Mike Roman had held a giantess vore crush on recent upcoming politician and former journalist Maxima Kute and enjoyed her screen time when she’d chosen to challenge the Prime Minister for his own local electoral seat. He had never contacted her or pursued her, as she had no known interest in giantess fantasies, nor any known giantess abilities. Most importantly, he had put his fantasies of her out of his mind quickly and not enterained them at all, because she was a married woman. The thought of anyone in parliament learning of his private longings would have put him off turning up to work at all. So to cover his tracks, he had even given the appearance of being a more outspoken anti-giantess activist, with the unexpected result, that he had been invited to attend this secret meeting.
“In the case of giantesses, we can hardly refer to them as ‘a minority’ if we go by the amount of space they’re known to take up,” quipped another MP, even though he knew full well that the term really referred to a numerical minority, rather than the size of any particular woman concerned.”
“So we’re all agreed then. The GTS Anti-Bomb must be detonated,” said the Prime Minister, “And since we can’t risk Operation Giantess Fall being leaked out to anyone outside this room, we cannot involve any of our own security staff. I alone will help to detonate the bomb. The scientist will be in attendance, instructing me on the measures necessary to help him activate the two person controls for the detonation sequence. The rest of you will be on the site to act only as watchdogs and security staff, and witnesses to a scientific accident gone wrong, should anyone overfly the area and observe our little blow-up. Now that I have your unanimous support, I can reveal that the scientist’s complex is constructed in the most unviable part of rural New South Wales, where no farming community would ever come into existence. From the underground silo, the scientist and I will launch a miniature missile, which will carry the GTS Anti-Bomb to a suitable height for remote control detonation. The scientist assures me that, once in the air, the released gas will spread and spread and wipe out every giantess, and every shrinking male for that matter, in the country. Whatever drifts offshore might even provide the same service of giantess extermination to another continent.”
“Let’s hope the kiwis are not feeling sheepish about the whole giantess business,” said the same punster who had spoken a few minutes earlier.” (He was definitely not in Carycomic’s league, neither with the quality nor the sentiment of his witticisms).
“We should use this recording to reassign everyone in that cabinet meeting from parliament to Long Bay Jail,” said Smartman.
“Everyone except our inside man Mike Roman,” said Vector Small.
“That’s taken as read,” said Ann O’Malley, “I think Louise and I could use her own technology to work out how to modify both the missile and the bomb, so that, when they try to launch it, instead of leaving their silo to reach a suitable height for detonation, the rocket itself will implode, and release an effect that will shrink the entire complex right out of this universe. They can take their evil plans down to whatever sub-molecular realm that the Sons of Molech ended up calling their new home. I’m so glad you told me about them, by the way. Nice to know what really facilitated Red Mol all those years. I’ve never even been able to discuss these matters with my own family.”