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To her right, Captain Dauntless was talking to someone who was dressed in a military uniform, looking like the champion of freedom that he claimed to be.

Personally, Mull had always hated the asshole.

He was fully capable of twisting her into a pretzel today though, and not feeling badly about it after.

But he had absolutely no idea who Natalie even was, which meant that Mull was safe as houses at the moment.

No, Natalie wouldn’t hurt anyone, asshole. Just look how cute she is.

Sure enough, the man in question paid no attention to her. His superhuman vision passed over her without a second thought.

Mull smiled a devious smile.

Deciding that the shrimp wouldn’t kill her, she grabbed another handful and started up the stairs on one side of the ballroom, paying no attention to the guards which surrounded the landing.

Guards were Multifarious’ problem. Party Line was running the shots right now, which meant that Natalie needed to be an innocent little redhead, who was simply lost. If Mull were calling the shots, she’d “gun and run” the whole party, mowing down her targets and leaving.

If Nat were calling the shots – which was an absurd idea – she’d be at home watching some stupid TV drama about the trials and tribulations of a group of handsome veterinarians or some such silly bullshit.

But no, Party Line was in charge at the moment, which meant that the situation called for a little more… finesse .

A dark-haired man with a ponytail was talking to the security guard at the top of the stairs and pointing out the window towards the front gate.

He was wearing a military uniform, complete with enough ropes and fringe to make a window treatment at a bordello jealous.

He was yelling at the other man about something, his voice tinged with the distinctive Agletarian accent.

Mull had always hated it. There were a lot of really cool accents in the world, but that one was a shit one.

“This is unacceptable! ” He screamed. “My father will have you hanged for this!” He tossed what appeared to be a magazine at the guard, apparently upset that the other man might be reading during work hours.

On the cover, teen sweetheart Bekki Bartlett posed in swimwear with her Olympic silver medal.

“Tell your people outside I want that vehicle moved and searched, and until then, no one is to be allowed in. Bar the gates!”

“General Ponytail” turned on his heel and stalked back down the stairs, glaring at her as he went by.

She smiled at him shyly, trying to look charming.

Nat couldn’t do a lot as far as sex appeal went, but she could manage “flirtatiously innocent” if the situation called for it.

It wasn’t a lot, but it could be a momentary distraction for some men, since they’d start to imagine what she’d look like doing not-so -innocent things.

Predictably, it worked fairly well and she could feel his eyes on her as she continued up the stairs.

Technically speaking, it was probably a bad idea to attract attention like that, but Party Line liked an audience when she worked.

Mull might prefer to move silently and kill quickly, but Party Line enjoyed being watched. It was like… foreplay .

For her part, Natalie didn’t like strange evil men looking at her, ever. Because Natalie was boring and frigid, which was why no one liked her.

Fuck Natalie.

She wasn’t even real.

The ponytail guy stopped on the stairs behind her, either about to question where she was going… or maybe just watching her ass. Either way, if he became an obstacle, Party Line had four different ways she could kill him without the guard seeing and Mull had more than a dozen.

Natalie had none. Because there was no situation in which Nat was useful.

And Mull had spent years looking for one, so she spoke from personal experience.

Party Line had only known Natalie for a day, and she already found her tedious.

At a social event, Natalie would be the woman Party Line avoided or made fun of with her other friends.

Not that she’d tell Natalie that, because it would require actually speaking to her, but Natalie got the message anyway.

“General Ponytail” got called away by someone and he rushed off to handle some new evil related emergency.

That was the other thing Mull disliked about potentially working in the Evil Dictatorship sector: everything had to be such a big damn deal.

Mull reached the top of the stairs and smiled at the guard. “Oh, excuse me.” She giggled in feigned embarrassment. “Can you tell me where the ladies room is? ”

“Downstairs.” The huge man with the automatic weapon pointed to a hallway which branched off the far wall of the rotunda below them. “You’re not allowed up here. This is private .”

“Oh dear.” She pressed her hand to her chest, drawing his attention to the low cut of her dress.

“I’d really rather use this one, if that’s okay.

” She took on a slightly ominous tone and leaned closer to him.

“I have,” she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “… girl stuff to do.” She warned, meeting the man’s eyes seriously and raising both of her eyebrows to drive home the horrific gravity of the unspecified problem. “You don’t want to know.”

The man looked vaguely ill and immediately waved her through.

That was Party Line’s favorite excuse for doing something she wasn’t supposed to do or being someplace she wasn’t supposed to be.

It was perfect . As long as you were dealing with men, anyway.

Women would obviously ask just what kind of “girl stuff” could only be handled in an off-limits area of a foreign embassy, but men were so afraid of learning something new about women’s bodies that they avoided the specifics like some horrible mysterious plague.

Party Line smiled at the man in thanks and strolled down the hall for several steps, then stopped, grabbed one of the expensive-looking marble statues which was sitting on a table, and smashed him in the back of the head with it.

He crumpled to the floor and she dragged him over to prop him upright in a nearby chair, then she stooped to grab his weapon.

An UMP40, firing .40 cartridges.

Yep. Multifarious could handle that. And its matte black finish looked really good with Party Line’s dress. Some women wore handbags, but Mull had always preferred a good quality automatic weapon. It just said: “Hey boys! Look at me! …Or I’ll fucking pump your guts full of lead! ”

She gave a contented sigh, pleased with how well this party was working out now. It had overcome some initial bumps and was now really turning into the highlight of her social season. She’d have to send her host a thank you note.

After she killed him .

“Assassin” didn’t have to mean “rude,” after all.

She made her way down the hall again, absently dancing with herself to the sound of the orchestra downstairs.

They were wonderful. She’d asked them to play “ MMMBop ,” which they’d been reluctant to attempt, probably because it was such a classic.

But $200 and a gruesome death threat had convinced them that they could do the song justice. Repeatedly.

She’d really do her best to remember to try not to shoot any of them tonight. Or at least leave them a tip if she did. Maybe it would help pay for their funerals or whatever. It was the least she could do.

The other partygoers looked a little perturbed to finally be hearing real music for once, staring at the city’s most accomplished classical orchestra in confused bafflement and barely restrained annoyance, as they played the song again and again.

It’s Hanson, motherfuckers! The greatest musicians of our time! Listen to them until you love them!

She stopped at the end of the hall and made her way into the room on her left. It was a study and it overlooked the back gardens of the embassy. She popped her head out the exterior window and casually tossed her weapon onto the balcony of the room next to it.

She walked into the hallway again, straightened her clothes and tried to look as vapid as possible, then knocked on the large doors at the end of the hall.

A moment later a huge man threw them open and leveled a gun at her. “You ain’t supposed to be in here. This is off-limits! Who sent you?!? ”

The world was so paranoid sometimes. What had happened to manners?

“I’m not? You sure?” She made a show of looking down at a slip of paper in her hand, which was actually a receipt for a Mega-Burger she’d eaten an hour ago, but which she was apparently pretending was some kind of reservation slip.

“This the… Agnatainian Governing Council?” She deliberately mispronounced the country’s name, possibly going too far with the “dumb” act, but whatever.

Could a girl ever really be too dumb for men?

The man cocked his weapon. “What of it? ”

Mull shouldered her way inside, secure in the knowledge that there wasn’t a man alive who would gun down a pretty lady in an evening gown, unless she did something really unacceptable and posed them an immediate threat.

And even then, they’d hesitate. Breasts were better than any body armor you could buy.

Your ticket into any party, social event, or building in the world.

A pretty face and a low-cut dress was the ultimate superpower in this all-too sexist and objectifying society.

“Then I think I’m in the right place.” She spun in a circle to look at the whole room, and made a low whistling sound, as if impressed. “Nice digs, boys.”

The room was actually fairly ordinary, but she doubted they wanted to hear that. Generally, people preferred lies to the truth. Masks were always more interesting than the faces they concealed.