Mikhail clenched the accelerator trigger on the large iron steering ring, and the flatbed followed him down the white tiled corridor. He passed double-doors pasted with warning signs; he rolled past lab windows crisscrossed with wire. At the end of the hall he crouched to slide his lanyard through a card reader, and an electromagnetic bolt thunked off. Reinforced doors heaved open and he dragged the flatbed into a cavernous warehouse.
Spheres of light strained around the perimeter of the ceiling. Around Mikhail were heavily used steel shelving units, chemical showers, spare parts for a wide range of machinery and equipment. At the other end, it looked like gigantic cybernetic spiders had tripped balls on shrooms and shat girders and rebar all across the floor. Mikhail steered the flatbed into the wicked titanium nesting, guiding its sturdy rubber tires up a switchback ramp. Here, the DC motor complained loudly about hauling the massive tank of synthetic protein and arginine slurry.
"Dinner time, Beauty," Mikhail called out, rounding the second ramp by her hip. "Two more minutes."
The third ramp led past the vast pale blue wall of her ribs, ever-so-slightly moving with her deep, unconscious breathing. Every clomping step of his boots brought him closer to her armpit. The anxiety rose here: all she had to do was close her arm to her side in the depths of her slumber, and that would be the end of Mikhail, the latest in a long line of maintenance crewmembers losing their lives to the composite giantess's construction. But she did not, and Mikhail reached the landing beneath her shoulder, where he parked the slurry tank and extended an aluminum ladder up to her immense breast. He slung the feeding nozzle across his chest, turned on the tank motor, and the food hose jerked against his back. Chuckling nervously, he began the long trip up. "Sorry it takes me so long, Beauty. I'm not nearly as strong as you're going to be."
His HVAC suit rustled as he stepped off the ladder and picked his way carefully along the log of her collar bone, stabilizing himself against her jaw with one gloved hand. He cast his gaze down the forbidden territory, where her breasts spread and sagged down her ribs, where her chest and belly rose and fell with her inhalation. Only sanitation was permitted down there, and Mikhail's jurisdiction was strictly nutrition. Still, no one could stop him from glancing.
She stretched out, cradled in the differential nesting designed to diffuse her astounding tonnage evenly. Her arms reached away, ending at the elbow: her forearms, lower legs, hands, and feet were being aggregated and composed in other labs throughout the country. When complete, Beauty would stand over 30 meters tall.
Mikhail's suit crinkled loudly as he leaped to grab her chin and hauled himself upon it. He apologized to her, tugging on her fat bottom lip, struggling to straddle her chin. He caught his breath and stared down at the glistening rows of large teeth, the next hurdle of dread for him. Planting his boot upon her upper incisors and wrapping his gloves around her lower, he strained his entire body to pry her jaws apart. "Oh, please don't fight me, Beauty," he groaned, "I'm just trying to help." In a minute of intense effort he'd widened her mouth enough to admit the feeding nozzle: her teeth clacked around it, making him wince. He hit the Dispense button, the cart engine roared, and lukewarm protein slurry blasted over her tongue and into the bottomless pit of her throat.
Mikhail rested his arm upon her upper lip and his forehead upon his arm, watching hundreds of gallons of nutrients disappear into the colossal woman. Her nostril slowly blew against his HVAC hood as he stroked her lip tenderly. "Such a magnificent Beauty you are. Why would they use you for war, when this world is starved for all the love you could share?"
So the months went, until her lower limbs were complete. The desultory titanium nesting was modified to raise the giantess to a seated position, and she regally surveyed in increasingly busy warehouse of science techs and maintenance. A cherry-picker reached out over her shoulder, carrying a sole worker who was giving her a haircut. The extensive ropy tendrils weighed heavily upon her scalp, and he used a flame-blade to sear off the excess, leaving her with a sharp bob around her jawline, as it happened.
Mikhail clenched the iron steering ring and passed a couple bickering scientists stationed by her right foot. They argued over her recent time trials, how some days she navigated the countryside swiftly and nimbly, and other days she was either sluggish or outright resistant to taking instructions. One argued, to the ridicule of the other, that perhaps the giantess was receiving environmental cues, perhaps even reinforcement from certain staff. Mikhail's startled reaction was absorbed by the HVAC suit, and he headed to the service lift between her ankles.
Beauty had upgraded to solid food mass, a Total Mixed Ration that resembled a subcompact car made out of beef jerky, balanced upon his badly abused flatbed. Mikhail rubbed her big toenail for luck before guiding the enormous mass onto the lift and punching the Up button.
The giantess's knobby ankle smoothed out to a long, smooth shin and the chiseled bulge of her powerful calf, all coated in light turquoise skin. He looked down at the scientists, dwarfed by her mere toes. All she had to do was raise her huge foot, twist her heel, and bring it gently down upon those two little pegs in white coats.
One of the little white pegs turned and yelled up at him. "Ty che, blyad? Romanov, get away from there!" Mikhail halted the service lift between her huge knees and looked behind him. The man on the cherry-picker had been stroking her massive breast, right there in front of everyone. "Just clearing the fallen hairs away," he explained, laughing, but his superiors ordered the picker operator to hustle him down to them.
Mikhail hit the Up button once more and rose above the long, muscular thighs draped in long auburn cables that stank as they smoldered. He ascended the featureless plain of her belly, no navel required, and on between her mammoth, protruding breasts, surrounding him in pale blue. Her broad sternum drifted by, then the dimple between her collarbones, leading to her capacious throat and proud jaw. He halted the lift in front of her wide, thick lips.
"Dinner time, Beauty," he hollered, pounding his fist against her bottom lip. Reflexively she opened her jaws, revealing the shadowy cavern of her mouth. Her molars shone in the humid dark, and the bed of her tongue glistened wetly before him. Mikhail gripped the rail of the lift, fighting the rush of vertigo. His tiny body strained against the instinct to step onto her tongue and leap into her throat's wide, slick tunnel. Instead, he hit the lift's buzzer, and a moment later a huge hand hovered beside him like a helicopter. Long, shapely fingers unfurled and plucked the TMR bar off the flatbed as though it were weightless. She hauled the mass between her lips, less than a meter from where Mikhail stood, and her teeth drove into the compressed material.
"Oh, my God," he whispered, as he did every day at lunch.
The incisors sliced cleanly into the TMR bar, without resistance, and her fingers jerked the rest away. Mikhail stared in an ecstasy of terror and awe, watching the gallons of saliva dump from her cheeks' interiors, mixing with the huge chunks of TMR before being shoved onto the rippling molars. Beauty's immense tongue was frighteningly dexterous and strong, and it seemed longer than Mikhail was tall. He'd have to lie down upon it to be sure. The gory slosh of mastication washed over him (who could teach the giantess to chew with her mouth closed?) as he stood hypnotized by the profound physical action. She shoved in the rest of the bar and ground it up, while Mikhail stood right outside her lips, watching her jaw rise and fall within arm's reach.
His role fulfilled, he turned away reluctantly and hit the Down button, and the massive slopes of her breasts expanded around him and the flatbed. He saw the two scientists and Romanov had ceased arguing and were staring up at him, by her big toe.
One week later, in the middle of the night, Mikhail carefully guided the flatbed to the service lift. It bore a long tub that gurgled and splashed as he rose between her massive legs, up into her bosom. There he halted and triggered the giantess with one of her programmed phrases: "Good morning, Beauty."
Above him, her huge eyes slowly opened and rolled down to gaze upon him. Her auburn hair swept forward, casting shadows about her blank expression. "What is?" Her voice boomed in the darkness.
"Shush, shush, Beauty, a little quieter," Mikhail hissed up to her. He instructed her to carefully lift the tub to the platform and pick up the flatbed. He marveled at her huge fingers, delicately performing each task with precision and ease. This fine-motor accomplishment underscored why Beauty was out of time, having met certain performance parameters. He peeled off his HVAC suit, climbing out of the boots and gloves, staring longingly at the gentle slopes of her breasts. "Now, tear it in half."
Her huge, round eyes blinked slowly at him.
"The cart, the flatbed, please Beauty. Tear it up!" He tossed his shirts aside and stepped out of his jeans, and he lay down naked in the tub. The giantess simply pinched one end of the flatbed between thumbs and forefingers, and the quiet night was pierced with the shriek of abused metal. An alarm bleated in the labs.
"What is?" she repeated, staring at him as he floated in solution.
It took much effort to control his voice, but he did it for her. "Modified citrus bath. Stripping off my skin, making me softer. Please, open your chest."
The torn steel flashed in the darkness, between her fingertips. "What doing?"
"Please, Beauty, open your chest and let me in."
Her eyes widened. "Don't want. Care Mikhail. Help Mikhail." Her head turned toward the secure double-doors he had blocked with a work table and heavy cabinets, beyond which loud hammering and soft swearing could be heard.
Mikhail gasped as the first two layers sloughed off. "They will kill you, Beauty. They will treat you badly and hurt you."
"Beauty strong." Still she held the wrenched sheet of metal beside the service lift.
"They'll use you to hurt other people, Beauty." He cried out, his nerves exposed and on fire. "They'll take you away from me."
"No take."
It grew harder for Mikhail to form words. "Put me inside you, Beauty. I can stay with you forever."
The immense woman didn't wait another second, but plunged the torn flatbed into her breast and jerked it aside. Her nerves were deadened for combat, exactly as Mikhail's weren't, and already the gouge was healing at the corners. Huge fingers scooped the delirious man from the bath, cupping him carefully as her other hand reached into her chest and pried two ribs apart. She inducted Mikhail to her chest. Blindly he reached into her heat and moisture, groping toward her thunderous pulse.
There was a crash and the alarms blared louder as the warehouse lights flashed on. There were shouts and then gunfire. Mikhail was beyond this, wrapping his searing arms around Beauty's heart, and immediately her muscles knitted into him. He exhaled, and a thin tube emerged to follow the air and seal against his mouth.
Mikhail was soothed as her metabolism absorbed him. Her heart throbbed within his full-bodied embrace. She rose from her throne and charged out of the warehouse, into the night.