Before her lay the scene of a nightmare she thought long forgotten.

The smoldering broken

corpses of her foes lay slowly succumbing at the fringes of her vision, their silhouettes fading from the
horizon. She could hear them in the distance, far worse than the cries of the men slipping into the surf.
The cries of one sister saying goodbye to another. The sound of regrets being aired out by one who lost
everything. The bitter curses of those who continued to fight while being powerless. The sea had long
since stopped being blue. Red and black mixed to make an ugly crimson, and from within it came the
wriggling black forms of tormented and wounded crew, fueled by the agony of their just lost ship. She
stood there on the fringe of this spectacle, watching like she had all those years ago, as her enemy was
swept away by a tide moving too fast to interfere with.

TURKEY TROTS TO WATER

She clutched the side of her head. The sound came suddenly, drowning out that canocophy of
misery with its metallic and distorted bellowing right into her ears. The broadcast punched straight
through her skull, into her head, to emit its presence, echoing off her head’s walls and rebounding,
sounding over and over. The pain was amplified by the buzz of many little insects dropping down onto
the corpses waiting before her. The white stars and stripes decorating their tiny little bodies as they
picked apart the living dead. The contorted howls of the waiting wounded as they struggled to retaliate,
to fire back, as their last bits of life were taken away from them. The sea boiled, not with heat, but with
the impact of a hundred bombs, of a hundred torpedoes, and with thousands of rounds.

WHERE IS RPT WHERE IS TASK FORCE THIRTY FOUR

She fell to her knees gasping. The noise was preventing any thoughts, filling her head with that
terrible, awful sound. The broadcasts coming off like warped gurgles with a tinge of interference to
them. She dared not look back. She knew she shouldn’t look back. The main enemy was before her after
all. Four carriers, two battleships. The last of their surface strength was before her, being picked apart
by the carriers she escorted. All she had to do was stand here and wait to get in range. Wait while those
eager little insects swarmed over rotting and bloating corpses. She was in the right place wasn’t she?

THE WORLD WONDERS

She snapped out of her daze with an uncharacteristic snort. With annoyance, she looked around
at the scene that had triggered that unsightly vision. Scattered like confetti across the open square were
the dented and broken frames of those stupid toys the humans liked using. They even had the hubris to
call them ‘Anchors’ and ‘Moorings’ despite their ability to do nothing but become paperweights when
she struck them in actual combat. The fact the pilots didn’t emerge from those ruined forms didn’t
bother her. They had annoyed her, and then tried to stop her; that was reason enough for them to die.
She realized the annoying buzzing in her dream had been real, as distinct shapes flew in formation
overhead. As in the past, they were on her side, giving her complete domain over this battlefield, if you
wanted to call it that. She looked over to her accomplice, a woman with long brown hair tied into a
ponytail that reached past her lowerback. She seemed as disinterested as Iowa, yawning as she gestured
for her planes to keep their patrol up.

She turned her attention to the other figures gathered in this square. The delicately placed tiles
were all torn up or pulverized now, the revealed fresh earth had been torn up by various impacts, and
any trees planted here had been long since uprooted. Iowa let out a low chuckle at Saratoga, the basic
bitch, who had made sure to preserve a nice little bench for herself in all of this, the way an aloof carrier
like herself would. She clenched her fist when she saw the still defiance in their eyes. What laid around
them was clear evidence of what one would call an overwhelming difference in power. They should have
given up in the first few minutes of fighting. Then she realized who she was talking about and let out
another low chuckle. Those people didn’t give up to the bitter end those many years ago, why would
they give up so easily now that they’d been returned to life. Honor bounded fools.

They were standing in the middle of the assembly grounds of what had once been a maritime
academy of sorts on the U.S Great Lakes. In recent years the small school had become more and more
built up, as the role of the U.S Merchant Marine equally grew in strategic value. It was one of the first
places seized by the new global military unit JMNP for its operations. The Academy, as it was called, was
where they sent their new unassigned units for training. While some units were produced with new
memories making them deployable almost instantly, some were only partial conversions, and had old
memories in new and unfamiliar bodies. They still had the power of a shipgirl, albeit weaker than the full
mental rewrites, but no idea how to use it. The shipgirls here were former training ships in their past
life, and acted as excellent tutors for those victims. That was the role of the division Iowa and Saratoga
had just crushed so easily under their heels. The two silver haired sisters were leaning on each other,
knees shaking from exhaustion, panting and grimacing from various wounds. Their silver blood flowing
into the open, their repair threshold long surpassed. An even more broken and bruised blonde sat
further behind, cradling a broken arm with the one that had yet to meet the same fate. She didn’t seem
to care her usually snazzy outfit was in tatters, leaving her decently proportioned body out in the
breeze. I was always telling her to let it out with me. Guess she has no choice now. Iowa grinned sizing
the girl up. How much had she wanted to drag that sweet and naïve child with her and Saratoga down
into the depths of pleasure and men. Despite looking and sometimes acting like a ditz though, that girl
had an obstinate self-imposed obligation to her duty. Thinking back to her frantic struggle earlier, it
seemed like she hadn’t been all talk either. That’s why she had told Saratoga to focus on completely
breaking her through air power. The training cruisers were easy enough for Iowa to handle two on one.

Basking in the destruction she caused, and enjoying the sound of exhausted and defeated
panting of her quarry, she almost missed the distinct sound of gravel moving behind her. Almost. She
whipped around to the direction of the noise, and without hesitating, released a full salvo of her main
gun mount at a hapless looking destroyer. She saw a flash of blonde hair and smirked as the shells she
had launched made impact with the girls back. To the very end, huh? You were such a stupid girl Atago.
Iowa spat when the smoke cleared revealing the downed form of the blonde from across the square.
Several inch wide holes dotted her back, slowly filling not only with the silvery goo that made their outer
superstructure, but the red of internal damage. The little destroyer, knees trembling in some ridiculous
schoolgirl outfit, let out a small whimper. Iowa turned her star filled irises to the girl before gesturing for
the fool to try again. The girl only collapsed to the downed Atago’s side, desperately beginning to try to
apply her own repair cells to the downed older girl. Iowa shrugged before directing her attention to the
last two girls who opposed her. She wanted to have a word with Saratoga on how the destroyer had
avoided her detection, but figured that bimbo was distracted again with her own thoughts.

“G-god damnit you bitch! What do you think this is accomplishing!” With her glasses shattered,
and silver blood dripping from her scalp, one of the training cruisers spoke. Her own armaments had
long since been disabled by Iowa’s guns, making her choices for retaliation only close quarters battle,
something the girl had never quite been good at.
 The girl’s younger sister looked like she was going to collapse at any minute. Her hair had
become undone, becoming a flowing and now matted mass on top of her head. Her ridiculous little hat
had fallen off minutes into the battle. Both their uniforms were tattered through and through, and any
part intact was becoming soaked with silver blood. “Sister… please…. “ She managed to get out through
heavy gasps. The little flighty girl had taken one too many hits to her ribcage, no doubt her lungs had
been damaged and yet to repair.

“Don’t put the blame on me. We just wanted to leave. You and your damned friends here, ‘
Iowa gestured at the broken heaps of iron scattered across the battlefield, ‘, tried to tell us no.” Despite
having caused so much damage, and possibly killing the humans she had once protected, she stated it
with an air of indifference that seemed to ignite something within the girl with missing glasses. It was
probably that and the fact the woman who had bombed all their school buildings was acting like the
conversation didn’t concern her at all.

“We had orders. Same as you. Don’t you have any god damn pride at all as a warship! Do you
really enjoy tramping around like some street whore so much that you’ll stoop as low as this! You even
brought the students into this you goddamn bitch!” She stuttered forward and almost fell, had not her
little sister been supporting her.

Iowa sneered. “I think an actual surface combatant would know more about ‘the pride of a
warship’ than some filthy training cruisers. I only fired on the students because I recall you all having no
problem getting such young ones involved during the last war. Old habits die hard, right Saratoga?” The
busty blonde looked over at her lounging companion who waved her off.

“Can we wrap this up? I’m bored.” Was all she said as she resumed staring at her planes in the
sky.

“Ah…” The chatty one seemed to realize something. “How could I be so naïve. To expect pride
from a battleship whose only real accomplishment of the war was sinking a lowly training cruiser like
myself. Or maybe those islands you shelled put up more of a fight than I’d suspect? You… you are no
warrior. You are a filthy stray that comes and laps up the scraps left for you. The girls of our Empire…
would never devolve into such a base state…” The girl did collapse this time, the last of her energy
expelled in the venomous barb she had just spat at her opponent. The younger sister quickly laid her
elder to the ground before stepping between her and the clearly angered Iowa.

“Your armor is too thin for that to make any difference. You’re just making it easier for me to kill
you both in one blow.” The enraged Iowa aimed her reloaded main guns at the young girl who had
thrusted her arms out to the side, standing in clear defiance of her foe. A young girl who wanted nothing
more than to protect her elder sister, and the new home they found. Yet Iowa felt no pity. If this was
how they wanted to spend their new lives, then that’s how they spent them. They were under no
obligation to repeat history, but she’d gladly oblige the two whores if that’s what they wanted. She was
about to give the order to fire when they were interrupted by Saratoga.

“Oh! Hey, hey, hey Iowa! Their Admiral! He’s just entered the battlefield carrying a white flag!
Oh my god he looks like such a fucking wuss!” The girl giggled, continuing to make fun of the man as the
young silver haired girl gritted her teeth. Kashima was a girl who had only wanted peace even during the
war. These two, these two made her want to throw that completely away. Made her wish she was a s
strong as Atago or a battleship. Somehow she knew though, that surrendering who she was for power
would still be like letting these two win, so she held her ground until her Admiral arrived. He didn’t seem
phased by the destruction. He had always been somewhat dry and analytical when it came to these
things. He had been a masters student in biology before he became an Admiral, so it kind of fit that he
was so matter of fact. When he sent them out here, he had given them orders to delay and survive. The
school buildings could be replaced, property damages paid for, the girl’s lives could not so easily be
returned though. He had spent the duration of the battle desperately trying to get command to send a
reserve unit, which had been the now broken mechs lying across the field, and then trying to get
permission to abandon the operation. On his own volition, he had given up waiting for command, and
had come out here to surrender.

Iowa didn’t like what she saw, and kind of wished some of those pilots would leave their mechs
so she could get a look at them. When she and Saratoga had been sent up here, they complied thinking
it would be just another college. They had not expected structure or doctrine to be forced upon them.
They had not expected such a shortage of dicks and other sources of entertainment. The only reason
they stayed, was because they were smart enough to seize an opportunity when presented. The
Academy had a working arsenal where the girls could arm themselves. Arm themselves to the point they
would never need to work with the Navy again. They would forge their own paths. Naturally an alarm
had been raised when they first activated their rigs, one the three broken girls had responded to and did
their best to enforce. Iowa and Saratoga had given them the choice, let them go or die, and they had
chosen the latter. She was contemplating still pulling the trigger as the waspy man stepped in front of
Kashima, and extended the tablecloth he was using as a white flag towards her. He doesn’t have enough
armor either after all. She mused.

“We surrender. We will not continue this engagement with you two, will provide you with
whatever provisions you need, and will not inform higher of where you went. Please, this is more than
reasonable.” He flatly stated the facts from behind a pair of thin rimmed glasses. His face seemed
somewhat hollow, like he wasn’t getting enough food. She was mistaking absence of muscle for absence
of food, where the man simply just didn’t have any excess fat. He was rather plain looking,
unremarkable except for above average height and his glasses. He annoyed her. Killing him and his little
harem of supplicant bitches would send a strong message to those assholes, and the more she thought
about it, the closer her finger came to the firing trigger. She grinned when he saw his calm composure
begin to break, his breathing becoming higher paced and his level face twisting into one of fear. He was
turning to apologize to Kashima for failing her before the scene was interrupted once more by the
airheaded Saratoga.

“Wait, wait, wait! Iowa! This one! Can I have this one! You promised me, right!” The girl, who
had been so detached from most of the scene, hopped over with childlike glee. Skipping and happily
humming, she went to Iowa’s side and leaned in. “You said I get one, right! I know you said that! This
one will be fun, so please!” She pulled on Iowa’s arm like the incessant child she was acting like. She only
did so because she recognized in their duo that Iowa was top bitch, as she should, but sometimes she
got a little to annoying with her subservience.

“If adding that to the deal makes our surrender acceptable, then I will allow you to take me
prisoner.” The pathetic admiral added in a wavering tone that still hinted at his dry intellectual side.
 Iowa scowled, and grabbed the man by the collar. The girl behind him made a weak yelp of
surprise but couldn’t do anything to intercede. “Look here limp-dick. Your opinion and suggestions
aren’t worth shit right now, so shut the fuck up.” She glared at his face as he fixed his glasses. She could
feel him trembling, and she wondered where any Admirals with actual balls had gone. She turned to the
still present Saratoga. “You sure you want this guy? We could find someone more entertaining, like a
club bouncer, body builder, maybe even a cop.”

She saw Saratoga’s expression change. It was a face she rarely showed, and one she had learned
from Iowa. It was one of pure sadism, that of a predator eagerly playing with its prey. “I think making
their Admiral into my bitch would be the best use of my go.” The man looked between the two smiling
girls in confusion, unsure as to what they meant. Iowa for one was proud that there was a thought aside
from blowing guys and getting laid in her companion’s head. She nodded in approval before looking
back at the Admiral.

“We’re leaving now limp-dick and you’re coming with. If your girls so much as make a move
after us, or we feel like they’re talking to higher, we’ll liquidate this place completely.” She then made
her voice louder as addressed any watching the square. “Got it? We’ll crush his balls and leave him to
hang by his pulverized sack if we even think you all are up to something as well.” With that, Iowa
dragged the Admiral away, Saratoga happily following from behind. Kashima wanted to collapse, but
knew as the only conscious instructor she had work to do. Knowing how badly damaged Atago was, she
quickly went to her side to begin helping the still trembling destroyer with repairs. She wanted so much
to go after her Admiral, but she had heard their threats, and knew they could make good on them. She
desperately hoped her Admiral would be ok, and that higher would understand how much they
underestimated those two’s potential.

They didn’t exactly go far. They jacked a car and drove long enough to get into the rekindled city
of Pittsburgh. Thinking about it, that made sense. These girls needed a supply of steel, oil, and other raw
materials in addition to food in order to function properly. For them to go completely rogue would
require them to be able to function without the Navy’s support, as well as be able to resist the Navy
when it came to detain them. He sadly hung his head when he realized he had helped them achieve part
of that goal. When they were first assigned to him, he had no delusions in how much they did not want
to be at the Academy. He had no delusions about them staying on base and being quiet either. He had
been deluded, or at the very least misinformed, concerning the capabilities of the November Witches
Mechanized group that was meant to act as a quick response force when those two did decide to bite.
The scattered hulls and shattered mechanical frames were more than evidence that the simulations
were wrong, or that the underlying specs they had on Iowa and Saratoga were wrong. Either way, that
had almost cost him his girls, and so he was more than willing to put himself in jeopardy if that meant
rectifying such a failure. He was no hero, and was fairly certain he pissed himself when he saw the
blonde begin slowly squeezing the trigger to her rather impressive set of arms. This was all he could do.

Pittsburgh revitalized as a city of steel with the new age of undersea structure building. There
were many plants and factories rolling out the specialized steel for cold water, deep water, and brackish
water, settlements. The city had also nearly tripled in size and quadrupled in population. Not only could
resources be easily found here, but a searcher would have a hard time finding two girls and their captive
in the sea of faces. The girls were much more discreet driving through the city than they had been when
they broke out of the Academy. The vehicle was a military type, a van made to hold one Anchor or
Mooring, one that had belonged to the quick response force. The girls had easily been able to store their
new rigs in it, and the tinted windows kept anyone from getting a good look at the insides. The presence
of such a vehicle wasn’t exactly uncommon either, so no one did a double take as the government van
slid along the streets. The average citizenry and local police were often kept out of the loop when it
came to JMNP affairs anyway. They probably would be blissfully unaware of the incident unfolding for
hears to come. Oddly enough, the two girls didn’t throw him in the back with their gear. Instead, they
sat him in between them, their thick thighs squeezing his legs together, their large breasts jostling his
crossed arms, and their long flowing hairstyles tickling his face. They were treating him like a toy,
giggling at his discomfort and poking fun at his small fidgets anytime one of their fatter bits touched
him.

He didn’t know what they were talking about. Their banter making little to no sense. They were
talking about what kind of girl Saratoga wanted. They started with ship types, to which Saratoga settled
on a carrier type like her, and then worked their way to the girls physique and character. Saratoga
wanted someone homely looking, citing how competition between Iowa was making getting laid harder.
Iowa insisted the group needed to all be knock-outs, what was the point of having one ugly duckling.
Iowa conceded to Saratoga’s points on the condition the girl got the physique Iowa preferred. Saratoga
insisted at first on having a less proportioned girl as well, again citing competition. She had just wanted
someone who’d make her look better by comparison when standing near. Iowa again, wanted someone
as well-endowed as they were. The man for one settled that these two were crazy, their programming
or something making them switch from carnal lust to blood lust to such mundane things like this as if it
were normal. He then realized they had also kept him in the front to prevent him from making any
attempts at escape at all. His every move was watched, and he couldn’t make too many as it was. Had
he been in the back, even restrained, he could make enough racket to maybe get someone’s attention
on the outside when the van stopped. Their weird conversation continued until they found an
abandoned factory district. It was common for these areas to exist in the major cities. Companies
wanted to scrap the buildings for their valuable materials, but also had to focus on developing new
facilities to handle the cut throat market. Scrapping the old stuff was valuable enough to keep the
buildings as they were, but not valuable enough to actually get around to doing in a timely manner. The
van pulled into one of these vacuous spaces, and the girls got out, dragging the man with them.

“Sara, you take care of him and I’ll find us a club for tonight. I haven’t had a drink for an entire
week and good use some hard fucking.” Iowa stated as if she were talking about the weather. Her
mental stability was certainly shattered, switching so casually from killing to being no more than a slut
out for her next cock.

The brown-haired girl nodded. “Sure thing Iowa. I’ll have him ready to go in a few minutes!” She
chirped happily as she dragged him to a back corner of the warehouse they occupied. The man wasn’t
quite sure what she had planned, but hoped it wasn’t a quick shot to the back of the head.

The girl known as Saratoga was able to find some cable to restrain him with, citing that she
needed both her hands to do ‘her work’. He was uncomfortably wrapped around the abdomen with the
stuff she had easily forced him into. Wriggling was pointless, and his breath was short due to how tight
the wrapping was around his body. Saratoga looked him up and down and grinned. “I wonder if she had
as much fun when she changed me? Probably, after all, I learned everything I am from that bitch.”
Saratoga happily chirped as she began rubbing her hands together. “Now, she said just focus and the
stuff will- Oh! Look at that!” Moving her slender palms away from one another, the trapped Admiral
could see the silvery goop that the girls secreted for repairs or when injured seep from the girl’s palms.

“What are you going to do with that?” He had a good idea now, remembering the conversation
in the car, and the information he had on Type01 girls. He had been a biologist after all, and had taken
an interest in the dynamics of the cells JMNP was using to create these girls. Type01 cells were
aggressive parasite like organisms, developing ways to come into contact with a host, and then using the
host to replicate themselves into their true form. The host normally completely succumbs to the
infection, and only in cases were the dosage was weak or improperly applied did girls retain their
memories. Academy had been meant to train these girls, but also to study the circumstances and find a
pattern for the memories being retained. All apart of JMNP’s goal to recover those who had undergone
complete mental rewrites. A shipgirl’s functions were controlled by these Type01 cells, and contact with
them usually meant transformation. He had never heard of though, a shipgirl being able to create excess
cells on a whim, and then using them to transform a victim. That conversation in the car had been about
him, and what kind of girl they were going to make him into. He tried scooting away, but saw the gleam
of absolute sadism in his captor’s eyes and knew there was no escape.

She approached speaking in a sing song voice. “I hardly remember what I used to be you know.
That’s how good it feels to be alive with a body like this. All that attention, all that intimacy, it makes
every moment oh so worth it. I do remember somethings when I look at you, things I hate. Being weak,
being unimportant, being so bland. You’ll thank me when we’re done here, after I’m done making you
into a bitch as fine as me and Iowa.” He had scooched back as far as the wall and tried rolling along it.
Saratoga slammed a heel into the wall to block him before leaning in close, the goo on her hands
reaching for his face. “I want to get this part right. Can’t tell you how many guys that whore gets just
because of her face. I can’t have my bitch sabotaging me like Iowa does.” With that, the carrier slapped
both his cheeks with her hands, getting the silvery goo splattered across his face and upper chest, along
with some blobs getting into his hair. She stood back, and began focusing on creating more of the silvery
substance, thinking about making him the thickest out of their just forming trio.

The instinct to raise his hands and peel away the moving substance from his flesh overwhelmed
he immediately. The raw fear of what was happening, and the revulsion he felt as the cold goo worked
across his face, wiggling like some sort of alive thing compelled him to try. Pointlessly, his arms flexed
against the bindings that were holding him, and the goo continued unimpeded. He felt the chilly
substance sink into his scalp, a cold layer of it spreading internally over his skull. The droplets on his face
slowly scattered themselves as well, moving outwards from their globular shape into thin sheets. Their
outward edges touched one another, and formed a silvery mask that enveloped his entire face. The cold
liquid in his skull began reshaping it, gently molding the bone like clay into a more appropriate shape.
The bone bowled outward, giving his head a much rounder form. It didn’t expand so much lengthwise as
Saratoga’s or Iowa’s, and remained somewhat compact, giving it a fatter appearance than the other
two’s heads. His facial features were gradually adjusted by the silver substance enveloping them. The
freezing substance permeated his eyelids, working on making his irises larger and bluer. Long feminine
eyelashes furled out, and his brow thinned to simple and delicate lines. The skin was tanned a soft
caramel, certainly distinct from what its color had been before. The now bulky looking nose was
compacted to a finer form, and he felt his lips become heavy as they furled outwards. The tinging of hair
growth from his scalp was rather short, and he could only feel hair tickling his neck, and nothing beyond
that. Clearly, he had not been as glamourized as the other two. He couldn’t see his changes, but
certainly felt like his head had become smaller, and felt ill poised on his unchanged neck. He was able to
process that despite the goop starting changes on his head, he did not seem to be experiencing any
mental rewriting. Somewhat relieved, he let out a sigh as he felt the goo begin sliding down his head.
JMNP was working on a way to reverse these transformations, so all that mattered was retaining his
mental faculties.

Saratoga smirking at him was the first thing he saw with his new eyes once the goo had slid
away. His face had been remodeled completely into that of a woman’s. A sense of maturity and
homeliness radiated from it, a different kind of feeling then one would get from looking at Iowa or
Saratoga. It was kind of chubby, but certainly had a degree of charm to it. The almost blatant
normalness was accentuated by his new hair style, a small brown color cut that with a small ponytail.
Saratoga nodded with satisfaction, “I knew I could get this right without her help! Next to us, you’d be
lucky if anyone gave you the time of day. That’s only because we’re us though, and it’s not like we’d
hang out with anyone to ugly. Ugh, who the hell cares anyways, you’re going to be ok with it in a hour or
so…” He noticed something off when Saratoga was speaking. A feeling of, anger, maybe at her
statement. He thought it may have been about how laid back she was with the crime she was
committing, but that wasn’t the case. The mental changes were happening already. That anger was
directed towards being considered the ugliest of their group, derived from a sense of pride in his new
looks. While Saratoga continued focusing on the cells she was creating between her hands, the goo she
had already deposited began finishing its job on her victim. The splatter across his chest reached up to
meet the goo descending from his head. Once the two groups met, they encased his neck with their
combined mass, and reworked it to the specifications they had been given. Once done there, the goo
seeped to his shoulders and finished their work before slipping into his body. This left him with a slender
neck and shoulders that his new head looked much more at home on top of.

He decided to do his best to focus on his thoughts. Retaining his identity and mind were the
most important things at the moment. He began recalling things like his various research reports and
data, over and over again, as if to detach himself from the entire situation. Saratoga frowned. “Huh? You
stopped reacting kinda quick there, didn’t you? Oh, I know the transformation has been boring, so how
about we get to the fun stuff then!?” He had a good idea what she meant, and had been mentally
bracing for it. Her coated hands lunged for his chest, and he twisted his round face away, as if not to
look at what was about to happen. He let out a gasp in his new voice. A voice that sounded, domestic, as
if it belonged to a dutiful housewife or lover rather than a former Admiral. Saratoga grinned as her
hands found purchase under his dress shirt. They firmly grasped his pectorals, her fingers delicately
curling around his nipples. “Let’s make sure you give that bitch Iowa a run for her money, okay?” His
lips were squirming, trying to stay shut as he experienced incredible stimulation. The ice cold liquid on
Saratoga’s hands was spreading across his chest, and eagerly slipping into his pores. With each passing
moment, he felt the substance slip into him, becoming a heavy weight that was dense and compact right
behind his pectorals. A pressure like a stack of weights sitting right above his heart made him whimper
as the cold touch of the liquid was replaced with the warm feeling of Saratoga’s individual finger tips
digging into his pectorals. She had been deftly massaging the liquid in, gently easing the stuff into his
flesh with a bemused look on her face the entire time. When all of it had receded, she moved away, still
smiling as she began to run her hands over one another once more, preparing the final dosage for his
lowerbody.
 It was a strange feeling. The dense almost metallic feeling above his heart was slowly becoming
fluid. The pressure it bore on his breathing slowly receding, becoming a bobbing sensation that gradually
became in tune with each breath he was taking. The presence of this weight above his chest became the
presence of weight behind his now erect nipples. His flat chest was beginning to rise from his body,
becoming heavy and full with new copious fat. Thinking about the monstrosities hanging of Iowa’s chest,
he had to gulp in trepidation. They were filling out into perfect round mounds of flesh, bouncing ever so
slightly as his breathing increased with his fear. The cold heavy pressure behind his chest was becoming
a warm, soft, almost sticky weight on his chest. The new tanning flesh swelled outwards, colliding with
itself as it grew, and damply sticking to his chest as the mammoth things began to run out of room from
their original position. They sagged across his upper abdomen with their mass, their excess hanging off
the sides of his chest as they were pulled down by the massive weight. Rivulets of the silver goo began
to leak ever so slowly from his now tanned tips, making him squeak out little moans as bead after bead
of the substance erked out from the narrow passages. The individual drops slid down his rounded
breasts at an agonizingly slow pace, ice cutting a path through the heated coals that had become his
flesh. Each drop would quickly slip back into his flesh when it reached a part that had yet to be changed.
His stomach slowly flattened, the skin becoming the same soft tan as the rest of his body. The buildup of
sinew, new muscle, made his stomach churn. Slowly more muscle then he ever had as a guy rose against
the new glistening skin coating his stomach. They were slightly padded by fat, but not enough to hide
their shape and ridges completely. To support his new massive rack, his spine pinched in, and more
muscle was added to his lower back. To him, it felt as if his body was becoming much heavier. The
enormous breasts on his chest, and the muscle being added to his abdomen, were additions of mass to
a body that was shrinking, making his entire body much more compact and dense. Once his stomach
pinched in enough on the sides, and his muscles finished developing, his pseudo-lactation stopped, and
with it his unpleasant squirming.

He was panting, more from fear than exertion. The calculations and reports he had tried reciting
in his mind had been disturbed by the production of the cells by his own body. Basking in the almost
afterglow of this, his thoughts continued to wander. He felt the new strength in his core, and was almost
shocked by it. This sensation of power was so unfamiliar, it caught what he had presumed to be a strong
mental guard completely off guard. There was something satisfying about these changes, looking down
at his new shapely upper body. He certainly hadn’t been a stud, and the only time he had garnered a
woman’s attention was when he became an Admiral. Saratoga’s words from earlier drifted into his
mind, and he frantically shook his head. This was how he would lose. Giving into this power lust, this
superiority lust. It was clear that this was what had consumed Saratoga and Iowa, and if he wasn’t
careful it would consume him. Closing his eyes tight, not wanting to be enthralled by his own body, he
tried to begin his mental conditioning once more. The documents though, and calculations, were
periodically being interrupted by other thoughts. How big he was compared to Iowa and Saratoga, how
much more curved he seemed to be than Saratoga. He tried swatting them away as quick as possible
when they came up, but those thoughts were becoming more and more persistent.

His mental struggle so intense, that he failed to notice that Saratoga was undoing the restraints
she had placed him in. They no longer would be able to hold him anyways should he had chosen to start
resisting. His arms had changed as well, though far less noticeable through the haze of the growth of his
breasts. Their length and girth had shrunk, matching his proportions better as they also turned into the
soft caramel tone coating his body. Unsightly hair had faded as a nice layer of fat, just enough to hide
the compact muscle underneath coated their entire length. To an outsider, his arms looked smooth and
soft, but a gentle squeeze would reveal how hard and strong they truly were. He barely reacted until
Saratoga delivered the final batch of cells to the most important region of them all. She giggled to
herself at the sight of it. He had clearly gotten aroused by his own body, but from her vast experience
with cock she judged his on the lower end of the length and width spectrums. Giggling as she thought of
how disappointed those girls back at The Academy would’ve been to see such a pathetic thing, she
clasped one hand along its length, and reached another to slap his boring rear. His eyes fluttered open
instantly with a quick and loud feminine gasp. Saratoga tightened her grip around his dick, like she was
throttling it, forcing her cells directly into it, and overwhelming it with her feminine presence. It reacted
almost instantly, the sad little thing becoming limp within seconds as his weak human male genes were
overwritten by the stronger carrier shipgirl ones. Her hand removed itself from his ass and quickly went
for his balls. With one movement she squeezed both his dwindling length and sack with the intent of
completely crushing both. He had no need for such things any longer. Another load sound escaped his
lips, one of female bliss as weak and thin sperm escaped from his tip, dribbling pathetically to the floor.
Saratoga frowned as she noticed that it lacked any particular strong masculine musk, and as she felt the
shreds of his masculinity leave her hands she noted, “Really, at this point you should be thanking us.”

He realized his hands were free when they began clawing at the concrete behind him.
Something was carving its way inside her, leaving her hungering for what had once been there.
Hormones began pumping through her body, a time lag of twenty some odd years being released in
mere moments. Those unimportant documents were becoming overwritten with how good she felt. It
was like being submerged in a hot bath, a warm enveloping sensation flowing over her entire body.
Nothing in her life could compare to this. The sensation of embracing Atago in bed, her body wrapping
around his former one did not feel as amazing as this. Those passing grazes and embraces with those
two training cruisers, not as rewarding as the satisfaction she felt when she came as a woman for the
first time. No, this body, was much better than her previous one. She didn’t recognize she had at that
point fallen, still naively believing she could return with this body and her original personality. A
personality she was already beginning to recall with mild disgust. The shut-in she was, the research she
did, was forced on her because that’s what her old body was capable. Now though, that was a different
story. She could fight now, she could lead on the frontlines, she could interact with any social circle she
wanted to. Especially now that her body was completing its changes.

The hollow space where her dick had been was being filled with fat from her thickening hips.
Saratoga smiled as she saw how thick her new companion was becoming, noting that she had proven
Iowa wrong concerning her own abilities in turning someone. She was already wider than Saratoga
herself, and was already on her way to passing Iowa. Saratoga thought that was only fair. With her skin
tone and rather bland face the girl kinda looked like a potato, so at the very least her body would make
up for her looks. The fat meeting between her legs seemed to bulge outwards as the compact and dense
substance fought for the limited space. Her skin was expertly taught over the mass, the fat expertly
backed so it did not hang off of her like a grotesque display, but an inviting one of firmness yet softness.
Her body slowly raised as her cheeks inflated, becoming full with warm and new fat. Between her
already large thighs, the meat of her ass expanded against the floor, giving her a very comfortable
cushion to rest on as her changes completed. Saratoga had unbuttoned the new girl’s old pants to get at
her old dick, so they had been somewhat loose before her changes began. Now, they were pulled
taught, digging into the soft flesh of her new thighs, and slowly slipping into the crack of an inflating ass.
Body hair vanished from her shapely legs as they crossed one another, the girl squirming as the tide of
warmth continued to wash over her. She made a small sigh of relief when the tightness across her lower
body vanished with a load rip, her expansive hips and ass finally breaking the last vestige of her old
uniform and allowing her to bask in the new girth and form freely.
 Iowa sauntered up from behind, lowering a hand from the side of her head. She gave Saratoga a
quick slap to the ass before leaning in. “Damn girl, I didn’t know you had this in you!” She smiled even
more when she saw the clear look of bliss on their victim’s face. “Mmmm. Looks like our new friend is
ready to break in. Lucky for her I found a place for us to go tonight.”

Saratoga giddily clapped her hands. “Oh my god Iowa you are such a god damn slut! I love it! I’ll
make her some clothes and we can get going! God I soooo need this!”

The two continued their preparations, completely ignoring their new member on the floor. She
was relishing her new body, subconsciously groping her new fat on her chest and ass. This felt so good,
like she knew she was the most endowed of their group, for sure. They could make fun of her face, but
there was no denying that she was the best built out of the three of them. She shook her head. Why was
she thinking that!? These were not her friends. Her friends were those basic bitches back at that stupid
school. That school where she was basically a pencil pusher and was looked down on by the other
Admirals for not being a frontline combatant. The job had been so boring, her life so mundane.
Something was telling it would be much more exciting to hang out with these two sluts. She was angry at
them, but she couldn’t recall why. Oh, that was it, they had trashed her home. No, she couldn’t be friends
with them, not after that. Well, not until they made up for it, they kinda did give her this rocking new
body. She slipped into the uniform handed to her by Sara, and hopped in the car with her and Iowa.
They were going out, to meet the boys and grab some drinks. That sounded fun, certainly more fun then
what she had been doing before.

It was a rather depressing looking place on the edge of town. A promising scent emitted from
the basement cellar the club was hosted in. Iowa dragged Intrepid in with Saratoga giving the new
carrier a gentle push from behind. The absolute dominance, the overwhelming difference in power,
between her and the other girls became immediately apparent. The music almost literally stopped when
the three entered the establishment. All eyes were on them, most with a carnal lust. Intrepid found
herself counting how many eyes were locked on her body, and compared them to the amount on Sara
and Iowa. She almost laughed when she found she had the most attention. That’s right, it wasn’t all
about the face like those two bimbos thought. It was what you could put out. With a body like hers, so
thick and powerful, there was no question who was top bitch in the room at the moment. The
exhilaration she felt at this revelation removed almost all of her doubts. She could cling to that weak
identity of a male, that pathetic normal existence she had, or she could embrace this new life. This life of
being able to do whatever she wanted with whoever she wanted. This life of no bland responsibilities
and only self-indulgence. This life of embracing her wants before her needs. Basking in the musk of the
sweaty patrons as well as booze, her mind settled on the clear course of action.

Atago had been dispatched a few days after the break out of Iowa and Saratoga from their
custody. She had been ordered by higher to go on the ongoing hunt for the now fugitive pair. The truth
was, she would’ve gone even had she not been ordered. They had attacked her kids, the innocent
students who had looked up to her like a mother. They had attacked her home, a place she had spent
time building with her own hands. They had taken her Admiral, the man who showered her with
kindness and attention despite seeming to have such a recluse demeanor. She was a nice girl at heart,
but there was a point she would even break. She had resolved to crush those two completely. Kashima
and Katori would manage just fine without her for the time being. She had promised them she would
bring their Admiral back. She had to send Nowaki home several times, the destroyer girl feeling obliged
to help Atago after getting her so grievously injured during the intitial escape of those two. She would
not drag her family into this anymore than she had to.

She was surprised when she arrived at the rendezvous. Waiting there was several mech units as
she had been told, but also an oddly familiar face. “K-Kongou?” She asked the older battlecruiser.

The brown-haired woman turned around with a weak smile. “In a way.” Her expression changed
quickly into a warmer and more excited one. “Atago! How nice to see you!”

Atago cocked her head. There seemed to be two Kongou’s somehow, based on the change of
dialogue and reactions. “What are you doing here? Were you ordered to this suppression operation as
well?”

Kongou frowned. “Suppression operation? I was told a stray abyssal unit had made it inland and
they needed me for fire support. They told me not to bring the girls because their main caliber guns
wouldn’t be able to do the job.” She added a quick ‘hope their doing okay’ before looking quizzically at
Atago. “Is that not what’s going on…?” Atago wanted to quickly explain before being cut off by a familiar
laugh. Blood boiling, the blonde turned with her companion to the source of the noise.

“Are they serious? Sending some grandma and the tramp we already beat with a couple of
paperweights to take us on?” The busty blonde speaking sauntered towards their circle. They were
meeting near the fringes of the city of Pittsburgh, in a warehouse district that should’ve been
abandoned.

“No carriers either. Are these guys just idiots?” The brown haired bitch came strutting from the
opposite direction, her distinct tommy gun hanging from her hands. She had yet to launch any of her
planes. “I am glad that you’re here Atago, we’ve got something to show you.”

The mechs began to come to life, slowly standing and entering a battle ready stance. Kongou
seemed on guard now as well, a still confused expression on her face. “Grandma? Is that supposed to be
me? What’s going on here…”

Atago was more concerned with answering her own question. “The Admiral. Where is he?” Her
fists were clenched as her gun barrels slowly turned to the approaching carrier. The brown haired
woman seemed unfazed and shrugged.

“What do you think I wanted to show you?” The brown haired woman stepped to her side,
gesturing as if unveiling an art piece. Coming from further down the alley they were all positioned in was
another woman. She lazily moved her tongue and mouth around a popsicle in a crude and suggestive
matter. Her tanned body dripped with just a few hints of perspiration. Her massive breasts were barely
contained by a too tight bikini top, and her hips jutted side to side from behind too tight denim shorts.
Her body was made for two things; sex and destruction. The bounce of her fatty breasts and hips
punctuated by the rippling of her toned core. She looked at them all with contempt, still licking away at
a bright red popsicle.
 “A-admiral?” Atago asked. Turning furiously to Saratoga she raged. “You can’t be serious! That’s
not…my Admiral would never…!”

“Would you quit your yapping you damn tramp.” Atago’s protests were silenced by the new
visitor. “Sorry you bimbo, but if you’re here to ‘rescue’ me you can take your basic ass home. Leave the
boys though, I’ve haven’t gotten a good dick in since last night and I’m getting a little impatient.”

Atago felt her knees quiver. There was no way. Some kind of trick, right?

“Did you hear me or not tramp? Scamper on out of here with your Grandma and we might not
hurt you. The men though, I can speak for myself that I’ll treat them gently, but Iowa has taken a liking
to rough play so they may not come back in one piece.” The woman stared at Atago with only hatred in
her blue eyes. There was no sign of recognition or remorse. Her Admiral had fallen completely to her
new lifestyle. She recognized Atago, but hardly cared anymore. She was not a person who took orders
anymore. She was one who lived life as she wanted, just like Saratoga, just like Iowa. Noticing that the
mechs and opposing shipgirls had yet to move, she sighed. “Guess you’ll die then.”

He scratched at his beard. It had long since passed the point of being able to call it only stubble.
Long past regulation length, but it wasn’t like he was in the Navy anymore. Observing the carnage, he let
out a low sigh. This is what they got for making half measures at this. Thinking that replacing the two
light cruisers with one battleship would change the end result was ridiculous. A day ago, the hastily
assembled pursuit force had literally been dismantled here. 17 Anchors and 9 Moorings destroyed. 5
dead pilots, 12 wounded, and 9 assumed to have been taken prisoner. One heavy cruiser class shipgirl in
critical condition. One battleship class shipgirl in critical condition. Nothing noteworthy on the enemies’
status aside from the fact they had a new member. If there was anything good to come up of this whole
farce, it was now that the kiddie gloves could come off. Blood had been drawn by them so now his team
could respond in kind.

The distinct characteristic wailing of one of his members provoked another sigh from his lips.
That was if his team was even capable of doing that. Turning, he observed that one of his own Anchor
mechs had suffered a structural failure, and had fallen nearly on top of one of his shipgirls. The small girl
with long blonde hair in twintails covered her head while whimpering. If one listened closely, they could
make out that the whimpering was actually a distinct single word, being repeated over and over.
“Baaaaaaay…..baaaaaay….” She continued saying as she trembled, crouched in place. The man moved
his attention from the walking emotional train wreck to the one who caused the incident. A Native
American looking woman who seemed ready to pop out of her own clothes was arguing obstinately with
the pilot of the mech she had quite literally knocked over. She maintained that the pilot hadn’t been
keeping his balance, but it was fairly clear she had just bumped into the thing as she was prone to doing
and her unrestrained weight and strength had caused the thing to fall over. A literal walking physical
trainwreck who could find ways to bungle a mission or task in the most incredible ways and still
maintain that it wasn’t her fault. He reached into his shirt pocket for a cigarette, thinking how much
better a quick shot of whiskey, or just a plain shot to the head, would alleviate all his problems.

Naturally the third pain in his ass was there to swat the smokes out of his hands. “What kind of
Commander smokes in front of his troops?” The white-haired woman that looked like a Halloween sexy
secretary asked. A too small black top hugging her breasts and showing her midriff was covered only
slightly by the jacket he had given her. Her too small pencil skirt showed off the impressive black
stocking clad legs until they were covered by mid-thigh length black jackboots. She folded her arms over
one another as she too inspected the damage, and smiled.

“Cut that out Wash. It’s fucking creepy.” The man spat. A woman who had to practice smiling
had no place doing it. He bent over to pick up his dropped cigarette, but a black clad boot stomped and
grinded the thing into the dust. “Okay, guess slowly killing myself with smokes isn’t an option either
then.” He dryly said as he straightened himself up.

“You have a job to do, so don’t shirk from it.” Washington was usually high strung and combat
focused, but today she had become even more curt and direct. He could see her hands clenching herself
tightly, and she flinched every time Gambier or South Dakota’s voices got too loud.

“You seem a little on edge there Wash. How about a cigarette?” the man dispassionately
gestured at the remains of the one she had just grinded into dust on the ground. He couldn’t care less
how the bitch was feeling. He didn’t want this job, he didn’t want these girls. He wanted his old Navy life
back with his Zumwalts and their kinetic railguns. This new Navy could go stuff it for all he cared. The old
Navy never had to deal with literal battleships running rampant in civilian centers.

“How would you feel if your successor, the one who was meant to carry on your legacy, was
such a waste of space?” Wash asked. It definitely wasn’t a hypothetical question. She was looking at him
with those fierce blue eyes, expecting some kind of response.

“I’d feel pissed and betrayed. Not that sort of thing has happened to me at all or anything.” The
man leaned past the burning irises and looked towards the Native American woman who was trying to
get her top back on. Seemed she got a size too small again, either on purpose because she thought she
was so glamorous, or by mistake because she was just an idiot. The men were certainly enjoying the
show. “I get a feeling we aren’t talking about South Dakota here.”

“That woman, Iowa. We were together at Leyte. She was South Dakota’s successor. To think she
would sink so low as this… makes me want to kill my own blood. I don’t know how to feel about that.”
Wash frowned as she looked at the crushed buildings and craters.

“The thing about this is, if you had no expectations of her to begin with you wouldn’t have
gotten hurt. Part of being human is recognizing that other humans suck and you can’t rely on them. I
know you’re some kind of battleship or what not, but you got tits, an ass, and I’m sure enough other
things to make you a human woman so I know you can understand that concept. You don’t have to feel
anything about her if you don’t want to. No point in torturing yourself over the fate of garbage. I know
I’m not.” The man dryly replied while looking at the sky. What a world to be in. One where a battleship
was questioning killing another battleship and he was counseling said battleship. He dragged his vision
down to see Washington smiling at him. It was for the briefest moment, but it looked like a genuine
smile. Not those fake blood curling ones she liked to practice. The moment he processed it though, it
was gone, leaving him to wonder if it had been there at all to begin with. “Go grab the other two idiots
and meet me in the car. We’re going hunting.”