Silence

Ringo, Rico, Richardo, Riley Ambrose

The young man's reflection glared back at me out of the shop window, suspicion etched into his roundish face. He probably thought I was doubting whether he looked manly enough, and, to be honest, I was.

Come on,' I muttered, morosely. 'Manliness, manliness... give me some manliness!'

I turned sideways, and he turned with me, thrusting his chest out at the exact same moment I did. It looked flat as a board, betraying not a hint of femininity, so that, at least, was going to be no problem. Though society nowadays would be horrified, flat-chested women like me won't be whisked off until we're forty, atleast, that's what my aunt told me.

I suddenly have the urge to snort at that.

Farther down though... My eyes wandered to the young man's behind, where my Uncle Bufford's old slacks bulged in a distinctly un-manly way. Yes. The young man's behind was definitely a bit too f—.

No.

Not the f-word. Generous. That was the word. It was just a bit too generous. Besides, women these days like their men who have a little bump in their asses. Its not like this is the Victorian Era where chauvinistic dicks think women should be the only ones who have some meat in their asses.

Men are practically installing vaginas in exchange for their you-know-what these days. Now back to the matter at hand...

I flipped the bird at the young man in the window, which he duly reciprocated. Who was he trying to fool? He was no man. He was a girl. Which meant that, as much as I would have liked to pretend otherwise, so was I.

I don't like you,' I informed my reflection in no uncertain terms. It scowled at me, not at all pleased about being spoken to so disrespectfully.

'It's your own fault.' I scowled right back. 'If you were skinnier, and didn't have so much of this-' I pointed to my ass, 'then you'd look a bit more convincing in this getup.'

Men in the 1800s salivated every time they see an ass, and to my great disappointment and to every respectful men out there. Unfortunately a small percentage of their kind still do.

"Out with the girliness and in with the manliness."

A pedestrian walking by gave me an odd look.

I decided that if I wanted to appear more masculine, it was probably time to stop talking to my reflection in a shop window and be about on my business. Or else I might end up in an insane asylum or worse, get thrown in jail.

Concealed by the thick layer of smog emitted from passing cars that obscured most of London's streets at this time of day, I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. I knew exactly where I was going. I had spied out the place days ago, in preparation for my secret mission.

Secret, solitary, and illegal.

I wasn't going to steal or commit a robbery though. Although I think I can perfectly pull those off. But this thing that I'm about to do seems to be more important than grabbing random people for hostage.

I started down the street again and felt my throat go dry. The stop in front of the shop window had been a temporary one, a last chance to confirm that I looked the part I was trying to play. It had granted me a short reprieve, but now the time had come.

"Let's do this." I muttered.

You see, Richardo or Richard o whatever the hell his name is, owned Ambrose Industries. The biggest, most successful, most influential company in all 6 continents. Maybe even also the Antarctica.  Basically, this Richmond guy basically fulfilled my lifetime dream: world domination.