When Mouse’s comm–brace buzzed the next morning to wake her, she found a lidded plastic jar full of nutrient shake waiting on her kitchen counter. The screen nearby just said
A healthy breakfast is important. There’s also a bento in your icebox if you want it.
~ Cassandra
Mouse had always relied on street vendor food for her midday meal the way her father had done, but her curiosity was piqued. The breakfast shake was certainly shinier than any protein scramble she could have made for herself. She slipped the rectangular cold box into her backpack before grabbing her uniskate and heading out.
The lunch box was packed with some kind of protein loaf. The synthetic beef was well seasoned and the rehydrated potato mash on the side was practically dripping with something that tasted almost like butter. Mouse did a little wiggling dance between each bite as she sat on a stack of tires in the shop.
When she got home that night, her holographic landlord made her something called spaghetti. Claire had never heard of it, but the sweet red sauce and meat spheres flooded her body with endorphins, and her small tummy was painfully full when she crawled into her bed.
This pattern repeated for several weeks. Mouse’s work was more efficient than ever, with adequate nourishment fueling her body and mind. Sure, she moved a little slow after lunch. But with a packed lunch she was back up and running in the same amount of time it took Tank to finish his meal, with the extra time he needed to go out and buy it.
“Fucking… gorram…”
Mouse tugged on the waistband of a pair of work pants, trying without success to get the grease–stained khakis to pass over her hips.
“What in the corps happened to these?” She cursed.
Cassandra’s hologram flickered to life in her apartment.
“I’m sorry about those trousers Miss Claire. I think the laundry recycler is on the fritz again.”
Mouse jumped and promptly tripped over her pants–tangled legs to crash to the floor in a heap.
“Damnit Cassie, don’t sneak up on me like that!”
“My apologies, Miss Claire…” the hologram demurred.
“Can’t you see I’m changing?”
Cassandra’s behavioral matrix considered informing her diminutive tenant that there were sensors monitoring her constantly, but she knew biologicals didn’t appreciate such reminders.
“Sorry again Miss Claire. I just popped in to deliver these.”
The hologram gestured at a panel in the wall, which retracted to reveal a new, oddly clean pair of pants.
“Oh…” Mouse struggled to her feet to snatch the garment from the cubby. “…thanks, Cassie.”
“Not at all Miss Claire. Have a lovely day!”
Mouse let the khakis unroll and held them out.
“These aren’t my size Cass—“
The hologram was already gone.
Much to her chagrin, the pants fit perfectly. Sliding over unfamiliarly wide hips and buttoning snugly around a newly softened midsection. When Mouse slid a clean tank top over her head, she was surprised to find it didn’t reach all the way to her her pants. And there seemed to be more jiggle in her chest than usual.
The droid mechanic shrugged, grabbing her breakfast shake from the counter and chugging its contents. She dropped her lunch box into her bag (was it bigger than yesterday’s?) and headed to the shop.
Tank found himself struggling to get any work accomplished lately. He’d be reassembling the bearing cap on a grabber arm, and catch himself staring at his young coworker. Tank was not into women. Well, he was into women, but he was not into girls. Especially not ones so young and scrawny as his secret–favorite mechanic. And definitely not the daughter of his former partner.
Yet as the big Asian man dropped the anti–slip bolt he was supposed to be reattaching for the second time, he couldn’t help but acknowledge that Mouse was looking a little more… “womanly” of late.
The pink–haired girl was leaning on a workbench, mono–goggle over one eye as she soldered a new chip into the temperature regulator board on a C–27 unit. Her behind made a sweeping curve that Tank would have called perfect… with a few extra cm. Her tight shirt hugged a pair of breasts that would make decent handfuls… Tank quickly banished the mental image that conjured.
“该死的” He cursed as he dropped another bolt.
When he stood again, he saw Mouse stepping away from her work to pull a bento from her knapsack. He wondered idly where she found time to pack such extravagant lunches. Mouse sat in her usual lunch spot and Tank couldn’t help but notice her formerly flat midsection starting to form the faintest of rolls.
Her lunch today appeared to be a burger with fry sticks, and Tank’s mouth began to water. He thought he’d seen a new burger stand just two blocks away.
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