GITJ Post 379: The Tale of Queen Angie, p8

Alright, so you need me to explain? Okay, though you should have figured it all out anyway by this point, if you’ve been reading this crap, this is what I know. I’ll tell you if you need. I know not all of you weirdos pay attention.

Me? I pay attention, for sure. I listen, I ask around, I snoop. I’m able to see some of his emails. I know Melissa’s some sort of freak, that she gets studied by scientists at the drug company. I mean, I kinda knew it even back in high school. Things are way too easy for her. She changes, like physically, to get what she wants. Not just “go to the gym and get hot” kinda changes. She fucking evolves. Have a teacher that likes long legs, you need to pass American History? If you’re Melissa Monroe, a junior at Middlesex High, your legs get longer. Does your supervisor like big butts? Boom. Asszilla. Really helped at that dealership she worked at. And here, with this cretin of a doctor who wants to - what? - be a fucking worm like all you other guys these days and burrow into our fucking under-tits? She’s not just growing into some sort of Dolly Parton meets Pam Anderson the 4000cc porn star She-Hulk the Amazon Queen Kong, SHE’S MAKING HIM FUCKING SHRINK. And I think - no, I know - that it has to do with these chemicals coming off of her. They’re doing something to him, and they’re changing everyone else, all these other bimbos, too. They’re making them taller and stronger and bustier and some of them are getting fucking superpowers.

BUT WHY NOT ME?!?!!!?

I’m fucking pissed. I mean, I took this job in the first place because I wanted in. This stupid old-person medical practice is, like, ground zero for some of the shit going down. No one really tells us these things but I just know it.

This “Product” that they’re ‘studying’? ‘Testing’? What a joke. They know what it does, they’re just jumping through hoops that they could break into pieces, if they really wanted. This stuff they’re injecting is making all these study subjects into little fucking Melissas!! I’ve seen it, I’ve read some of the papers and documents that come through that are supposed to be classified or whatever. Shit that, for some reason, people like Morgan and Kathy have access to but he doesn’t?? And he’s the ‘principal investigator’? Red flag much?

I mean, I’m not a scientist but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that they’ve concocted some treatment from whatever it is that naturally makes Melissa a freak of nature and they’re trying to spread it around. So they can have a whole, what?, echelon of women that can breastfeed a small village or break spines with their bare hands?

Is “echelon” too big a word for you? Sorry. Yeah, the way I see it, Evolution Pharmaceuticals - or, probably rather, this big shadowy network of companies they’re calling 'The Collective'  is trying to create a bunch of these ‘Queen Bees’ from hand-picked women, each with their own little ‘hive’, like the thing Melissa has here with the girls (THAT I’M BEING EXCLUDED FROM). They want to make some sort of ruling class maybe, using like Melissa’s genetics or something. Is that it? Well, whatever the fuck it is I refuse to be left behind. I came here wanting to be part of this shit, but now I know too much. In fact. I don’t want to be a fucking worker bee anymore, even if it does mean growing six inches taller and knockers the size of zeppelins. I want to be a fucking Queen. The fucking Queen.

But nobody will talk to me. My calls to Evolution go unreturned. I’ve tried to weasel into, or at least listen in on, some of the meetings between these ones that I think are “agents” here - Morgan, Kathy, Karen (if that’s her real name), some of the others - but these chicks are pretty careful. My next thought is approaching the intern - Sammi. I think she knows more than she lets on, and is into something weird with the tall redhead Bianca and the big-boned one. Emily, yeah that’s her name. Even this new manager lady Olivia - the friend of his wife’s that’s never around - something’s up with her.

What else do you want to know? Oh yeah, about the prion? Didn’t think I knew about that, did you? I didn’t even know what a g-d prion was until I started reading some of the communications back and forth between these agent-girls here and Evolution. They didn’t explain too much themselves, but I did  some of my own snooping. It's been around for a while - I'm not sure how long, a few years, at least - and it changes people somehow. Not necessarily physically, but maybe it's what started everything on this…whatever. Path, trajectory that society’s taking, like, ten years ago there’s no way most girls would have wanted to be taller than their boyfriends. Back when I was in high school guys always tended to be kinda in charge. But maybe it was around then that things started to change?

Anyway, for now, I have more important things to worry about. Like, I have his suit. Yeah, someone had bought it for him, brought it to the tailor to size it down for this photoshoot thing (he'd shrunk again since they measured him for the suit). They’re doing this press event crap over the weekend, and though it sounds like he’s more an afterthought at this point, they want him to at least look put-together. The news station was sending people over today to get some footage, take some pictures for a news piece they’re doing to cover the grand opening of the new wings, which - technically- wasn't until Monday but there’s like this little ceremony or whatever, some party with the new staff this Friday. So, yeah, I thought, if I hijacked his suit, I could get in on some more of the action.

“Heyyy! You’re awake!” I sang, busting into his office that morning with my friendliest, most bubbly office-girl voice. I wanted to make him comfortable, and I knew he’d basically been avoiding me since the party downtown where I’d come on maybe a little too strong for him to handle. So yeah I can play the bimbo when I need to. “So…I have your suit, and we need to get you dressed. It’s almost eleven and your photoshoot’s in a half hour!”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he answered, looking up from whatever he’d been doing on his computer. He didn’t look well, kinda squirrely. Immediately he started nervously smushing down the bed-head of hair that he was sporting. “And, uh, good morning Angie,” he finally said.

“Good morning to you!” I sang back. Of course I noticed the cot in the corner with the rumpled sheets. The girls had snuck him some of Katarina’s breastmilk yesterday, I heard, and it had eventually knocked him out for more than twelve hours. I’d filed that under “another weird thing I’ve got to figure out” in my brain and moved on, but not until I’d grabbed the bottle of leftover milk still in the breakroom fridge and hid it away.

“Speaking of good mornings, I haven’t had my daily kiss yet!” I chirped (yes I can chirp if I want to). I saw the look that came across his face but I moved in on him anyway, laying the suit I held on its hanger down flat on his desk and leaning over, towards him. I’d made the mistake of wearing this high-necked black sweaterdress today, with these crazy shoulder pad things; something with some cleavage would have been useful for this moment. “C’mon,” I said, “You know the rules!” My face was suddenly right in front of his, and I set my eyes to flash, egging him on.

For as dumb as Melissa is, this new policy of mandatory morning greetings was a win. Even though I could tell his heart wasn’t in it, just getting him to peck me on the lips gave me the chance to exert some dominance. My tongue danced over his lips and even though he pulled away quickly I could feel him shudder.

“Watcha working on?” I asked, leaning in a bit more to look at his computer screen, rotating it towards myself. He was writing to someone, and I saw him get nervous. Was this one to that “Anderson” guy? No, it looked like he was talking to someone else.  “Some emails?”

“Y-yeah…” he answered…

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Thx to Elephantporn for the image and RiF for editing work