The new hangar was an oven, a raging furnace she couldn't escape. It was an insufferable tomb that Emma had the misfortune to swelter in. She wanted to rip open the door to let a breeze come through, but that wasn't allowed. Apparently, some of the soldiers were somehow more spooked at seeing her lazing about in the hangar. Emma thought it rather stupid. If she really wanted to terrify them them, she could burst through the walls, march across the base, crushing anything and anyone in her path. The guards were truly pathetic if they believed closed doors offered them any protection.

It was neither here nor there to her. More important things needed attending to such as this grand feast before her. A convoy of trucks had just hauled in all kinds of meat, the drivers scurrying away, desperate to avoid being around her for any longer than they needed to be. The largest of such vehicles barely reached her ankle in height now. She sat cross-legged, leaned forward and picked one up only to then accidentally crushed it between her fingers. Emma frowned. Mulched meats, scrap and oil dirtied her fingers. Wiping it on her hips, she took the next and applied a more gentle approach. With all the grace and tenderness and care she could muster, she gently plucked up the next truck and then squashed it in a similar fashion. She grit her teeth. A vein bulged on her forehead. She rose a fist, slammed it down, eradicating a section of the convey on her left.

The few trucks remaining at her right settled after the quake. They carried enough to feed a division of men for a month. For her, each tiny truck was just providing her with just a small bite to eat. Hunger pangs rose. Her stomach rumbled, its intensity rumbling the hangar. Breathing in to calm her temper, Emma tried once more. She pinched it up, dragged it through the air as delicate as she could, craned her neck back and let the food drop in her mouth. A flood of salvia came. Her taste buds were overwhelmed, forcing her to moan and then sigh in delight. The kitchen staff outdid themselves. This was much better than the god-awful rations the scientists concocted for her. Supposedly, some mashed-together cube made in some lab was all she needed to fulfil her dietary needs. Having actual real food like this was a luxury, one she had not even realised she missed since her transformation. She took hold of the next truck in the same careful fashion and had her next bite.

Now that she was even taller, there were a lot of things that seemed like luxuries now. Grabbing hold of things without breaking them was one problem. The more mundane things like bedrolls or mattresses were replaced only a thin sheet on the floor. All she had for choice of clothing was these singlets. It was there, eating alone, Emma realised one other thing. There was a great deal of loneliness now. Sure, she was surrounded by scientists and military men of great distinction, but they were on official duties. None of them saw Emma beyond their obligations or duties. So many people around, yet so alone.

I don't need them.

Friends was something others could spend their time fretting over. Splendid clothing, gourmet food, all frivolities, all districations. She did not need luxury or comfort. Being this powerful was enough, being a weapon its own reward. That is what she was. A weapon, a tool, one being honed day after day, test after test. She would be unleashed one glorious day, let loose upon the Commonwealth. Her time would come. That was all she wanted.

Stabs came from her gut. She sighed to herself. It was a lie, one well told, but not enough. Maybe having a friend until that day came wouldn’t be too bad. The hangar was awfully dull without company. She had already scared Larry off for good. He suffered enough under her. Those guards of hers would probably run for their lives if she wanted a chat after hearing and seeing what she does to those around her. There was one last person. Her mind conjured images of that tiny major. Small, frail, little Jack. She scoffed. She must be desperate for some companionship if she was thinking Jack was in any way a friend. Emma had only been playing around with him, but really though, he was asking for it. If he wasn’t just so by the books and stuck up on the procedures, if he could pull his head out from those pages and admire her strength and beauty, she wouldn’t have sought to rough him up so harshly. Twirling her hair, Emma felt a niggling creep around her crotch. She bit her lip.

I guess... one friend couldn't hurt.

Jack probably felt embarrassed, too afraid to admit his love for her body, how the sight of her made his heart skip a beat. Such a tease, such a naughty awful tease. A fine handsome man, cool and career-oriented on the outside, a horny lust-filled devil on the inside. That was him. Her vivid imagination conjured up thoughts of Jack on his knees, begging to be used as a sweat rag again, crying out to lick her armpits, desperate for a sweet sup. Sordid little Jack massaging her back, rubbing his throbbing member against her brawn, feeling out the crevices between her muscles. She felt her hardened nipples poking against her clothes. With a tut, Emma grabbed an artillery platform, tossing it in the air like ball. A decent enough distraction for now at least. 

It was not enough. Jack wiggled his way back in. Such a rare man indeed. Even bedridden after their little foreplay, he stilled looked after her. The new hanger that acted as her new home was a state-of-the-art prefab. It certainly was more expansive than the previous one, though it was in dire need of some ventilation. Food deliveries came and went, delivering fresh meals. There were even new toys to play around with. She crushed the artillery piece in her hand. He must care for her. That was his admission. He wouldn't utter it aloud, but Jack obviously craved her affection. He was too tough, too hardy to show any display of love.

Cool, caring, and above all, durable. Such a rare specimen indeed. Any regular man would have been mummified beneath several casts when hospitalised, every bone in their body broken. How he could stand and talk after that when she had destroyed tanks just by grating them along her abs, she’ll never know. One thing was for certain, everything she wanted, Jack managed to find for her. That was all the proof she needed. Jack was mad for her. He wasn't a friend, he was a lover in denial.

The sound of clacking came. Light poured in from the slit between the hangar doors. A cool breeze came in, the suffocating warmth going out. Jack emerged, the light upon his back giving his white uniform an almost heavenly glow. He wore a neck sling keeping an arm up, but that didn’t stop him from reading his notes. Stitches dotted his face, as did a few purple bruises. Emma quelled her excitement.

“Back amongst the living assistant?” Emma boomed, grabbing a tank and crushing the mighty vehicle with a mere clench. The feeling of the hull collapsing under her might calmed her. All she wanted to do was lunge forward, smother him beneath her physique, slather him with kisses, drench the little major beneath her sweat.

Focus, Emma, focus… It’s still early morning. Don’t try it yet, play it cool.

“Rest is for the dead,” Jack sniffed, “there are jobs to be done.”

She turned her head, rose a hand to her ear. There was an awkward silence.

“You heard me the first time,” he flicked a page.

Silence again. She heard him huff.

“This isn’t time for games. You have a test soon.”

Emma stared at him, pouting furiously, “is this any way to treat your better my assistant?”

“I’m a major first, your assistant second,” a click came. That infernal pen, that acursed notepad. Even worse, under his shoulder was that clipboard. Emma could feel her blood boiling.

Stop looking at them and pay me attention you shit.

“Do I need to remind you of your place assistant?” Emma rose to her feet, inched herself forward. It was hard to control herself. He was just so much smaller now after her little growth spurt. Jack was equal to her big toe. She brought her foot right to his face and giggled. 

“You were such a good towel, cleaning up all that sweat for me. Maybe you deserve a promotion… would you be just as good cleaning the dirt off my toes?” She wiggled them, taunting him. Emma turned around and squatted down such that her thick meaty ass loomed above him. Digging out her singlet from between her cheeks, Emma giggled, "maybe you can go for a roam between these hills if you do a good job..."

Much to her infuriation, Jack kept writing. He took one look up, rose an eyebrow, and returned to his notes.

“The towel situation is still being attended to.”

Attended to? What does that mean? No matter, no matter... he's just trying to throw you off.

“Aww,” she scooted round and patted his head gently. She tittered as her fingertip unsettled his beret and ruffled his buzz cut, “was it really so bad for you?”

Confess Jack, you know you loved it. Why else would you come back? You want some more fun with me. Just admit it...

“It was inefficient.”

Emma retracted her finger and stared disbelievingly at him. “What?” 

“Inefficient. Before, it could have worked, that arrangement,” he tapped the pen on his forehead then went back to writing, “your growth, however, as noted here by the research team, has led to you becoming some hundred foot taller. Standing at two hundred feet, using me as a stand-in for a towel would be a waste of time, too much skin for me to cover. We would be here all day. The production team are pushing themselves to manufacture a towel appropriate for your new size.”

It was hard for Emma’s mind to process. She first assumed he was acting, that Jack was simply playing the hard man, the stoic solder, not showing weakness nor fear for a single moment. Then she thought he was crazy. Who would think about efficiency at time like that? He was blank, expressionless. Jack was a blank slate, not a man. A man would react with emotion. A man would respond with thoughts, feelings of disgust or fear or list. No. He was nothing. Just engrossed in work, his analysis, his forms and procedures. And where is the fun in that? 

What in God's name is wrong with you?

“My arm hurts is all. Don’t worry about it. Worry about the test. One of the heads has taken a real shine to you.”

Emma blinked. She spoke. She spoke her thoughts aloud and she wanted to smack herself for it. Jack was still writing something. 

“Don’t you hate me,” Emma leaned close, her breath nearly sweeping Jack away, “hate me for all that?”

He shrugged, turned his back and walked to the hangar doors. “If it keeps you happy, I have no issues or complaints.”

Happy? You think I'm happy? Being a test subject, sitting around all day squashing tanks and taking orders from bugs? Alone, all alone?

“Keeps me happy?” she boomed angrily, “you think I’m some fucking pet or something? Something you pat on the head, feed a little treat and watch it dance for you?”

Jack looked up and met her gaze. He was motionless, unflinching, resolute.

"No." There was no fear in his voice. He did not tremble, he did not baulk. Jack stood firm and peered directly into her with a hard glare.

Silence stifled the hangar. Emma expected him to continue, but Jack remained quiet. He wasn't even bothering with his notes, that how serious he was taking this matter. Either he was assessing the best way to disarm her, or he simply didn't have any more to say. Both infuriated her. Jack scoffed, turned away to the hangar doors and waited as if to usher her out. Emma was panting, enraged, ready to stamp on him, crush that blank expression as a red stain on the floor. She took a heavy step forward, stamping her foot down for extra emphasis. He must see her as a plaything. That thought incensed Emma.

“No?” she growled, “then what am I?”

“You are Private Emma, currently seconded to the Research Division of the Union's Armed Forces. I am your assistant, an attache, but also a commanding officer. Your well-being as a soldier is my utmost concern.”

She caught her breath. That boiling rage simmered down into a gentle calm that washed over her. She blinked at him, then she grinned. He had chosen the right words to disarm her. Smart, yet so frustrating. He wasn’t buckling whatsoever. One would think he didn’t want her. All the other men did. They loved her body, wished they could get a similar treatment that Jack received. Handsome, honest, cool, brave. Stamping him into a stain would be a waste. He was being sly, downright devious at hiding his love.

“That’s... nice of you.”

Jack nodded, "I told you. Anything you need, come to me."

Smooth, so very smooth. God, how you toy with me, my little Major. It should be the other way around.

"Will do," she huffed, "assistant."

Her womanhood ached. It was a testament to her willpower not to leap on him that instant. The more he tried to hide his affections, the more Emma wanted to ravage him. The Major never gave ground. He could withstand her perverted displays, her marvellous feats of strength, her indomitable rage. He was the perfect man, stoic and brave, not like all the others dotted around on this base. If only he wasn't so bound to his work. That was something she could whittle at, something that need to be chipped away. When this test was done, a little one-to-one was in order. That was the way. Strip him bit by bit until he could confess. A trip down her cleavage there, a sprinkling of massages, then a visit down south, then Jack would be hers for all time.

“You are scheduled for an ordinance test today. I hope you won’t mind being shot at.”

Emma snapped to attention, prompting her eyes to narrow.