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just ask for it if you are interested

In the heart of the secretive Spy Academy, three young agents-in-training—Alex, Maya, and Zoe—prepared for their most interesting lesson yet. Their mission? To master the art of chemical warfare safety. The classroom buzzed with anticipation as the students gathered, their eyes wide with curiosity.

The girls wore their standard uniforms—deceptively ordinary. As the instructor stepped forward, the room hushed.

"Today," the teacher announced, "we explore the protective gear that could save your lives in the field." She gestured toward the trio. "Alex, Maya, and Zoe will demonstrate."

The girls stepped to the front, their gazes unwavering. The instructor handed them skintight green suits—the kind that clung to every contour. They startet stripping their uniforms of. Revealing bikins that they wore for this situation instead of their normal underwear. Then they moved into their suits. As they stand there, just in swimwear and sliding into the fabric, some boys could not resist to take pictures of the view. As the Teacher saw that she took their phones and reminded that they should focus on the lesson not on the girls.

The fabric felt like a second skin, and they zipped up the front with precision. The metallic teeth clicked into place, sealing them in.

Alex's heart raced. She glanced at Maya and Zoe, their determination mirrored in their eyes. They were more than classmates; they were sisters bound by duty.

Next came the tactical equipment. Each girl donned a minimalstic vest, its pockets loaded with gadgets—lock picks, mini cameras, and concealed blades. Their belts held pouches for extra ammunition, but one of them carried something more potent: gas grenades.

Zoe, the daredevil of the trio, had three canisters clipped to her belt. She winked at Alex, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Ready for some chemistry, ladies?"

The final piece—the gas mask—loomed large. Alex adjusted the straps, securing it over her face. The rubber hugged her skin, blocking out the toxic fumes that could cripple even the bravest agent. She pressed her hand on the filter testing the seal, ensuring it was airtight. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

Maya followed suit, her movements precise. Zoe, ever the showstopper, twirled her mask like a dancer. Then, with a flourish, she pulled it over her face, her eyes gleaming through the lenses.

The room held its breath.

But just as the instructor praised their diligence, a faint click echoed. A smartphone camera, capturing their transformation. The boys in the back row grinned, snapping pictures despite the teacher's stern glare.

Zoe's grin widened. "Boys will be boys," she whispered to Alex.

Then it happened—the unexpected twist. The unmistakable sound of a pin being pulled from a grenade. Zoe's hand moved lightning-fast, hurling the canister toward the backrow. Green gas erupted, enveloping them.

Chaos ensued. The class gasped for air, stumbling backward. But Alex, Maya, and Zoe stood unaffected, their masks filtering the deadly mist. The room blurred, panic etching lines on the instructor's face.

"Take a picture of that," Zoe quipped, her voice muffled by the mask.

The student, now wheezing and disoriented, dropped their phones. The girls posed, triumphant and unyielding, watching how the other students react to this demonstration.

*Note: The Spy Academy does not endorse the use of gas grenades during class demonstrations. This story is purely fictional and meant for entertainment.*

Description
made with Bing image creator

If you have wishes for more let me know, if you use that prompt please dont hide the outcome behind a paywall, and fell free to leave feedback

prompt:
just ask for it if you are interested

In the heart of the secretive Spy Academy, three young agents-in-training—Alex, Maya, and Zoe—prepared for their most interesting lesson yet. Their mission? To master the art of chemical warfare safety. The classroom buzzed with anticipation as the students gathered, their eyes wide with curiosity.

The girls wore their standard uniforms—deceptively ordinary. As the instructor stepped forward, the room hushed.

"Today," the teacher announced, "we explore the protective gear that could save your lives in the field." She gestured toward the trio. "Alex, Maya, and Zoe will demonstrate."

The girls stepped to the front, their gazes unwavering. The instructor handed them skintight green suits—the kind that clung to every contour. They startet stripping their uniforms of. Revealing bikins that they wore for this situation instead of their normal underwear. Then they moved into their suits. As they stand there, just in swimwear and sliding into the fabric, some boys could not resist to take pictures of the view. As the Teacher saw that she took their phones and reminded that they should focus on the lesson not on the girls.

The fabric felt like a second skin, and they zipped up the front with precision. The metallic teeth clicked into place, sealing them in.

Alex's heart raced. She glanced at Maya and Zoe, their determination mirrored in their eyes. They were more than classmates; they were sisters bound by duty.

Next came the tactical equipment. Each girl donned a minimalstic vest, its pockets loaded with gadgets—lock picks, mini cameras, and concealed blades. Their belts held pouches for extra ammunition, but one of them carried something more potent: gas grenades.

Zoe, the daredevil of the trio, had three canisters clipped to her belt. She winked at Alex, mischief dancing in her eyes. "Ready for some chemistry, ladies?"

The final piece—the gas mask—loomed large. Alex adjusted the straps, securing it over her face. The rubber hugged her skin, blocking out the toxic fumes that could cripple even the bravest agent. She pressed her hand on the filter testing the seal, ensuring it was airtight. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

Maya followed suit, her movements precise. Zoe, ever the showstopper, twirled her mask like a dancer. Then, with a flourish, she pulled it over her face, her eyes gleaming through the lenses.

The room held its breath.

But just as the instructor praised their diligence, a faint click echoed. A smartphone camera, capturing their transformation. The boys in the back row grinned, snapping pictures despite the teacher's stern glare.

Zoe's grin widened. "Boys will be boys," she whispered to Alex.

Then it happened—the unexpected twist. The unmistakable sound of a pin being pulled from a grenade. Zoe's hand moved lightning-fast, hurling the canister toward the backrow. Green gas erupted, enveloping them.

Chaos ensued. The class gasped for air, stumbling backward. But Alex, Maya, and Zoe stood unaffected, their masks filtering the deadly mist. The room blurred, panic etching lines on the instructor's face.

"Take a picture of that," Zoe quipped, her voice muffled by the mask.

The student, now wheezing and disoriented, dropped their phones. The girls posed, triumphant and unyielding, watching how the other students react to this demonstration.

*Note: The Spy Academy does not endorse the use of gas grenades during class demonstrations. This story is purely fictional and meant for entertainment.*