I knew shortly after her body had turned into nothing more than chunky hamburger that killing Keyla Reynolds was a mistake. She had passed the test. Made the minimum weight requirements. What she didn’t know was that I heard her alarm for the four-hour mark come and go and just kept sitting on her for almost another two hours. Her body in that suit slowly creaking and crunching underneath me every time I shifted just a tiny bit felt fucking amazing. It was a high unlike I had ever experienced and it resulted in her death. The look on her face, one of object horror and grim realization as I removed the top of her suit is one that still leaves me warm and fuzzy on the inside.
I sit inside my manufactured apartment. Bruises from last night’s gang beating are still fresh and tender and my hair is chunky from the dried blood. Most of the consorts down here laugh at the irony that I had once strength tested them for their initial evaluation and now I was one of them. I stared at myself in the mirror. Sharp cheekbones and sunken eyes stared back. When I had first become shrunk I had maintained the 160 that I was shrunk at. But as the months had passed on and my family had slowly learned that their baby girl had killed somebody because “it felt good” I had frankly stopped giving a fuck.
The doctor had warned me that if I had let myself loose anymore weight they were going to downgrade me from durable to a petite model. That was twenty pounds ago. I was mildly healthy. I weighed 120lbs and was told that I needed start doing strength training or the first person that took me out was going to kill me. From what I understood, what you weighed when you were big was what you could withstand naturally while being shrunk. Anybody under 130 when shrunk down was considered petite, 130 to 160 was durable 160 to 200 tough, and over 200 usually got enlisted in the special arms forces because ‘hard-to-break’ didn’t go well with marketing. Since I had lost weight, that had considerably lowered what I could withstand and my manager wasn’t happy with me.
Let me backtrack a little. Shortly after Keyla’s death word had got out that the most experienced consort at Micro Inc. was dead, and it was my fault. People were demanding justice. The footage from her camera from the day was presented to a board of the courts and whilst I followed protocol and almost everything I had done was inside the legal limits, I had removed half of her suit and then killed her. Which were grounds for murder of the first degree, if Micro Inc. chose to pursuit it.
This had prompted a decision because they had a slot open in the entertainment industry that now needed filling; I was going to fill it. The only other option was a 20-year jail sentence for the charge of criminal negligence. I only had to finish out Keyla's contract, which was two years. Simple enough I thought.
This has caused me to laugh. I had spent the last six months going through a grueling training regimen on the inner workings of the suit and the best ways to survive under someone, inside someone. Every situation that could be done to a consort I was briefed on, because after the training the two-year period of servitude started, and it wasn’t indentured servitude, more like really good paying house arrest. With the occasional/almost nightly getting the shit kicked out of me. So I lost weight, stopped giving a fuck, and passed training as an official Micro Incorporated Entertainment worker. Joy to the fucking world.
A firm knocks stirred me from my reverie and I got up and answered the door only wearing a worn brown bathrobe. A security officer was standing on the other side of the door. She was my age, pretty, and had a long scar running down her head and neck, presumably down the rest of her body as well. “Miss Rowen, there is a inmate here who would like to see you.”
“And if I say no?” she was eyeing the bruises I had, as I had been eyeing the scars that she had.
“It looks like you’ve had a rough night I could bring him back tomorrow or on your next day off? Have people been giving you issues around here? Do I need to be having a talk with your manager? Maybe get you moved to a more secure facility?
“It won’t change anything, everybody knows who I am and they feel the same way about it. so no matter where I get moved, somebody is going to have beef with me.”
A deep voice sounded from down the hall, “I for one, Stephanie don’t have an issue with you.”
The security officer whirled to the man and stared at him coldly. “I told you not to speak, you the know the consequence of breaking the rules.”
I stepped into the hallway to see a guy who was built like a tank. Probably qualifying in the tough category even though he was same height as I am. He looked slightly younger than me considering that I was only 21 was saying something.
“You must be Mickey” I said. It was the only thing that made sense. Somebody who had wanted to kill Keyla and failed would definitely want to meet me.
“Indeed I am.” He held out a shackled hand for me to shake. I took and shook it lightly.
“So is this just a social call?” I looked at the officer.
“No, word trickled down that tomorrow you’re getting sent out to a former friend of Keyla's, Mickey just wanted you to know that he is this building with you. When you get back you guys should hook up. Sorry to cut this short, but call is in ten minutes and we have to split.” The guard said as she grabbed the baton off of her belt and motion Mickey along.
“Thanks, we’ll see you around Mickey.”
I got the call later that evening. I was going out on my first assignment tomorrow. It wasn’t by choice and the person had specifically requested me which means they knew what had happened to Keyla and they were either really happy about and wanted to congratulate me or pissed and wanted revenge. At some point in the evening I had drifted into a fit-full sleep and the dream that had been playing on repeat everyday since the trial played in my head.
I’m sitting in the court room. A lawyer beside me, A Micro Inc. representative at the table across from me and in the middle of the room a TV with my ass on it. its from the camera on Keyla’s suit and the clarity of the screen shows the bits of suit and her blood that have broken off. They press the play button and my hand comes back and removes the top half of the suit. keeping the top part in my hand and with my free hand I pull up my thong and army shorts. A wet crunch fills the screen, Its just after I had sat down on her again. The hand holding the free part of the suit goes to rest on the seat of the stool, right next to keyla’s head. She muttering incoherently, oxygen deprived and almost everything broken I don’t blame her. The camera can see the bottom of my ass rise up and slam down back into the stool. Another wet crunch. Loud cracks are emanating from under me and then a soft squelch sound . I lift off and look for blood, the suit doesn’t see anything and at that point neither had I so I slammed back into the chair again. At first the only sounds are sharp cracks, as I break every last bit of her and the suit into soup; it isn’t until the I am hearing sickening squelching sound that are similar to the sucking sounds your boots make in mud that the version of me on the screen settles back onto the stool. I had squeezed my hand after the high that I had experienced so hard that the top of the suit had crumpled into pieces. I hear the gavel at the out roar of the court and I go to leave when I feel myself being shaken.
“Jesus, are you hard to wake or what?!” Ramsi says to me as she hurls a white camisole, fresh underwear and a pair of shorts onto the bed. “You have ten minutes until the client is here to pick you up, that also means you need a shower, and put on some damn make up you look like you got ran over by a truck.” I sigh inwardly. Ramsi became my caseworker and technical manager shortly after the trial, she was Keyla’s manager and then wanted to become mine to make sure that I didn’t get fed to the wolves of the first bidder who wanted to kill me.
By the time I was out of the shower and had clothes on the bell in my room was ringing signaling that I was wanted at one of the stores. Since it was as 3o minute commute I the client would be called when I was in a suit and ready to go. I was pinning my hair back and looking in the silver glass wall that made up the transport. “You still look like hell. That should improve when you get into the suit.” Ramsi said as she grabbed a couple of my pins and pinned my braid to the back of my head. “I wish you hadn’t lost so much weight, or at least had started doing the resistance training as I had asked. Now you’re going to the field with a maximum weight of 115 and the person who requested you, weighs 230, you know how much struggle Keyla went through with you. And that was only 45lbs this is almost 120. I tried to help you Stephanie I really did, but I would suggest you call your loved ones because I don’t think you’re making out of this alive.”