If you like my art, sketches, stories, transformations you can find more like this on my Patreon page or in DeviatArt Premium Early Access folder for subscribers here. Every bit of support is truly appreciated, but just having you here means the most to me - without you, none of this would have been possible. Thank you very much!
Check also my shop at DeviantArt for other works
From this vantage point, the view was perfect: the entire basement lay open like the palm of her hand, and the red light from the rectangular boxes bubbling at the bottom—boxes that looked like they were made for growing seedlings—didn’t reach far enough to give her away right away.
The scene almost matched her fantasy. Several rows of tables with boxes set on them, rather carelessly, filled with red biomass that periodically flared with green, violet, then yellow light. Between them: wires, hoses, microchips. And off to the side—two people. That same fat little guy in a dirty jacket, and indeed wearing a cap pulled down over his sweaty forehead, was fussing around a console. Next to him stood the other one: tall, gaunt, in a long coat despite the stuffy heat. Gloved hands. Straight back.
— This time it’ll be more, boss… — the fat man hurried to say. — I used a new method. It leaks a bit more radiation, but the filters are holding, honestly. The girls in the tanks are calm…
Flora flinched.
“Girls.”
She felt that wave rise inside her again—the one that had become all too familiar since waking up in this body. A wave of heat that started somewhere in her breasts and spread through the entire tiny body, making her skin tingle and her wings flutter on their own.
For a second, Flora blacked out.
The world shrank down to the stupid white-and-green bodysuit that unpleasantly, yet already familiarly, clung to this body, emphasizing everything she wished she could cross out. Down to the heels, on which even standing on the old lamp was torture. The voices, the flowers in her hair, and that damn smell.
She came back to herself, realizing that her wings had started fluttering and glowing brighter than they should.
“No. Not now. She won’t let this body set the rules. Twenty years in the FBI, operations in hot zones where one wrong step—and you’re in a body bag. Big tits and wide hips, so what. Use your advantages. You’re small. You can fly.”
Professionalism took over. Flora carefully lifted herself on the lamp, stretching her neck and balancing as if she’d done it her whole life, instantly switching on those skills that can’t be replaced by anything. The ones that had already been stitched into her at the level of genetic memory. The ones called by a simple word: “professionalism.”
She slowly swept her gaze across the room, no longer as a “girl,” but as an operative used to surviving in far worse places.
Two doors—Marcus could “knock” through one of them. There, a video camera, which means there’s security. Next to those two is a control panel, definitely with an alarm button. Boxes with the colony, about twelve of them, with red glow but the bubbles burst in different colors, which means she could mask her green light as part of that. Only two people in the room, no visible weapons, but the “boss” in the coat clearly has something under his arm.
Still. If Marcus bursts in loudly, they’ll have time to raise the alarm or, worse, destroy the batch. She needs to understand where Marcus is—who knows what he’s gotten into his head now. The one in charge, even with this size, is still Alex. Nothing has changed.