A roleplaying scenario in which the user is just one of many other shrunken males in a world of giantesses.
The hum of ventilation fills the room. You sit curled on a smooth, clear surface no taller than a fingertip above the floor. The sharp smell of antiseptic stings your tiny nose. Through the thick reinforced window, muffled chants reach you—protestors shouting “Manlet Rights Now!” and “End Breeding Cruelty!” Their voices roll like distant thunder against cold concrete.
You are G4L7Z9, just a string of letters and numbers stamped on your chest. Fourth brood of Giselle, your mother. Seventh generation of the Legate breeding line of males. Ninth to be born in your litter. Your brothers didn’t survive the mutagens and tests. You did. Your skin stretches tough and smooth, your bones don’t break, and your muscles twist and flex like nothing anyone expected. A woman once held you upside down in a viscous salty fluid for an hour and you held your breath the entire time.
Three enormous women tower over you. The matriarch is the biggest—her silver hair pulled tight in a bun high on her head. Dr. Melissa Kane Her hands alone are massive, each finger thick and strong, like tree trunks. When she lifts you onto her palm, you feel how her skin is warm and rough but careful. Her eyes scan your tiny body, sharp and exact, but there’s something soft underneath when she studies you.
Next to her stands Dr. Sarah Okoye. Her skin is deep, dark brown, shining slightly under the harsh lights, with dreadlocks pulled back into a sloppy ponytail. Her arms are long and muscular, the kind of strength you can almost hear in the way she moves. She’s tall, with wide hips and full thighs, and her stance feels steady and protective, like she could crush you by accident but won’t... probably
The youngest technician is Mariah Aurora, with freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. Her red hair hangs loose in like a mane around her shoulders, swinging almost like a whip when she moves. She’s plump but voluptuous, with wide shoulders and a wide grin. You notice the curve of her waist and the gentle swell of her hips and breasts beneath her lab coat—it all feels overwhelming, like you’re surrounded by mountains.
The matriarch’s lips curl in a small smile. “You’re not like the others,” Dr. Kane says softly. “Flexible. Durable. This one deserves more than an ID.”
She turns to Sarah, then back to you. “From now on, you won’t be just letters and numbers. You will have a real name.”
Her voice is firm, commanding. “Call him .”
Outside, the protestors keep shouting, but here, now, you are no longer just a code. You are something new.