Set Escape On

"Of course, sir."

There was a voice in his brain, a rabbit instinct, that told him to run. He could outrun almost anyone now, he was built for fleeing. It wouldn't be right, though. People could get hurt by this, and he had to help stop it. He told his companion she should go, dressed as decently as he could, collected his datapad, and went with CAS.

By late afternoon, Jen was trying her best to hold herself together, but it was difficult. Her growth was accelerating, her boobs now weighty enough to make standing upright a challenge and voluminous enough to put the furthest reaches of their expanse beyond her fingertips. They not only occupied her entire lap when she sat down (which was, honestly, far more comfortable than trying to stand with them for extended periods), they took up most of her thoughts as well. The expansion-happy parts of her mind were warring with the more rational parts saying this was a frightening unknown that could ruin her life. Fantasies were lovely, and boobs were awesome, but this was ridiculous! She was going to need help getting around if they didn't stop growing soon, and they showed no signs of halting.

She'd made arrangements with some other members of the project to come help her if it became necessary; Matt and Bobbie were, apparently, dealing with their own issues, which was concerning in itself, but it wasn't that hard to find size enthusiasts in northern BOMA. The community had supported her before, and now it would be happy to do so again, if more literally this time. Only one more day, and then she'd see the doctors, and they'd fix this; she told herself repeatedly that this was a solvable problem, if she could just be patient. Of course, when she knocked over her glass of water for the third time with these ludicrous mounds, patience was the last thing on her mind. Jen wished she felt safe enough to use a holo, a simulation where she could be in a body other than this one, but she didn't want to come back to her senses only to find herself immobile.

Oh jeez, boobs so gigantic she couldn't move, that was a thought. How big would that take, maybe twice what she had now? The image built itself in her mind, like she was designing a holo: overwhelmingly large breasts, stretching out before her at least twice the reach of her arms, their soft surface filling her vision, her hands sinking into their plushness in a desperate and futile attempt to contain them, the immense weight driving her to her knees. No, brain, it wasn't hot, it was terrifying. Had anyone else ever gone through an experience of size like that? Even in the 'Dream, it couldn't be commonplace. Of course, it was practically an everyday occurrence in size kink art; that's why they had the project, but the kinds of transformations that happened there weren't supposed to leak out here. She had to get her mind off the boob situation; she settled down to watch a movie, too worn out from worry and carrying extra weight to push herself any further.

As the incident entered its third day, the administrators were making progress tracking backwards towards the initial source, and data surgeons had identified the relevant routines and were well into the work of halting the changes in affected individuals. Tracking the outward spread, however, continued to prove challenging, and extreme effects were emerging with increasing frequency. There were concerns about informing the public, not that it would cause a panic but that it would lead more people to seek it out, and a failure to contain the incident could seriously threaten the stability of the simulation. The best hope now was to find Patient Zero, determine the root cause, and hopefully find a way to issue a system-wide correction.

Jenna had fallen asleep on the couch. She awoke to an uncomfortable sharpness jabbing into the bottom of her breasts. Maybe she'd dropped her datapad and it had gotten stuck underneath them. She wiped the sleep from her eyes, and remembered her predicament. The object poking her boobs was not her datapad, but her coffee table.The soft, pink pajama top had performed admirably, and she was still fully covered, but so was the table. Jen was able to shift herself into a sitting position, her boobs having thankfully fallen into an appropriate orientation for uprightness, but she wasn't going anywhere. As she'd slept, they'd bloated to the size of a person, two orbs of warm softness that could easily serve as comfortable seats.

She ran her hands over the wide swath of fabric in front of her, pressing gently. They felt just like they always had, the same ratio of plushness and firmness she associated with her breasts, but they were enormous. It occurred to her that her bosom was, in the original sense, awesome; inspiring a mix of admiration, apprehension, and fear. As she stared slack-jawed, she could see them growing, pushing further outward and upward in a manner reminiscent of a slow flow of water filling a pair of balloons (she'd animated it before, so she knew what it looked like). Oh yeah, definitely more apprehension and fear, absolutely. Her datapad, where was it? She had to get help, had to let someone know, had to let the doctors know. There, on the floor next to the couch; turns out she had nearly covered it, but it was saved by the frankly impossible resistance to gravity these crazy tits maintained. She just...had to...reach...a little...got it! Oh thank goodness. First things first, summon assistance.

"Hey EF, got an art reference and a request for you."

"Jen, morning, what art reference?"

She took a picture of the expansive upper slopes of her mountainous mammaries, and attached it to the next message. "Help."

It took him several seconds to respond. "Yeah, help, I'll make the calls. Whoa."

The remainder of Jen's day was...eventful, to say the least. About an hour after she'd messaged ElkFlame, two helpful, generous women had shown up to render what assistance they could. They'd extricated the coffee table from her cleavage, moved all the remaining furniture in front of her to other parts of the room, and with quite a bit of wrangling adjusted her position to give her as much growing space as possible. Then they'd made breakfast and chatted, trying to help keep her spirits up.

Nikki made size difference art, both giant and shrink, and Trish specialized in busty hyper-futa holos. This proved to be a problem, when by lunch Nikki headed home as a 3' 9" shortstack, and Trish had to borrow a baggy sweatshirt so she could cover both her bra-busting tits and two throbbing dicks nearly as long as Nikki was tall. Lesson learned: either being around Jen or touching her, one of the two, spread whatever condition she'd acquired, which might explain why Bobbie and Matt weren't available.

Oh, and in case she didn't have enough to drive her anxiety through the roof, there were her boobs. They were not stopping, their admittedly beautiful bulk projecting a good seven or eight feet ahead of her and rising high enough that she had to stand to see over them. Standing, for that matter, was becoming increasingly a more comfortable position than sitting as they insistently pulled her upward. What was she going to do? She'd messaged the doctor's office, letting them know that she wasn't going to be able to attend the appointment but still definitely needed it, she was just no longer mobile. No response yet, of course, dammit.

Three more helpers throughout the afternoon helped narrow down that it was touching that caused the expansion; Kelly made it home unscathed after dinner, and although Paula ended up unable to walk with an ass the size of an overstuffed bean bag chair, Cara was able to give her a ride home in her arms, having become a twelve-foot powerfully muscled amazon. Jen laid her head atop her breasts, pretty much the only place available, feeling them gently but inexorably plumping up.

This was insane, she was an overly tall woman with a ludicrously huge butt attached to unbelievably titanic tits that just wouldn't stop growing, and nobody could touch her without their own image going bananas even faster than hers had! The only reasons she wasn't screaming were that, one, there was a chance this could all be over tomorrow, and two, her boobs were quite comfortable. What did it say about her that the impossible hooters which were the primary cause of her apprehension were also extremely soothing to lay against? Probably nothing that she didn't already know, considering how she spent her time, to be honest. Tomorrow, then.

An in-depth interview with the individual known as HotFloof had helped the admins identify a significant number of contacts, and one in particular stood out as a possible Patient Zero. The timeline placed his brief interaction with one JenPumps almost immediately prior to the earliest known cases. She was a member of the size enthusiast community, which had by this point been identified as the nexus of most clusters, and was a talented holo artist, meaning she could have easily been exposed to the relevant routines prior to their escape into Cyberdream proper. All that remained was to find her.

Jen felt as though she were floating. It was so peaceful, the entirety of her world was warm and soft. Her doorbell rang, and she slowly drifted to full awareness. The first sensory percept that entered her consciousness was, inevitably, her tits. They'd had a busy night. Her feet were barely touching the floor, a fact which meant more when she remembered she was nearly ten feet tall. Her shapely legs pressed into the wall of bosom that, on the lower half at least, had swelled out of the bottom of her pajama top, the weight imparted by her impressively wide, rounded behind causing her to sink in an inch or so.

When she'd gone to sleep, her arms were beneath her head; now, they stretched upwards across the soft pink fabric, and her head rested against the swell of one boob. The ceilings in the living room were higher than the bedroom, which had been helpful for her increased height, but now her head wasn't the highest part of her. There would be no looking down across the tops of her boobs now; they brushed against the ceiling several feet above her head. Finally giving way to gravity's pull, they widened considerably at the floor, almost entirely filling the largest space in her house. Jen let out a shocked breath, then another, which devolved into helpless laughter. She hadn't broken her house, yet, but these tits were simply beyond comprehension, and the only possible response was to giggle. Finding the hilarity in the situation was the only way to cope.

The bell rang again, cutting her laughter short. "Who, um, who is it?"

"Central Autonomous Security, ma'am. We'd like to speak with you."

CAS? Why would they be here? "I can't exactly reach the door, what do you need?"

"Ma'am, we believe that you've been affected by, and are currently spreading, a novel form of malicious code. You're not in trouble, but we would like to have you examined by a data surgeon for your own safety and in the interests of public health."

"Oh thank fuck you're here! Hang on, let me just, one second." She'd made one smart decision before nodding off, and put her datapad in the most secure and accessible place she could think of. It was under her pajama top, in her cleavage. She fished it out, and used it to unlock her door. "Come in, and I think you're going to have to ask the docs to come to me."

With Patient Zero located, the admins were able to get the entire story quite rapidly. Jenna informed them about the project that the size community was engaged in, and consultation with project lead FoxOne revealed the exact code that had become corrupted, an improperly secured debugging statement on the stretchiness of a pair of leggings. The cascade of effects from such a small error was unprecedented, and spoke to the extraordinary amount of effort that the community had put into their holo simulation. The specific signature of the code having been identified, Cyberdream administration was able to correct for it in short order, stripping the self-replicating procedures out of the core world.

Tracing of the shutdown allowed all affected individuals to be identified and contacted. A plurality declined the offer of data surgery to reverse the effects, as most cases were indeed minor and their consequences not entirely undesirable. Jen was not among that plurality, and happily returned to her unaltered real image.

One would expect the project to have been shut down, but the architects of Cyberdream were nothing if not pragmatic. What the coders and creators involved had accomplished was truly extraordinary, and their work promised to provide a valuable service to a surprisingly extensive community. Furthermore, even the incident had its bright side; the data collected and the routines involved would fuel data surgery research and development for decades to come. With the blessings of the powers that be, then, the project continued, albeit with more watchful eyes from the admins and more stringent protocols to ensure code isolation. Jen's dreams, the ones about her community having a place of their own to pursue their expansive fantasies, not the ones about being inflated to an entirely unreasonable size, still held the promise of one day coming true. All it would take were dreamers.

Devin read the news reports of the incident that had centered in BOMA, a ball of ice settling in the pit of his stomach. On a second screen, he pulled up the script he'd been working on for the past week, the one inspired by his dreams the night he'd named Kit. They were almost identical, as though the holo he'd been working on had been too meta, and transcribed itself onto Cyberdream. Despite her promises that he'd be able to find her whenever he wanted, he'd only been able to dream of Kit twice, and she still hadn't explained to him what she meant by calling him Dreamer, or how to get rid of this fox tail. Granted, he hadn't exactly pushed the issue; he wanted to be with her, not get a lecture. But now? Now he was scared. It was time to move forward.