(It’s been really fun and therapeutic for me, but this’ll be my last Reddit-style post for a while. Warning: this is not a shrinking one, but a giant one. I have my own thoughts on the outcome, but the ending is purposely left open to interpretation. It’s a little darker than my usual stuff, but nothing too graphic. Lots of “fill in the blanks”.)
Posted in r/UnhingedWhistleblowing
By u/MassReduction-6uwu9
Note: This is a repost of a deleted post in r/WorkConfessions . There were no other updates and OP has deleted her account. It sounds bonkers, could just be trolling. Even with the details in the original post, I can’t find any evidence of what she’s saying online or in the media, but the whole MINUS thing has taught me to keep an open mind. Thought you all might appreciate it though. This was originally a massive wall of text, so I’ve added paragraph breaks where I think is appropriate. I’ve also edited out some details which might cause the post to be flagged and taken down, I’ll put them in [SQUARE BRACKETS].
Trigger warnings: Suggestion or mentions of death, medical complications, violence/injury, insane workplace
Mood spoiler: Don’t know, OP has been deleted. Kinda positive?
I F’d Up by accidentally taking part in an evil experiment
I’m (XXf) part of an independent research team who were commissioned by the military to partake in a rather suspect project. The project aims to make people, um…much taller than average. MUCH taller than average. Like “the size of a building”, “could take on Godzilla” kind of big. Honestly, that part’s no big secret since the whole thing was announced and published on mass media. What I’m sharing could very well land me in trouble, but after what I’ve learned over the past year or so, the whole situation is so screwed up a hundred ways to absolute shit. So I need to get it out there in case anything happens to me.
For some background: as many of you know, despite the world going to shit, some countries still think it’s worth investing in “efficient and high impact” military programs to compete in a global pissing contest over who has the largest armed forces. Well, [REDACTED, OP’s country] decided to take that objective quite literally.
A bunch of people were chosen to participate, and they stayed on-site in the [REDACTED] Compound as willing subjects (I hate using that word). The Compound is very remote, extremely hard to spot from above, and stretches several kilometres underground, where most of the work is done. The Compound accommodates anyone involved in the project, myself included. Unlike staff, subjects couldn’t be given completely furnished quarters that you’d otherwise expect when living away from home, given their “enlarged” states. The subjects were provided clothes, food, showers, recreational space, access to the outdoors (though limited and strictly monitored), and they could ask for extra things and gadgets which could be modified to match their new heights. As you’ll find out later, it became more difficult as the goalposts kept shifting further and further away.
For simplicity’s sake, I’ll say that my team is involved with things that relates to direct contact with the subjects. I was new and assisted the Chief Investigators (CIs), collected data and went home/back to my quarters at the end of the day. For our safety, we’d talk to the subjects from a separate but conjoined Observation Room that was separated by a heavily reinforced polymer door. We could enter a subject’s space through the door, but it was too small for the subject to use themselves.
I was fine with my position and the money was really good. I was a believer of the “less I know, the better” philosophy (and the other assistants were the same), until I learned that living in ignorance was living on borrowed bliss. Sad thing is (amongst many) I actually liked my role: I got to talk with the subjects, see how they were doing, and liaised with the staff to help the subjects be more comfortable. I got to know them and made friends with them, to the chagrin of the CIs.
The project started interesting enough - I’ll venture to say reasonable even, compared to what they ended up doing. The subjects were originally meant to be “enlarged” to about 3-3.5m (10-12ft), which was successful and was stable. The subjects were able to do everything as normal (as normal as a person who had just doubled in height) for about 2 months before the project was directed to up the enlargement targets incrementally every couple of months or so. Roughly:
6-7.5m (20-25ft)
9-11m (29-36ft)
12-15m (40-50ft)
17-20m (55-65ft)
24-30m (80-100ft) and so on…
I personally don’t know the exact science, it was another team (maybe a few of them) that worked out how to counter the issues posed by the square-cube law. They kept that for higher security clearances. But after the third successful increase to 9-11m (29-36ft), at least half of the subjects were beginning to experience complications: chronic pain, constant headaches and nausea, difficulty breathing, loss of appetite followed by drastic loss of mass. Five of them, if you haven’t guessed yet, [REDACTED]. The CIs classed them as “unstable” and [REDACTED] as soon as their vitals [REDACTED]. Despite voicing their anxieties, the subjects were reminded of their obligations to the project, and that their contracts were iron-clad. Needless to say, they weren’t happy.
By the 12-15m (40-50ft) mark, those remaining were given special, self-cleaning and hyper-flexible suits supposedly to help maintain anatomic stability. It was a lie:
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The timing conveniently aligned with the subjects’ heightened frustration and agitation; and
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Remotely controlled biometric mesh was built into the fabric which the CIs could activate to send out a “remedial reverberation” to “undesirable responses to instructions” (i.e. a painful electric shock sent directly into the spine).
Whoever designed them must have been some fucking anime fan or something, because they looked like those suits you’d see on mech shows; sort of streamlined and covering from neck to toe.
With every target being met, we lost more subjects. I listened to them as they described their pain, or told me something that turned out to be a hallucination (if you’re ever caught in a similar situation, the worst thing you can tell an agitated fucking giant is “no, that didn’t happen”). I watched them [REDACTED] as they asphyxiated, their organs failed, or their bodies effectively ate themselves. And then, after a couple of months, the ones still alive would undergo “enlargement” again. And on and on it went.
They were my friends.
I tried appealing for the CIs to object to any further changes, even reverse them, but they reminded me of my contract and the NDA I signed. I’m pretty sure they dropped some thinly veiled threats too. I know they’ve considered just letting me go, but they won’t. The other assistants have been let go or moved on; they didn’t need so many people on payroll with fewer giants in the Compound.
Meanwhile, I developed close relationships with the subjects - my friends - that I was the only one that could keep them calm. And the bigger they got, the less certain the CIs were in being able to keep them in line. One of the CIs personally experienced how efficient a literal man-sized hand is in breaking multiple bones of a grown person in multiple places at once. They don’t try to keep me happy necessarily, but they don’t try to piss me off either. They mostly just make themselves scarce and leave me to do my job. There isn’t a hell of a lot I can do anyway with my limited security clearance.
Eventually, it got down to just one guy (“Dee”). He and another person successfully (a subjective term) reached the 48-60m (160-200ft) target, but the other person [REDACTED] about a week after. Dee’s on the larger end of the target range. He’s the last remaining person from the original pool of 40. We’re the only ones who have any regular contact with each other. He’s about my age, maybe a bit older. He’s nice, kinda flirty. He calls me “Shorty” or “Doctor Too Little” (I’m not a doctor, but I’ll take it for the sake of the pun). We often eat meals together, don’t even bother with the separate rooms anymore to talk: he’d just pick me up and put me on his table.
If I weren’t smaller than his finger, I’d go out with him. Hell, to be honest, I probably still would - it’s the situation, not him, that doesn’t make for a conducive dating environment. When I think about it, I thought seeing him grow every couple of months made me nervous, but it’s more of a…giddiness. I just smile, thinking about his big hands, fingers the size of tree trunks, but still able to deftly pick up whatever object I was holding to hang it over my head. He sure likes to tease. One time, I had my hand out towards him and he pretended to try to bite it. Turns out, the sound of huge teeth cracking on teeth is both horrifying and exhilarating. If it were someone else though, I wouldn’t have laughed.
And God, he’s got shoulders for days - proportionately, not because he’s bigger than most apartment buildings. He just looks so good in that suit… Ugh, a suit that could cause him an indescribable amount of pain - do you see all the different levels of fucked up this is? That this whole thing makes me? Like, why am I even saying this?
Anyway.
Now down to just one giant, and after touting the program as being such a great success to the public, the CIs have become extra cautious on how best to proceed. They were lucky with Dee making it this far with few complications, so they were no longer interested in further enlargement and now invested in maintaining current levels. They’d observed a “noticeable” loss of hypodermic mass since the last enlargement. They had some initial success with something they had tried on the other giant who passed and were keen to try it on Dee. It’s hard to tell any differences from my perspective when everything about him is just huge by default, but when they mentioned it, he did seem a bit gaunt. When I mentioned it to Dee, he just said that he was a little bit hungrier, but had chalked it up to everyone still adjusting to the new height increase.
So they changed his food. I wasn’t sure how or with what at the time, but he did seem to improve; he filled out a little more, got some colour back in his cheeks. I was hopeful that things would get better, especially after they’d decided to stop enlargement. The side-effects were minor with only the occasional headache, he even seemed in better spirits. He was in a particularly playful mood one night when, while chatting after dinner and on the topic of dogs, he lifted me to his face and licked me. Like a big, long wet streak all the way up my body. Yes, it was as soft and wet as you think; no, it didn’t freak me out as much as I thought it would. Honestly, that wasn’t as worrying as the look he gave me afterward. Like engrossed, intense…even hungry. Maybe it was nothing, because nothing else happened that night or the days following.
Here’s where the camel’s back breaks:
Dee and I were chatting tonight. I commented on how hungry he must have been because of how ravenously he ate his dinner. He just laughed, said how nice the food has been since they changed it and that he really looks forward to mealtimes. I asked him what his favourite dish was, and he just said, with no pause, “You". I just took it as some harmless flirting and didn’t think anything more of it than some (appreciated) flattery.
It was getting late, I said goodnight and that I’d swing by the Observation Room to pick up my stuff first. I spotted a manilla folder that must have slipped behind the console against the wall and on to the floor. It had no label, just four red dot stickers on the bottom right-hand corner. I didn’t know who it belonged to, so I opened it up to find out. With no identification page, I flicked through it.
God, part of me wishes I didn’t…
It went into graphic detail about “processing” [REDACTED] - all types, from different sources. I don’t know if they were already [REDACTED]. There were so many pictures, like scenes from a slaughterhouse or a morgue, a lot in black and white but some in colour. It was for food - for Dee, and approved for use for any future programs.
I used to joke about the whole [REDACTED] thing, but now it makes me sick. The looks Dee has been giving me, the comments, that lick? I don’t know if they’re jokes, I don’t know if he’s flirting. But I think the food is changing him. I’m starting to wonder if he’s been getting bigger without the enlargement process, but maybe I’m just freaking out.
He’s not a monster.
I’m still awake, I can’t sleep. I’m scared.
I realise why I’m writing things that don’t seem relevant: I just want to write my stream of consciousness in case I miss any little detail that could be important. I’m not going to edit anything. I can’t keep hiding this.
“Fucked” is an understatement for this whole horror shitshow. I doubt any of you will believe me, and this’ll probably get wiped for not being real. But I’m out of ideas on what to do. All I know is that I’ve got to do something.
I’m going to be proactive. I can’t keep doing nothing.
Tomorrow, I’m going straight to Dee and show him the folder.
I’ll tell him everything, consequences be damned.
I hope he’ll help.
