Killer Legs – 1: 'Instruction Alpha'
Written by lowerbase :: [Monday, 19 March 2018 03:11] Last updated by :: [Monday, 19 March 2018 08:34]
3:00 AM, David and Larry opened together yet another Coke. The long hours underneath the Earth, the constant vibration on the suspended platform from hundreds of Cyclotrons running day and night, gave both of them the dark eyes.
Both knew very little about what the machines do. Hundreds of particle accelerators, it was all they knew. They were no scientists. They were just Communication graduates looking for a job.
Their actual job there seemed unrelated with a quantum lab.
Larry and David were instructed to feed ‘alternative universe parameters’ into a terminal, and be imaginative and craft dozens of different alternative reality plots each night. What for? They didn’t know. Nothing ever happened. They also couldn’t tell or ask anyone about it. They could only talk among themselves and the project supervisor, and at those hours, no one else stayed down there.
After months on the project, they were running out of ideas.
“Entering scope parameters for Alpha,” David said as he pressed the microphone button to speak with the AI: “Gary Johnson won the 2016 election with 99.999% of the votes. Process Alpha.”
On the terminal screen, the AI replied: ‘Starting Cyclotrons, approximated time for full alignment: 10 minutes.’ The humming elevated as the large capacitors above the machines charged and started to heat.
David released the microphone and threw the notepad over his table. “My girlfriend keeps asking about what I do every night. She thinks I’m cheating on her,” said David.
“What do you say to her?” Larry asked back.
“That I babysit a dumb AI with fake stories.”
“Haha. No, seriously…”
“Why are you always so interested in Cat, Larry?”
“Me? No. Well… Cat’s hot. I mean, fit, I mean, she’s… super cool. She’s kind of a celebrity, right? It must be cool.”
David rested his back and head on his chair, and took a deep breath, “I don’t know. Cat has this whole legion of guys following her on Instagram. But that’s it. Catherine ‘Cat’ Quadzilla. The worst thing is that she likes the name. At times she is like 15 years old, Larry. Full of herself because a picture got some ten thousand pointless clicks, and completely forgets anything else. She doesn’t ever remember to feed my dog for hours. But now it is happening every day. I thought she would grow over it but is getting worse, she’s addicted. Wanting to top her views each time higher, like she does with the weights. Like both are connected. She’s crazy. And another thing, athletic chicks are the hottest thing, I always went after them since forever, but Cat’s legs are getting scary. Like, they are almost freakish. They’re too strong too. She can crush my skull. Easy. She showed me once a trick with a melon, pretending it was my head. She blew it right open like popping a balloon. How can’t I be intimidated? I tell her that her legs are big enough. All the time. She just laughs at me, like she likes to hear that. Like I’m complimenting. Or that I’m scared. She can’t even find pants for her size anymore; all Cat has to wear are those leggings and yoga pants. The only things that still fit across those damn heavy legs that take most of our bed. I’m being serious that she’s taking it too far, but Cat doesn’t listen, Cat doesn’t skip a single leg day. We can’t even travel without her planing her gym schedule. Her big ass hardly fit the economy class anymore, Larry. I can’t afford business class tickets all the time. And her thousands of followers only asking her to grow them bigger. To take more pictures. To do a youtube channel. Pictures that I have to take, all the time. She doesn’t let me sleep more than a few hours before wanting me to snap more pictures of those gigantic legs, just because ‘her wet hair looks good,’ or ‘it’s sunset’, like she doesn’t understand I have to sleep during the day to work here at night. To pay for stuff. Those damning fans of hers pays zero. And Cat listens to these fans like they’re super important, more important than me or her family or her friends. Cat’s crazy.”
Larry was hard as hell, rather than being bored by David’s rant. “And the sex, is it good?”
“I wouldn’t stay with Cat if sex wasn’t great. She likes to settle every discussion with sex. If I’m angry at her, she gives me sorry sex. If she’s angry at me for talking to another girl, then it is possessive crazy revenge sex til morning. I like to provoke her. It means more sex for me. She likes to be on top, with those legs of hers, she can go forever. So I like it.”
“I would do too…” Luckily, David didn’t hear that.
“I’m going to take a dump. Babysit the AI for me,” David said taking the newspaper, the only thing allowed underground to pass time.
Larry heard the ding from the computer terminal and read the message: ‘Scope Fully Attainable for Alpha, Cyclotrons standby.’
“Always the same thing,” Larry said at the cryptic line. With that, the AI would stop receiving commands. There was only one screen button available in the simplified control application: ‘exit operation,’ not much of an option. He pressed it and the humming from the machines stopped and the AI came back online for new instructions.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Cat since he met her in real life. She was taller than he expected, making her strong muscular legs more impressive than he ever expected. Her mass had a feminine flow unlike most muscular girls of her size, ready to crush anything in between. Startled was the word. She crossed her thighs in front of him making his blood boil, and when she stood up, he would never forget the overhanging of her muscles over her knees. So much power. She could kick a ball to the Moon. He had to see her pictures again.
Having no other computer or phone allowed down there, he went to the AI terminal and opened the mic, and said “go to www.girlswithmuscle.com,” which is a photo site for girls with muscle.
“Search ‘Catherine ‘Cat’ Quadzilla’,” he said. The AI was smart enough to figure out how to navigate the site.
The muscly girl had hundreds of her Instagram pictures posted there, all with high raking. He could recognize her round face and bangs a mile away, “David is so lucky… she’s a dream come true.” Her upper body had the bulk of a seasoned lifter with pronounced biceps and delts, a muscular waist that seemed too thin for her own good, but was her lower body that was completely in a different category, which she loved to show off. If covered, those bulges were wrapped in skintight thigh-high socks, all sorts, colors and styles of leggings, skimpy cosplays, and other suggestive choices. Even in more upscale settings, her squat champion glutes would explode her tacky jeggings if she flexed further. Cat was a classic exhibitionist, he thought. Larry noticed that David appeared nowhere in hundreds of her pictures, like he didn’t exist in her online life. In them, there was always someone in the background reacting to their fantastic shape, somewhat shocked, as they should be. “So fucking sexy…” Larry wiped off his drool as he noticed a new picture, and pressed the mic button to instruct the AI, “click on Cat winking with a Supergirl costume.” Hundreds pressed ‘favorite’ on it already. Front page. She was one of the biggest fishes in that pound. Cat’s bubble butt and her online pixie-girl persona gained the front-page every week. To Larry, she was a star in her own right.
“What are you doing, man?” David came back already.
It was too late to hide the screen, Larry had to improvise, “looking for… for unlikely parameters to feed the AI.”
“Yeah, right. You are looking at my girl!”
Larry had to think fast, “because you… her… gave me an idea.”
Larry looked at Cat’s Supergirl picture again; the red short skirt did nothing to hide her already legendary thighs. The ‘S’ from her top gave him an idea, “S… superpowers.”
“What the fuck you are talking about?”
“Look… with any parameters, the results are always the same. Hitler winning the war? ‘Scope Attainable.’ Nicholas Cage winning five Oscars? ‘Scope Attainable.’ What if we tried something entirely fictional, like comics? Really different for once. Isn’t what they are looking for? Something ‘Not’ ‘Attainable’? Maybe we’ll get a raise.”
David didn’t bought it, “do you want to play Weird Science here? Do you think the smartest guys up there wouldn’t have tried fictional parameters already? They said to stick with election results this time and… were you giving my girlfriend superpowers? Didn’t I just told you that she is crazy?”
“No! Not her… of course, not Cat. I don’t care for Cat. Sure I don’t care. I was thinking of… huh, every girl on this site going super. What the heck, right?”
“Right…” David went along with Larry bullshitting him. “Which parameters? Go on, show me,” David put the large microphone on Larry’s mouth.
“On the mic?”
David nodded, “on the mic.”
Larry stood up pressed the mic button, he didn’t expect David to go all the way with this. He walked around the platform carrying the microphone and trying to sound as serious as he could: “entering scope parameters for Alpha,” said Larry to the AI, not really knowing what to say, giving him pause.
David encouraged Larry, “go on.”
“The most, hmm… popular girls at this site have… hmm… Superman’s powers…”
’Define Parameter: ‘most popular,’’ had written the AI on the terminal’s control application. David just raised his eyebrows at how sloppy his coworker’s instructions were.
A world populated with superwomen has always been a major fantasy for Larry, and it made him even more uncomfortable to continue under David’s scrutiny, “hmm… well… the scale of their superpowers is proportional to their popularity on the site… you know, those who have more favorites gets, more… more size and power than the rest.”
David took the microphone from Larry’s hand hastily, “and multiply that by the size of their thighs.”
“What was that for?”
David released the microphone button, “yeah, Larry. Stop with this shit show. You have a thing for Cat… or her big thighs, I don’t know. After Cat met you, she told me that ‘toyed’ with you. That you lost your voice each time she flexed her ‘quadzillas’ in front of you. While waiting for me, she made you have some ‘funny faces’, right? I thought she was exaggerating, but she does have some sort of radar for gym stalkers like you. Are you stalking Cat? Do I need to be worried?”
“No… of course not! Cat’s crazy, David. You said yourself. Look at me. I wear thick glasses. I’m fat. I never went into a gym in my life. Do I look like the type who likes muscular girls? I bet she thinks that of every guy, that everyone is into her big legs. Or maybe it is a test, man. She was testing you. Relax, dude, Jesus…” and Larry dismissed David as if he was paranoid, grabbed the microphone and pressed its button, “process Alpha.”
On screen, the AI gave the message acknowledging the fateful command: ‘Starting Cyclotrons, approximated time for full alignment: 200 minutes.’
“200 minutes? Fucking great, now we are stuck here for another hour. Thanks, Larry.”
“Fuck you, David.”
They felt the Cyclotrons vibration revving up much faster and stronger than the usual, and then stronger still.
“Is that normal?” David asked.
“It is better to abort it,” Larry pressed the mic button: “abort instruction Alpha.”
It wasn’t stopping.
The capacitors started to glow like lamps, Larry and David’s faces felt the waves of heat from hundreds of sparking Cyclotrons in front of them, making the platform they were standing to quake. David took the microphone from Larry, “abort all operations. Damn, why it is not stopping? Abort everything!”
The big coils screeched loud static noises, and a cloud of violet plasma formed over the machines. Larry never saw anything like it. “Abort Alpha, your dumb AI bitch!”
David glanced at the computer terminal, “Larry, where is the freaking control app?”
They ran to the terminal and suddenly the whole screen went blue.
“Shit, it is a forced Windows 10 update!”
“We are doomed!”