* * * * *
MILES STONE'S P.O.V.
I was relaxing in my quarters when it happened.
To sharpen up my cyber-telepathy skills, in between missions, I was making some half-serious attempts to hack into the corporate database of Nakafusa Games to see if they would be coming out with CAMP CAPERS III this Christmas. The second version had proven just as popular as the first. So, already, there was popular demand for a fresh sequel game.
But, as usual, my down time was interrupted by the virtually real face (chubby cheeks and all) of Myron Meriwether. The portly Director of Operations for M.A.C.H.O.!
"Captain Stone? Mission briefing; my office; five minutes! Stand by for bodyguard pick-up."
Sixty seconds later, I was outside my dollhouse, in the normal-sized stateroom I shared with my normal-sized bodyguard Naomi Watanabe. As if on cue, she came charging through the door like an offensive tackle in the NFL! Only slowing down just long enough to cup both of her hands together, so I could jump into them.
For those of you who don't remember, I first came to M.A.C.H.O. as an astronaut who had somehow been shrunken as the result of test piloting a space shuttle with a flight computer that could be telepathically interfaced with! Unfortunately, the first ones to find me, in my new state, had been a pair of horny gang molls aboard a Colombian drug lord's private yacht. By miraculous coincidence, however, that drug lord (and everyone else aboard his yacht) got busted in Miami by the DEA. Which is why I initially had _two_ normies as bodyguards: DEA Agent Melissa Belmondo; and MDPD Officer Gladys Crabtree.*
Unfortunately, for them, they got shrunk in the course of our first official mission together, following my graduation from "Kleinmann University. So, now, they were being assigned _their_ first mission, as shrinkie-alumni of "Kleinmann," while I worked with the granddaughter of Anjiro Watanabe (the sensei in charge of the self-defense training for all the normie bodyguards).
Sure enough; when Naomi and I entered Meriwether's office, Mel and Gladys were already there with their own normie bodyguard. Eric Bravo! Formerly, an anti-terrorist "wet worker" for the CIA.
"What's up, Chief?" I immediately quipped (trying my best to sound more like the original Maxwell Smart--Don Adams--than that lame-ass Steve Carrel).
Meriwether didn't even give me his customary groan. Which meant, whatever mission we were about to be assigned must be really serious. And, when he aimed his remote control at the giant flat screen TV on the wall behind his desk, my hunch was confirmed in the worst way possible.
"What you're looking at is a fire that broke out at CPS, Inc. A private security contractor, based in Venice, California, that even M.A.C.H.O. has occasionally employed. Authorities in Los Angeles have been told that it was an experimental counter-insurgency drone, called 'the Scavenger,' that malfunctioned and blew up on impact."
"Yet, this is what really happened."
He hit another button on his remote control. And, right away, the point of view switched to a firefight, in some kind of corporate hallway, between SWAT-clad security guards...and a bunch of hot-looking Japanese teenage girls wearing nothing more than sleeveless black leotards (with some kind of fiery phoenix logo) and white sneakers.
You read that right! These guards were using Mossberg Bullpup shotguns (in twelve gauge) and H&K MP-5 submachine guns (firing teflon-coated armor piercers in 9mm). And, yet, each slug uselessly exploded in mid-air just inches from those girls' faces! Whereupon, the latter would counter-atttack with laser beam-emitting batons that shrank the guards to one inch tall!!
Small enough to be crushed beneath the soles of those sneakers.
Then, the flat screen suddenly went staticky! Indicating, to me, that whatever video surveillance camera had recorded that one-sided battle scene had permanently gone out of commission. A fact that someone else's voice confirmed, out loud, a second later.
That voice turned out to belong to a guy, in his early to mid-sixties, wearing a black beret with matching leather jacket.
"This is Colonel Maynard Barker calling anyone at the Multi-Agency Counter-Homunculist Organization who might be monitoring this frequency. CPS, Inc. has been overrun. I have no choice but to activate our self-destruct system! If you receive this transmission, do NOT send Captain Stone to Giant Rock Airport!! Divert, instead, to Calumet County, Wisconsin. Seek out George True Axe; chief and tribal council president of Brothertown Indian Reservation. Repeat: go to Brothertown Reservation, instead! This is Colonel Barker...signing off."
Whereupon, the old warhorse held up, in his right hand, a device that Eric quickly identified as a "dead man's switch." One that Barker just as quickly stopped pressing down upon with his right thumb!
We instinctively closed our eyes to the thunderous, fiery explosion that followed. When we re-opened them, Meriwether got right to the point.
"You five will head for Wisconsin via Grissom Air Base in Peru, Indiana. Chet Northfield seemed to think that these baton-twirling homunculists were after you, and the rest of your compatriots from Project: Silenus, Captain Stone. So, I've taken the liberty of arranging a reunion between one of them and yourself. A Cree metis named LaPierre! And he'll be flying protective escort, for your transport craft, in a Conair Firecat loaded with gaseous Solution 62."
"If only to see whether or not these homunculists can take what they dish out!"
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
M.A.C.H.O.HEADQUARTERS,
(AUGUST 1, 2014)
(AUGUST 1, 2014)
Chapter End Notes:
*See THE MAN FROM M.A.C.H.O.
MDPD: Miami-Dade Police Department.
Wetworker: Cold War-era euphemism for "hit man."
MDPD: Miami-Dade Police Department.
Wetworker: Cold War-era euphemism for "hit man."