The new recruit was still spouting the feminist talking points as the crew donned their riot gear. No one knew how she passed the qualifiers but Jenkin’s speculated it was her big tits. The crew, entirely made up of women, laughed as the puzzled recruit kept babbling. The World Economic Conference was underway and the protestors were out in force, although their efforts were more than futile at this point. The agreements had all been signed long before the actual meeting, so the event was really just an expensive party for the world leaders and their cronies. Despite knowing this, the special unit still prepped to help subdue the crowds.
“Are you sure you’re in the right job, missy?” asked the squad leader, Brittany Jones. She was a tall, muscular woman with the lowest body fat of anyone on the team. “You seem a little flabby for this. If you still want to call quits, I can write a release out for you.” “I’m not a freeloader!” the feminist gasped. “I’ll do my share per my agreement. But I have to say, these uniforms don’t seem very efficient.” She pulled at the garments that fit poorly on her frame. Her tits were indeed quite ample as they jutted forth, uncovered.