That company car has provided you with good years of loyal service, but in a situation where it's little more than a dinky toy you're afraid that you're going to have to part ways. Still, it's with a tear in your eye that you sight your pistol at the gas tank.
A single shot opens the vehicle up in a fireball, along with the memories of chases and seductions carried out from its leather interior. None will be able to replace it.
Then the tower falls, its uprooted base descending from the clifftop to land at your level with an unearthly quake. Yet for all its scale, all its grandeur, the event happens in a fraction of a second, the giantess moving with speed disproportionate to her size as she hunkers down to inspect the small fire in the road.
With her more compacted, knees hunched to chest as she squats, you get a better look at her. A better look at the acres of pale skin, barely restrained within silks and leathers. A better look at the face, possibly beautiful underneath the field of harsh, accentuating make-up. A better look at your destiny.
That behemoth is the one that you're going to have to make contact with, so you shove your thoughts, your fears and your regrets aside as you sprint free from your minimum safe distance and put yourself right up close to the inferno.
The burning car radiates heat, but to her it can be little more than a small blaze, barely enough to warm one of her all-smothering hands. You present yourself to her, already feeling the sweat building up from the conflagration at your back, and hope that within her brain or heart there resides one iota of mercy.
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