

"I win," #3 muttered to herself." #2 disappeared. She held on, holding herself up and away from the floor. The strain started to get to her - there wasn't enough length to get a really solid grip. Number three was pleased when a voice cracked over the intercom.

"Congratulations, Applicant Number Three. You're the last one standing."

She panted and dropped from the cable, landing on now-solid flooring.

"We're impressed by your performance. We're of course going to offer you a job. Your skills are impeccable - all the other exams you passed with flying colors. There's just one thing that I think we need to work on..."

#3's suit was heavier, thicker, and stiffer than her spy-suit. She'd seen it in the mirror a few times - polished rubber with a zipper than ran from back to front. It was covered now by a very tall collar, one which mated with the rubber hood as well. It made for a fun visual, wherein there wasn't any visible way to get her out of the suit - not without taking off the collar, and the fat padlock around it made that easier said than done.

Or easier thought than done. Her gag was an internal rubber sheath that ended in a fake pair of lips, gums, and teeth - all squishy silicone, of course - that kept her mouth perpetually just open enough to be teased. It was just large enough for another gag, or for a visitor to come by and stick a finger into her latex-coated gums.

After trying one time too many to take it out of her mouth, #3 had been given a fat pair of mittens ending in bulbous spheres. The bondage mitts containing her balled-up fists were then lashed together with a pair of leather cuffs. When she still tried to take out her gag, a pair of cuffs around her biceps were added, forming a T-shape that kept her wrists and forearms in place - with a strap that ran between her legs and up to her collar on her back. Trying to do anything more with her hands than flail was now only forcing that strap harder between her legs.

"All right," said Phantom to the gathered crowd. "The first object of our morning briefing - showing you all how to best use a team player..."