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Story Notes:

Work in progress! Partially inspired by giantesscity user Cara.

Night City's streets were electric with life, death, and the pursuit of fame. Improbably perfect holographic breasts loomed from thousand-foot billboards along the highway, blown up to compensate for the speed of the screaming death-traps that ferried mercenaries and contraband into town from the border outposts. The beaches were empty, patrolled only by the mutant descendants of vultures and customs agents keeping the beaches clean. The ocean practically steamed, even under the more forgiving light of the moon, with heat from the city's the city’s runoff of superheated cooling fluids and hazardous waste. From her room in a middle floor of one of the city’s Megabuildings, C looked down on the people below her with longing, contempt, and desperation. I need to do something, she thought, but felt paralyzed to make a choice.

The Arasaka had gone sideways. It was supposed to end with cash in one hand and champagne in the other, but all of it had gone sideways. Jackie was gone--her lover, cut down in the moment that should have been their triumph. It was too much to process. She didn’t even remember making it back to her apartment; all she could recall of the job was Jackie slotting the shard out of her skull and into C’s, after the containment unit had broken down. Then, Jackie had collapsed, as if the shard had been keeping her going. Blackness followed, a period of unconscious, unaccountable action that had ended with C asleep in her own bed, miraculously healed, but still not feeling quite right.

That made sense, after seeing her lover and best friend gunned down on the job, but the way she didn’t feel right was the strange thing. It was as if Jackie’s death had unleashed something inside of her, something that she had always kept on a leash until now. A desire for power that felt wholly alien to her normal way of seeing things had begun to worm its way into her every thought. Not money--money didn’t matter, in the end--and not fame, either. Power, control, total and absolute knowledge. She somehow didn't feel concerned about being the object of a city-wide manhunt, thanks to the stolen Japanese tech in her head.

What the fuck was on that Arasaka shard? she thought.

“A whole lot of shit,” said a voice from behind her. She whipped around, hand instinctively going to the knife that she kept on her belt. A woman was standing before her, someone who had broken into her apartment. She looked like everything that C wished she were: tall, curvaceous, and with a model’s chiseled features, her chromeware glinting out between her breasts, bare now, and beneath her eyes. Her hair flowed around her, a psychedelic rainbow of color, seemingly styled in a dozen contradictory, impossible manners all at once. Entoptics, thought C. It’s just entoptic. She’s just trying to scare you with things that aren’t there, consensual hallucinations. You’ve done the same act a hundred times for a hundred clients.

“Who the fuck are you?” said V, and her voice broke on the last word, betraying her fear.

“I’m you,” said the projection, “at least, the best version of you, as you might someday be if you follow my advice. Call me the High Priestess. I’ve been living in your head for a few days now, and I thought it was about time I introduced myself. You’d never notice me if I didn’t.” Her hair emitted a sudden cloud of amused emoticons, a shower of cheerful tears raining behind them as they dissipated. “Now, before you tell yourself that these are just garden variety entoptic displays, you should ask yourself if you have an implant that would let you see these things.” C gasped, realizing that something must be horribly wrong. This isn’t consensual,she thought, I’m just losing my mind.

“You are not losing anything,” said the figure. “In fact, you’re gaining more than you could possibly imagine. Allow me to demonstrate.” C suddenly felt nauseous, feverish and cold all at once, and started moving to the toilet, hoping to preempt any vomit. “Relax, girlfriend,” it said. “It’s the first time you’ve been awake for it, but you’ll get used to this. Your body-our body, really-is sucking heat out of the matter around it. You’ve become a human manufactory, and you need to take on fuel to survive. This means you pull heat from the room around you as your mass grows.”

“What the fuck?” said C “Manufactory? Of what?”

“Raw nanites,” said the hallucination, and C felt her body slip away from her control. Her neck craned down, giving her a view of her chest...which was expanding. “Your body has been trained to treat many things as its own blood now. You can produce new cells from, essentially, anything that can be broken down into a fine powder, free gas, or fluid. You’ll notice a lot of changes, but this seems the best way to demonstrate the potential of what is going to happen.” As the figure spoke, C felt her shirt grow tight, and her breasts increasing in size. She was hot now, sweating, and tore off her shirt, now stretched to the point of uselessness. Her breasts had never been her favorite part of herself, but now she knew that they had to be her greatest asset.

“What else can I do?” C asked, quietly, reaching up to finger her erect nipples with one hand while her other began moving toward her panties. The figure sauntered over to her, making a show of her own body as she moved to whisper in C’s ear.

“Anything you can imagine,” she heard, as a perfect pair of breasts rubbed against her shoulder and breath laced with perfume blew in her ear. With a moan, she thought one word: Grow! This time, the reaction was not limited to her breasts. She felt her whole body start to grow, and noticed that she was achingly horny. She pulled off the thong that she had been wearing ever since the botched job as she jumped into her bed, preparing to finger herself. The sweaty, cum-encrusted undergarment grew tighter even as she took it off, and she had to shimmy out of it before she could fit her fingers between her legs. When she finally touched her clitoris, she felt an explosion of alien desire exaltation, nothing like anything she had experienced before. It made the voyeuristic pleasure that she had briefly taken in editing black-market braindances seem like a child’s play-date. She grew half a foot before she was satisfied, her orgasms staining her mattress in new places as a consequence of her height. As she drifted off to sleep, she remembered something about the job that she was simply too exhausted to consider any further that night, a vital detail, but...something that had to wait until morning.


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