You've been exposed to a wealth of potential since signing up with the Korps and taking your research in-house. There are simply breathtaking minds available to you in the R&D department (and not just their minds!).

An idea comes to you one morning too daft and fun to ignore.

Practice with your RCGs has made interdepartmental communication a cinch. Sipping at your coffee, the obscure hum at the back of your mind coalesces into planning calls, strategy meetings and inventories that flicker across your vision in shocking magenta where necessary.

A few bemused reactions start the day, but your colleagues seem at least interested. It's when you reach the genetech facilities that you're finally called on your plan.

"Wait, like-... this is that movie. Avatar! With the giant blue cats."

Sip. No, you explain. Not like that.

Your clearance allows you to brute force a request through the system and demand the necessary tools for your request - and after all, they have your DNA on file.

Three days pass and a courier drone arrives at your laboratory, waiting patiently for a signature.

You sign for possession of a narrow brushed steel box, thirteen inches long with a simple thumbprint scanner on its lid and a hinge running the entirety of its side.

Giddy, you scamper back to your desk and lay it down gingerly. The scanner beeps. Perfect.

The interior is neatly padded to prevent injury to a doll-sized figure packed neatly for your attention. Your figure, recreated in miniature, perfect to the last familiar detail.

Almost reverent, you touched a fingertip to the tiny clone's brow - your RCGs register a connection.

All necessary mechanical and cybernetic adjustments have been made, but... your credit with Empire Enhancements springs to mind.

Blink-click. You put out another call. A request, then a grunt and a demand. Yes, twelve inches tall. Yes, bigger. You repack the clone.

A terse email about the improbability of your request arrives on the second day, and a new, deeper box arrives on the fourth.

Your thumbprint opens the case again, and a figure you ordinarily couldn't have hoped to afford dozes patiently within. A little test drive, you think.

A gentle touch to the sleeping mirror's face registers the connection between its implants and your RCGs, and the rest is a matter of finding a quiet place to test your theory.

Telepresence is an art already perfected by other Korps luminaries, so this ought to be simple...

Seated at your desk, you close your eyes. Instructions hum out of your subconscious, a warm stream of want and desire that the software is ready for; that it encourages. Your arms slacken, your senses dull and fade. The sleep you induce moves on instructions already planned.

...and you breathe for the first time. A stunned gasp. Your fingers curl, your eyes snap open. Unfamiliar weight settles on your chest - you glance down hurriedly, a goofy smile on your face.

You look up.

There you are, written in false horizons and unnatural perspectives.

The padding in your case gives slightly under tingling, new fingertips. You swing shapely legs over its edge and rest your feet on the cool, open plain of your desk.

The tight grip of elasticated rubber against your chest and crotch affords little decency. Breathe.

You rise tentatively. Familiarity wars with reality for a moment - you insisted on modifications frankly dangerous to your center of gravity. Teetering unsteadily, you pace toward your distant figure, that lurid monolith a freakish dream mirror.

It's not entirely unpleasant.

Tickling at the fringes of your skull are the implants you'd insisted on. The full visual suite of physical RCGs aside, they're fully functional; you're on the garishly cheerful workplace intranet in moments.

Alone like this? No, you've got ideas. You probe with your clearance.

DNA records, psych evaluations, disciplinary procedures; you buzz through surface layers of data in a whirlwind of vertigo, swaying slightly under the shadow of your gargantuan self.

Aah, there you are.

Nightly RCG cache dumps with your ident code on them. You pick the latest.

A command more silent than unspoken. The prickling sensation inside an unreachable place in your mind shifting as the codes and demands flew.

Download complete. You opened your eyes (you opened your eyes).

There you were (there you were)!

An overwrite error blinked past.

"Oh... oh, wow..." you murmured from on high, reaching up to rub your temples.

You watched from the table, awestruck. Something so massive shouldn't move with such ease.

You stared down at your animated clone, giggling wildly. It worked! Success! ...and already animated, too.

A demanding blur of present senses flashed across your vision, throwing your balance wildly. You shut off the telepresence link to catch your breath, to steady yourself...

"Computer," spoke your gargantuan doppelganger, "rescind laboratory authority on the following sets."

Cool, unyielding silence in your mind. Inwardly you flicked all the usual switches. Five senses reported back.

"Look," you said, leaning forward across the desk, your elbow thudding down close and quaking the landscape beneath you, "don't kid yourself. This was deliberate."

Each syllable drummed through your tiny figure like thunderheads crossing the distant sky. You shivered as you spoke, gooseflesh prickling your neck. "It was always coming to this, wasn't it? I'm not sure which of us is the luckier one for this outcome, though..."

The person you had been reached for you. You stumbled back, bouncing roughly on a shapely backside you didn't remember being yours.

Broad, strong fingers closed around you, pinning your arms to your sides, your ribcage creaking. It didn't occur to you to protest.

"You'll have to tell me aloud if something actually hurts," spoke the old you in an undertone. The distorted vision of your former self reached up and touched a finger to their temple. "I can't feel it any more. So try to relax. We don't have any secrets."

You nodded weakly. It was true, after all. Both understood intrinsically how the other would react. Nothing was happening that you hadn't prepared yourself for a dozen times. That you hadn't planned.

Perhaps it was lucky you were down here. You swallowed, kicking fruitlessly.

Enormous fingers pinched at your chest. Warmth met your flesh before the pressure hit, then a sharp, intense yank that snapped the rubber band that had functioned rather pointlessly as a bra.

Both of you gasped. "I might have overdone that slightly," smirked the titan.

Pressure returned. A thumb covered your chest, groping lazily, toying with your breasts and the lithe, slender musculature of your torso. You'd bruise, you were certain, but the startling, foreign sensation of it all thrilled.

You bit your lip, stifling a groan.

You were handled artlessly, grip coiled around your waist and dumping you unceremoniously with your stomach resting on your tormentor's palm, your new chest jiggling over open space and long, firm legs dangling behind you as you were faced away from that former self.

The world tilted unsteadily, the distorted ground beneath sinking away as you were lifted. A sudden gust of moist heat hit your thighs. Your knees iced. Your legs tensed. You swallowed.

Wet, eager pressure slapped messily against your backside. Dense, strong heat probed at you.

You closed your eyes, tiny fingers coiled in and gripping the edge of your captor's hand. Every detail was your own.

The pressure intensified. Soft flesh puckered and slurped at the pitiful excuse for clothing you'd been left with. It tensed, stretched...

"Woah! Where'd you get THAT?!" Your senses exploded. The interloper boomed eagerly. You clapped your hands to your ears and yowled, panting, eyes still scrunched shut.

"Nngh, chritht!" protested the giant that you had been, pulling you away from their face with a blurring yank.

You were sent sprawling unceremoniously across your old desk in a tangle of shapely limbs, bouncing upright and staring skyward at a new, unfamiliar titan.

...wait, you did recognize that face. Just not that expression. You were still panting, glossy and trembling. Aah, classy.

"I made it," you said overhead, wiping your bottom lip against the back of your hand. "I figured I'd test a theory about the viability of cloned vessels for telepresence espionage-"

"What, like a horny Avatar?"

You and your old self both grunted sourly.

The newcomer leered at you closely, leaning in until the distant touch of their breath chilled the dampness on your thighs. "Doesn't look exactly like you," they murmured.

"What can I say? I like big tits, and there was no way I could afford them 'myself,' you know."

"Anyway, look... you interrupted some important research."

Booming laughter split the heavens. "Yeah, right. You can't just jerk off all the time and call it research."

"That is a solid 40% of what we do here." Your eyes fell on your tiny figure.

Those fingers returned. You gasped, as much the product of delight as the adrenaline flooding your tiny system. The desk had been cold, unyielding. You could expect far better treatment in someone's hand.

"Let me finish, then I'll come to your cubicle and you can play with it."

"It?" Doubt flickered across the billboard expression of your former colleague. "Doesn't that seem a little impersonal?"

"It's a toy," you answered blithely, and the person which had been you shivered delightedly in your hand.

*Fin*

(Credit of course to @KorpsPropaganda for the Korps setting. As always, a few things are deliberately vague to allow for the constraints of Twitter, and as much as possible for anyone to enjoy the leading role, so to speak.)