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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Chapter Notes:

This one is going to take a bit longer than the others at setting up the part you're all here for- I need to do a bit of world building here.

It was Isabel Errant III's twenty-second birthday, and her father finally felt comfortable with handing her the title of Grand Controller- and, thus, rightful ownership of an estimated 93% of the planet, and all off-world colonies. As a gift, he had also imparted the Founder's Treasure Room.

Eight millenia ago, the Founder had been the single greatest genius humanity had ever been blessed with. This one man invented the Prismatic Beam, a focused beam of plasma which allowed for clean surgery, safe mining, and complete control over interstellar warfare. He created the Tesseract Chamber, which multiplied internal storage spaces by over 900 times. He gave devices permitting space travel, terraforming, and energy so clean and efficient it was said to violate the laws of physics. Within three years, every government on the planet was dispatched by his followers and united into a common front. Various islands still existed to store dissidents, but the standard of living was nowhere near that of the vast United Human Territories, and the fools were permitted their "safe havens".

Rumors had always existed that the Founder had created things he had never trusted humanity with- devices he knew would be abused by those who simply could not compare to him in benevolence. These rumors had also always been denied.

They were true, of course, and Isabel knew that much. She even knew the nature of some of them, and had had her favorite few maids stimulate her while she imagined what she would do with them.

Currently, not-yet-Grand-Controller Isabel III grinned at the prospect of finally seeing everything her infinitely blessed ancestor had set aside for his own eyes, and by extension hers.

The room had high, vaunted ceilings, decorated in the reds, greens, and silver tones that had been favored by her ancestor. Had Isabel decorated, there would be a considerable bit more black, but that was beside the point. Red suited her tastes and purposes perfectly.

The soon-to-be Grand Controller smiled widely as her eyes clapped on what she had anticipated most heavily- the Ultimate Mass Modification Device Mark Seven, or UMMD Mk 7.

She greedily ran her hands over the vaguely ovoid device. It pricked her with a needle that extended from inside it, and she winced.

***ANALYZING . . . Analysis complete. Accepted user detected. What may I do this afternoon, Madam?***

Isabel ran her fingers through her long bronze locks giddily. "Claim sixteen inmates from Roche Limit Maximum Security Prison and bring them to me. Reduce eight of them by a factor of twenty-four, five of them by a factor of forty-eight, and three by a factor of sixty."

***Understood, madam. Is there a specific distance from your person you would prefer? ***

Isabel grinned, overjoyed it had been this easily. "Within four feet from me," she replied, an edge of joy creeping into her voice.

***Understood, madam. Please wait seven seconds.***

Isabel nodded, and set the UMMD Mk 7 back on its pedestal. She kicked off her sandals in the meantime, enjoying the feeling of the cool emerald tile beneath her feet.

Exactly seven seconds later, Isabel's order came through- nine men and seven women, formerly among the toughest and most menacing criminals in the United Human Territories, now lay nude, tiny, and sprawled out at the feet of an ecstatic young woman.

"Mornin', little bitches," Isabel said evenly. She had been trained to hide every semblance of emotion until it was called for, and Isabel had nothing to be happy about yet. The UMMD might have scrambled their minds, and Isabel wanted the idiots at her feet completely competent for what she was to do to them.

As it turned out, she needn't have worried. "Who the fuck are you calling a little bitch you . . . little . . ." The roughly three-inch-tall man trailed off as his eyes roamed up the vast expanse of a girl that, given his criminal record, he would have raped and stuffed into a wood chipper were he his normal size.

Isabel gave a wry grin. "I don't believe that you're in the position to call me 'little', insect. In fact, in your position, you should be groveling at my feet and begging me not to conscript that little brother of yours after my coronation in three hours."

Isabel recognized this particular criminal- Larson Todd. His record had interested her when he came on the news- he specifically preyed on women who matched her own description- short, relatively busty brunettes. She was surprised to learn that he used the money from selling his victims' belongings, not for personal gain, but for a waiver card for his younger brother that would allow him to avoid ever seeing war. He had been exactly one dollar short when he was captured. 

Larson froze. "N- no . . . y'wouldn't . . ."

Isabel laughed lightly, like an ancient noblewoman. "Would you like to find out, Larson? Or would you rather grovel now?" She lifted a tablet computer. "If I'm dissatisfied with how you do, or if you annoy me further, I promise you I will fill out his conscription order personally."

Blubbering like a fool all the while, Larson ran to Isabel's foot like a madman. Once there, he showered it with a bevy of kisses. "P- please . . . please leave my brother be," he said between kisses. "Please, I'm beggin' ya!"

"Lick," Isabel replied flatly. "Lick every crevice clean. Then I'll think about it."

Isabel couldn't help but smile at the mental image- and the real one had her giggling. Her finely-tuned hearing detected his muttered obscenities between each lick, but she decided to ignore him for the time being.

With her left foot occupied by the bug man, Isabel raised her right at the small bundle of criminals that thought they could avoid being played with by merely feigning sleep.

"You. Dumbasses. Get up, now, or I'll just make you stains on the tile for the automatic vacuum to clean," she said flatly. 

Unsurprisingly, the whole group shot to their feet. One, however, took just a second too long to stand. The inch-high arrogant one stood, hands on hips, and looked annoyed more than anything else. 

Quickly and without ceremony, she stamped him out, leaving a bright red stain on the floor.

"Anyone else ready to die?" Isabel asked, a smile on her face.

"Fuck you!" four of them said in near-unison.

Isabel shrugged, and four more pops of red appeared in two seconds flat.

The final mid-sized one had a look on her face that was . . . amorous, to say the least. If Isabel's Internet searches had not lied to her, she was also doing something called "masturbating".

Isabel smiled widely. She recognized this one, as well- a cannibalistic killer of opportunity who only went by "Umbra". She preyed on anyone she could get her hands on, and was only caught because she drunkenly bragged about her identity to a girl she occasionally slept with. 

"Do you like what you see?" Isabel asked tauntingly, flaunting her body- she only wore her skintight Cy-suit at the moment, and thus her body was on open display to the bugs she had captured. 

Umbra nodded quickly. "Hell yeah! I'd love to get inside that!"

Isabel pointedly ignored the other responses she got. "Well, Umbra, my foot's a little dirty. I've got a little scum on it. If you eat enough off, you'll get to see the other side of my Cy-suit." She raised her right foot, leaving only the heel resting on the ground.

"Done deal!" Umbra yelled, running to the gore-splattered ped with reckless abandon. Once there, she licked and nibbled the lightly wrinkled flesh, eating just about everything she could reach.

Isabel pulled her foot back, laying it flat on the ground. "Good enough, my little admirer. I admit, after seeing your pretty face on the news, I did have my share of wet dreams about you." The Grand Controller-to-be ignored the miniaturized whoops and catcalls she received from this comment. "In any case," she sultrily added, tapping three fingers at her collarbone to give her Cy-suit a cleavage window, "I did say you'd get to see the other side of my suit."

With that, she lifted Umbra between two fingers and deposited her in her cleavage. Tapping her collarbone again, the Cy-suit re-covered the flesh up to that point. Isabel grinned as the criminal struggled for air between her breasts. She was now significantly aroused, and was tempted to leave immediately and rush to her room for one of her maids to get her off before the ceremony. However, there were still ten living criminals.

"Ah, fuck it," she muttered. She abandoned her original plan, instead opting to murder nine more with her foot. The lucky survivor, the final remaining person, was the one she started off with- Larson. 

"Hey, bugboy. Tell you what. Clean off my right foot- get all the blood and stuff off, preferably with your mouth- and I'll leave your brother alone," Isabel said impatiently. "But hurry up, 'cause I just realized I have somewhere to be."

The miniaturized man nodded, dashing to the bloody sole to lick it clean. Due to being properly motivated, he was done within a few minutes. 

Isabel picked Larson up by his foot, and dangled him before her face. "Congratulations. You've spared your brother the horror of war." She flashed him a wicked grin. "Unfortunately, you didn't ask for anything for yourself. I happen to be hungry. Do the math."

The man screamed. "FUCK YOU, YOU TITANIC BITCH! GO FUCK YOURSELF!"

Isabel laughed lightly. "I don't need to, " she whispered. "My maids do that for me."

With that, she delayed herself no further, and dropped the criminal into her mouth, swallowing him whole. She relished in the feeling of a meal fighting her every step of the way, and tapped at her collarbone again to better chart his progress through her esophagus (and simultaneously keep Umbra alive just a few minutes longer- her tiny struggles for air felt fantastic).

Once satisfied with the knowledge that Larson rested in her stomach, she sealed her Cy-suit again, slipped on her sandals, and made her way to her room.

On the way, a servant had the nerve to stop her. "No one has seen you in almost an hour, Madam Errant. What have you been doing?"

Isabel flashed a cryptic grin as she walked. "Oh . . . just killing time."

Chapter End Notes:

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