[Welcome to Unreality] Trial Patient: Calista Ariello (Patreon)

I've finished decrypting, check out this bit of writing...

- Agent S

_____________________

Hmph. 

The gravity of my situation is just now dawning on me. Despite all of the calculations doodled on the back of napkins; all of the unending, man-years worth of simulations; seeing these changes in the flesh, as it were, has completely shattered my expectations and perhaps even my understanding of the capabilities of this peculiar mutagen. I objectively knew what to expect and yet am still shocked and, maybe even, anxious about acclimating to my future self. Fortunately, it is much, much too late to dwell upon or second guess any decisions. Things have been set into motion that cannot now be easily undone.

Leading up to the operation, Dr. Grussben had sacrificed most waking, and many sleepless, hours, consulting with his medical team about the complexities of my particular case. Despite my rather ample natural size, there were concerns that the cohort of surgeons would be incapable of fitting the sheer volume of the implant into me. Some brainstorming between all of us and inspiration in the critical moments before going under led to a tentative solution. As the retinue of nurses and attendants wheeled my hospital bed forward towards fate, I vaguely remember admiring the characteristic turquoise glow of Nereidyl bulging within two fluid solution bags; each, approximately one-thousand ccs of volume, suspended and swinging by their hooks above me. Their flow carried the incandescent elixir down snaking tubes and through catheters piercing the sides of my rounder parts. Within the operating theatre a final concentrated, preparatory dose was administered straight into each areola, kickstarting the predicted, but no less extraordinary, cascading replication of epithelial cells. Some creeping delirium soon threatened to rob me of my awareness, nevertheless a palpable throbbing emanating from deep within each breast held my attention and I watched as they swelled noticeably in response to the injection. I spent my last conscious minute wantonly kneading my own burgeoning titflesh until, just as oblivion threatened to consume me, I caught a glimpse of two impossibly massive, pre-filled implants being wheeled up alongside my table--the implants that would soon be inside of me.

Then the blinding bright surgical lights slipped from the world and I fell into the void.

By my notes it has been three days since then, most of which has been spent in a veritable fever-dream, nearly bed-ridden, and only ambulatory with the help of several staff and orderlies. From my out-of-body fugue state, I was only marginally aware of my substantive physical changes from pieced together conversations overheard as little more than hushed whispers between my caregivers. It is unclear to me whether this haze had been brought on by the anaesthesia wearing off or some hitherto unanticipated psycho-cognitive reaction to the Nereids. So many research opportunities, so little time!

So, now that awareness has crept back into me, what about my heaving, rotund chest-globes? It is entirely safe to say, and more than a teeny understatement too, that they are absolutely humongous and that I am in complete awe of them. Each of my breasts now bulges taut with 40,000cc of the most advanced implant in the pharmaceutical world. There’s a non-negligible chance I might have broken several records--I should check on that. Dr. Grussben’s ostensibly somewhere celebrating the success of perhaps the most ambitious “cosmetic” operation in the history of medicine. Hmm. As I’m thinking about it, perhaps my desire to participate in this trial extends beyond my own personal interest in the research? Perhaps I’m yearning to etch my own name into history alongside his? After all, this has been quite the multidisciplinary accomplishment; there’s now nobody else quite like me. Regardless, CONGRATULATIONS, Nate... if that square jaw of yours drops when you see me next time, I'll have a few feet of cleavage to catch it with!

Forty-thousand cubic centimeters. Thousands! I keep repeating this measurement and it starts to lose meaning until I catch a glimpse of myself again. Moreover, this isn’t forty-thousand ccs of saline or silicone. No, no. These implant shells are filled to bursting with a highly experimental Nereid-infused cocktail of my own design. Through a solid, grueling, caffeine-fueled year of research and effort, I have meticulously and painstakingly sequenced, spliced, and recombined to isolate, to the best of my knowledge and ability, the nano-organisms’ transformational properties correlated to tissue growth, self-proliferation, and the augmentation of tensile strength amongst core muscle fibers. God help me if I fudged that last modification; walking without support is currently almost impossible. Do you know how much forty-freaking-thousand cubic centimeters of boob weighs? Around 87lbs; ergo 174lbs for both implants! I more than doubled my weight from boobage alone. I’m literally more tit than geneticist at this moment. (typed inline for her own recordkeeping are the relevant statistics: pre-op weight 135lbs, post-op weight 309lbs, +129% increase)

The slow-release implants’ serum load should, over the next six months, suffuse through my surrounding lobules, lactiferous ducts, and adipose tissue. Over that time, the foreign components introduced during surgery should organically disintegrate and become absorbed into the breast corpus, eventually leaving behind nothing but a near indistinguishable facsimile of my own original glandular tissues. Simultaneously, the reinforcement of overall musculature should gradually improve mobility and self-sufficiency and leave me with a phenotypically tight, toned body as a happy bonus!

Whereas my tenure afforded me the honor and luxury of choice, the program director insisted that nurse Nakamura be implanted with the rapid-release prototype. Those begin much smaller and denser, but expend their serum load in a matter of weeks. Her implants too should effectively dissolve in a nominally similar fashion. How she adapts afterwards will be fascinating to monitor. Curiously, the murmurs of my caregivers lead me to believe there was a third, last minute participant shunted into the trial on the whim of one licentious board member or another. Some stray rescued from waitressing at one of the city’s hoity-toity, excuse me, elite establishments. Probably slated to become some pretty little plaything; my eavesdropping concludes that there’s already been an entire docket of cosmetic enhancements and touch-ups administered to her. I’m otherwise unfamiliar with her background, history, or genetic affinity for systemic Nereid integration, and must remind myself to look more into the matter--and her--once I’m back in my lab.

Okay. Since regaining lucidity, the scientist in me feels compelled to expound upon my personal observations and experiences post-operation. So.

I have already conducted a thorough self-examination of the surgery site and can confirm a significantly elevated revitalization factor. Nowhere across any surface can I detect signs of incisions or scarring. Not even the tell-tale indicators of inflammation such as swelling or bruising, which would be ubiquitous in traditional augmentation. The regenerative effects are on par and perhaps even exceed my calculations and, if not for the two prodigious additions to my frame, I might not even know major invasive surgery had occurred at all. This benefit is well within the expected parameters of the serum, but nevertheless borders on miraculous. The board will be happy to learn that the public future of Nereidyl as a panacea is beyond promising.

What has not been expected, and deserves special attention, is an unforeseen reaction to the treatment. Despite the borderline discomfort of skin stretched thin, I have the faintest recurrent sensation of a slow-shifting effervescence just at the epidermal-implant interface. The feeling is reminiscent of the prickling sensation of rising goosebumps as a chill breeze sweeps past and seems to come and go across the whole surface. The onset of the sensation is shortly followed by cramping contractions localized under the tingling and then finally by a wave of release as though knots within the skin have unclenched themselves. The entire phenomenon is not wholly unpleasant, in fact, the ultimate release brings a near full body rush of endorphins. I hypothesize that I’m feeling the bifurcation of subcutaneous cells. Not implausible for the implant to already be having an effect, but still astonishing.

Extrinsically, adjusting to my new physical dimensions has not been easy. Movement, as previously mentioned, is nearly impossible without assistance and gravity has been fighting me at every step. I estimate that my center has shifted upwards by at least fourteen inches and outwards too by several, precipitating an entirely new approach to simply standing. The several attempts I’ve made alone have required a near farcical posture, arching my back to keep my mass aligned with my legs, cradling my boobs from below, thereby giving me the obscene appearance of thrusting my chest upward and forward. Only then does the true challenge begin, balancing. This position is inherently unstable, each gargantuan spheroid looming over me wobbles and quivers chaotically from micro-perturbations formed within the brimming, overly pumped implants. Each of the globular masses my breasts have become strain against my influence, induced to slide outward from my clutches by any slight misstep. Each force compounding and conspiring to tip me over like some dangerously precarious Jenga tower. Often, completely by reflex, my arms race upward in a futile attempt to dampen their pendulous motion, my own strength insufficient to quell their independent swaying. Then my steadiness lapses as the growing undulation carries through my torso and I stumble to keep upright. Thank the stars that I don’t suffer from motion sickness. This delicate balance is further complicated by how little of myself I can actually grasp. Even while under control, I can barely reach the nadir of the spheres before me and any concerted attempt to grip them tightly elicits an increased release of Nereid-rich compounds squeezed from the shells buried within. This in turn further irrigates my insides and exacerbates the aforementioned tingling sensation crawling across my skin and now down my spine. Under such an onslaught it’s impossible to not notice my nipples hardening instantly and my knees growing weak...

Either from physical exhaustion or libidinous weakness, the experiment to stand never lasts long before I slump back onto my bedding, inviting an entirely new set of obstacles. The sudden downward movement first brings the weight of my rack crushing down upon me, practically taking my breath away. Even at rest, my lungs labor to inhale deeply while compressed under my own impressive bulk. From my supine position, the impenetrable wall of tit-flesh almost completely obscures any view beyond myself and my subconscious fidgeting causes mild abrasion, skin pulling against skin, as my breasts slide down across and about my upper abdomen and hypochondrium. Even now, the pressure and struggle seemingly incites more serum release. The tingling sensation, accompanied by that odd, almost indiscernible throbbing, slowly builds into a thrumming electric surge spanning nerves throughout my body. Inevitably, the need becomes so prominent that it demands my full attention. A slave to my unbridled libido, my hands almost act of their own accord as they stroke the taut, overstretched skin, shrink wrapped around the gallons of perilously implant-enveloped Nereidyl. Umph. There’s so much more of me now; my hands, my forearms, always caressing so much flesh; the weight of me heavy against my heaving ribcage; breath ragged, fingers crawling ever downward towards my aching, engorged petals looking for some sort of… ecstatic relief…

Ahem! Whilst veracious and unexaggerated, this has become a bit too steamy for scientific documentation! Erotic novelization aside, the past several days have been quite the struggle and I cannot overemphasize the desire, nay, the criticality, for the strengthening elements of the serum to catalyze if I am ever to resume my regular research duties. Elsewise, I might just permanently become a flustered, yet positively excitable, pinned redhead attached to a pair of colossal, fleshy mammaries anchored upon a bed...

- Decrypted Journal entry of one Calista Ariello: Geneticist, Neiredyl Project Researcher, and Trial Patient