Gearing Up

By VivettaVenray

(WARNING: Contains cruelty, vore, digestion, strange internals, and gore among other things.

As another important warning, the main giant character of this story has a steampunk-inspired mechanical body. She's arguably "technically" a cyborg, but only her brain and consciousness are human in origin. The body is very human-like however, [a giant brass woman, basically] and it is still capable of vore, among other fun stuff.

(NOTE: This story takes place in a steampunk setting on an alternate version of Earth. Despite featuring analogues of real world countries, this story isn't really trying to make any grand political or philosophical points. Any implication of such is most likely just an incidental result of trying to set the setting, advance the plot, or otherwise serve some story or size-y purpose.

The only reason it takes place on an Earth setting with real world country analogues is because I knew the story would feature a lot of travel and conquering, and I thought it'd be tedious to make up and keep track of a bunch of fantasy country names and such.

On another note, the first few chapters don't feature as much, if any, size-content. Also, they could probably be better refined. I think they tell more than show, and are a bit too heavy on exposition. Those chapters should probably be edited and reduced/consolidated, but editing is not nearly as fun as writing.

So, sorry in advance. I do hope the story is still enjoyed!)

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Chapter 1: A Meeting

Belle Braxley was the kind of woman who’d only be caught dead at The Golden Gear. As in, she would have been shot for trespassing like any reporter would be in New York City’s most fanciful restaurant. Yet, there she was, at the top floor of the Maycock building with two brawny men in suits holding the elevator door open for her.

She stepped inside. The sound-dampening metal doors clanked shut behind her. She rode up one floor. The door opened.

Belle found herself in awe.

Everyone had heard of The Golden Gear, but it was another thing entirely to be inside it. Her flats clacked against durable plexiglass, under which spun a tapestry of gears both elaborate and elegant. That thick transparent barrier protected the ears from their incessant spinning noises that surely accompanied such machinery.

Left, right, she looked.

The restaurant was the very top floor of the building, and designed circular with clear, strong curved windows lining the walls to provide a panoramic view of the city. All 360 degrees were accounted for, there wasn’t a single angle of view one couldn’t have over Manhattan here. The sun had just began to set, so it was truly gorgeous with the colorful hues of the sky reflecting about the copper and bronze of the city.

The tables were flat topped with a varnished surface, and connected to the floor via a thick, sturdy plexiglass leg connected to the floor. More gears were inside, as orderly and functional as those in the floor. The chairs were similar: one pillar with gears affixed to the floor by their associated sitting spot. Of course, those chairs pillars could slide forward and back along a small divot. This way, the more ‘portly’ guests could be accommodated. That build was far more common among the super rich of the city, who were the establishment’s standard clientele.

Every single table was empty, except for one on the other side of the circular room. There was her contact, clad in a fancy black suit with a carefully groomed mustache, dark as his slick hair. He held up a glass of bubbled water.

“Ms. Braxley, you’ve arrived right on time. Come, have a seat.”

“Belle is fine.”

She walked over.

Belle was a young reporter, just 20 years of age. Her contact had told her there was no need to dress up for the meeting. She was incredulous, but believed him, and thus wore her usual “compromise” attire of a long-sleeved white top with a knee-length black skirt. Her shoes were some flats, brown as a tree in color.

It was a compromise as it wasn’t so fashionable as to be impractical, yet it wasn’t so tilted towards athleticism and comfort that she’d be mistaken for a vagrant or street hustler. Lots of pickpockets out and about, and although she knew those tricks herself, she didn’t much care to advertise it.

A chime echoed through the room. The man set his glass down, holding it tight.

“What timing! Stand still a moment won’t you?”, he said.

The gears beneath Belle’s feet spun fast, as did those within the tables. Everything in room did, in fact. She felt her body twisting with the motion of the spinning floor. Yet, from her perspective, the view of her contact didn’t change. His table, as did all the tables, spun along with the entire top circular floor so as to keep their positions the same even as the view shifted.

After a few seconds, the gears calmed down a bit, and the outside view changed. The man spoke up and Belle resumed her saunter over.

“Marvelous, isn’t it? It’s a work of art as much as it is engineering. Like clockwork, the view rotates every five minutes. It’s about one 12th of a circle too. If you stay here for one hour, you’ll get the full view of the city from one of the tallest buildings it has to offer. You’ll also spend a fortune most likely!”

He laughed.

Belle sat down across the man, who seemed to be in his early 30s. His dark black hair was slicked into a rightwards part, whereas her own brown locks hung just about past her jaw. Her bangs were short, and the side was cut shorter as well so as to not get in her way.

Her green eyes met his gaze. The man had eyes too blue too be true, like the eyes of a doll.

She spoke first, her hands on the table as opposed to the more polite choice of her own lap.

“Is that how long this meeting will take?”

“An hour? Oh no certainly not. I’m a busy man. I’d be surprised if it takes us much more than another 5 minutes for your to process what I have to say.”

A woman in a tight corset, leggings, and a petticoat skirt stepped out from what must’ve been the kitchen elevator door. She had a tray of water alongside some aromatic little dishes.

She said nothing.

“Care for a drink? The best wines are served here.”, said the man.

Belle shook her head. “I don’t drink liquor.”

The man smiled. “Don’t want to cloud your judgment I take it?”

She nodded.

“Very wise. Well, how about some bubble water and a bite to eat then?”, the man asked.

“I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? This is probably the only time you’ll get to taste the food here? People wait weeks for a reservation here, and for someone like you, well...”

He let the sentence hang. Belle’s nose twitched as whatever delicious treats the waitress held was enticed her further.

“Alright, I suppose a little couldn’t hurt.”

Soon as she spoke the waitress walked over. She set the tray down and pour a glass of bubble water for Belle while refreshing the man’s own. The dishes set, the employee took the water and left back through the kitchen door.

Belle didn’t know what to call the array of foodstuffs before her. Probably french names. It seemed to be an array of appetizers, with little fancy forks of polished brass to use. There was only one per dish, though.

“You’re not eating?”, she said.

“I ate earlier.”, he replied. “But please, try some.”

Belle pierced some succulent looking mix of bread and vegetable. The flavor was so delectable, so divine she had to stop herself from audibly “mmm”ing. She chewed it quickly, each bite squirted out some buttery sauce over her tongue and reminded her this was how the top of the top ate every day.

She swallowed and set down the fork.

“You don’t want anymore?”, said the man.

“A bite was enough.”

“You’re not afraid it’s poison are you? I’m an informant for you, a whistle-blower of sorts, it’s in my interest you live long enough to get the scoop I desire.”

“It could be a slow acting poison. Weeks.”, said a smiling Belle.

The man chuckled.

“Very clever! But, no, although all I have to offer you on that is my word.”

Belle took a sip of the bubble water. The fizziness of it tickled her tongue.

“Clean steam is used in the carbonation process: no exhaust, like from the carts you’re used to on the streets.”

He leaned in, kept talking.

“You know, I think I know why you stopped after a bite.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because of what I said. It’s unlikely you’ll get food this luscious again. Why spoil yourself, it’ll just make you long for it later right? At the same time, not having a bite means you never got to taste it at all. Your life experience would be a bit less in that case. I think you struck a good balance.”

Belle looked a tad offended, and in a manner which leaked to him that he was right and she knew it.

“Perhaps I merely ate beforehand.”

“Not enough to not be hungry for food this good: at least not on a reporter’s salary. Say, I noticed another thing about you. When you came in, the first spot you looked was down. Not forward, or at the view, but at the complex gears spinning around under our shoes.”

He tapped his fancy black dress shoes across the floor. She noticed they had to be shined not more than a couple hours ago.

Belle smirked.

“I was saving the best view for last.” she said.

He scoffed. “You mean, yours truly?”

“No, behind you.”

Just behind the man, a glimmering airship came into view. It was sleek as any steam-powered aerial contraption could be. The brass piping on its exterior and similarly shining cogwork made it clear it was an upper-end model of the Aerozep line.

“The airship is quite pretty, I admit.”

“I prefer the skyline myself actually. That said, are they spying on us? Rivals of yours?”, said Belle.

“No.”, he said. “I know that specific craft. It’s part of a new sky tour service. It’s for people rich enough to afford such a view of the city, yet not so rich as to always afford one by buying a top-floor penthouse or similar. They will pass by shortly onto the Granger building, then other sights our city as to offer.”

“Fair enough. Anyways, I don’t appreciate you trying to analyze me sir. I believe you said you had information for me.”, said Belle.

“Forgive me!”, he said. It was at this moment it sunk in how he had his hands on his lap this whole time chatting with her.

“Although, you’d be surprised,”, he continued. “At just how important analyzing people is when it comes to my work.”

Belle decided to try. She pointed at the cog-shaped ornament he had on his lapel. It was too small for a broach, a bit big for a pin, and its gold sheen was something she had noticed right when she entered.

“What is that?”

The chime rung through the restaurant as it rotated once more. The view of the city from the windows shifted. Belle now overlooked one of the few pits of pristine park left. Tall brass-made buildings loomed around it, as though they were waiting for that last bit of nature to shrivel up and die so they could move in.

“A badge.”, he said while the rotating restaurant settled. “Though it looks like a pin or broach to some. All the top executives for my employer wear it when not in the public eye. Helps others of the upper classes, and those who wait on us, know who we serve.”

“And your employer is...”

“Are you ready to learn? I told you the information I had would be very big. Big enough to buy out The Golden Gear for the day.”

That sentence tingled the woman’s reporter instincts.

“That’s right, I remember others in the Maycock building being told this was closed. But, how did you buy the entire restaurant for a day, and why? Why not just an hour?”, said Belle.

“Ah I knew you were astute. As to the first, simple question: money.”

“That must’ve been a high fortune.”, said Belle. She took a sip of her glass.

“Indeed, but even an executive at Voxhaben has more wealth and sway than most business owners and heirs in the whole city.”

Belle nearly spit out her drink. Her head cocked back.

“Voxhaben? Voxhaben LLC?!?”

“As to your other, cleverer question...”, began the man.

“I’m sure you think it more economical to rent this place out just for an hour or so, but that’s too suspicious. By closing the entire place for the day, I was able to plant the cover story that The Golden Gear was undergoing maintenance. Even gears treated with Voxhaben’s patented lubricant need some tending to, on occasion. As you noticed, some of the cogwheels here are made in part of actual gold. A very flashy choice, but one that benefits from polishing.”

“Voxhaben, you work for Voxhaben? Which means that pin of yours...”

“Was given to me by Mr. Cogston himself, yes.”

“Inventor of the radio among other innovations? Private owner of the most lucrative company in all the US? That Victor Cogston?”

“He is my superior. You now understand the kind of information I can offer you. The biggest scoop there is to get, the one that newspapers have made fortunes merely speculating on.”

“The Voxhaben Complex...”, muttered Belle.

“Yes, I know what’s inside.”

The Voxhaben Complex was the name for the enormousness, multi-block building that the company had built in lower west Manhattan. A sprawling gray rectangle, it spanned over at least a dozen blocks and streets in size. Most impressive of all, it loomed over 1000ft in height. It must’ve cost tens of millions to build at least.

No one knew what was inside, but everyone wanted to. Spies from rival companies tried to get in, all failing. Moreover, despite being in the nation’s capital, there were even rumors that the USA government couldn’t discover what was inside.

Voxhaben LLC said nothing on the goings on inside other than that it was “important work.” It’s said that the enigmatic and eccentric owner of the company, Victor Cogston, spent most of his work hours there despite the company have dozens of other offices and properties in the city.

Whatever was going on in there, was something big. It was on the mind of the elite and ‘pleb’ alike. Private and public minds wanted to know, but no one but the top people of the company ever came out of it.

“Tell me!”, said Belle. Her eyes were wide. This would indeed be the scoop of the century.

“Patience. I know you’re dying to put your paper on the map, to cement your status as the nation’s best reporter. Well, at least I think you just might.”

“Well, tell me then.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s something no one would believe, not without evidence. That’s where you come in.”

“What do you mean?”

The man put his hands on the table, interlocked at the fingers.

“I’m going to give you the means to get into the building. A press badge. As far as the company is concerned, you are reporting on just the outermost, least-secret facilities. I suggested the idea to Mr. Cogston as a way to pacify the public and keep the papers and government off our back.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a fancy looking document, signed. For a moment, Belle saw the glimmer of cog-ladden tools hidden in his coat. Figures someone high up wouldn’t be unable to do dirtier business.

She took the sturdy pass and listened to him continue.

“Security will be lax though, by my orders. You’ll be able to sneak deeper into the complex, into the biggest, most central room. There, you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

“What sort of proof am I to get?”

“Whatever you can. You can sketch right? Sketch what you see, anything that looks important. Take any documents that seem important. In fact, if you can somehow manage to sneak one in, go and take one of those photographic cameras inside with you.”

Belle scoffed. “Even if I had the money for such a thing, it’d be far too impractical.”

The man grinned.

“Of course, but the point is to record and take what you can. You will need it. What’s going on inside is truly that unbelievable.”

Belle flipped the pass over, inspected it.

“This is all...”

“Too good to be true? I can imagine. A single bit of gossip from a place like The Golden Gear is often enough to sustain any paper for a solid month. Your expectations must’ve been high walking in here and, I can’t lie, it’s joy to surpass them.”

Belle moved the pass into a pocket on her top.

“But, why me, why my paper?” said Belle.

“Ah yes, your paper. The... Squeaky Wheel. It gets the grease, after all?”

He laughed, and she was not amused.

“Well, Belle, a small paper like yours seems perfect for breaking out a story like this. Just call it a hunch. Your paper is known for more scandalous takes on things, but never falsehoods. That’s important, I need the future story to be believed.”

Belle waited.

“As to why you, well, I like to think I’m good at analyzing others, I suppose.”

Belle pursed her lips to the side a moment. It was far from the most satisfying answer, but the pass seemed legitimate, and the man didn’t seem to be lying. He did buy out the restaurant for a day.

“But, why betray your employer like this, especially after how well he’s obviously treated you? Something doesn’t add up here...”

“Ah.”, said the man. “No, you are just a nobler sort than most. ‘How could he risk all he has?’, you must think. Well, for more, of course. It’s just business. That’s all the detail I’ll give on my motives, and all you have to worry about.”

“What if you try to betray me?”

“You think I’ll treat you as another cog in some machination of mine? Well, we at Voxhaben take good care of our cogs.”

He laughed, and she was once again unamused.

“Don’t worry Belle, I want you to get a story out. Once you do, you will be the most famous reporter there is. The rewards you’ll have will be well worth keeping my identity a secret, not that you know my name anyways. Everything will work out, far, far better than you can even imagine, possibly.”, said the man.

“I’ll go there now.”, said Belle.

“Oh no, no. Today is a Friday. It’ll be too crowded. You’ll go tomorrow morning, on the weekend when workloads are less, citywide.”

The chime rung out again. The restaurant started to spin. The view shifted to some buildings in a rich business area. Company HQs no doubt.

“That’s 10 minutes.”, said the man. “More time than I planned for. Let’s hope you’re worth it, Belle Braxley.”

He stayed sitting, silent. It was clear to Belle she was meant to leave. She stood up.

“I’ll get the story, whatever it is.”

“Well.”, said the man. “I’ll tell you one thing. What’s in there, it’s revolutionary. It’s going to be the biggest shakeup to human society in more than 50 years, a century, even millennia. It’s perhaps going to be the defining moment of human history as we know it.”

Belle stood for more information. He offered nothing more, till the elevator doors opened and Belle stepped inside. Right before the doors closed, he said one more sentence just loud enough to hear in the quiet restaurant.

“It’ll change the world.”