My Original GT/Vore One-shots

Flight GG-82: Investigation

While intolerant Federal Marshal Todd Toomey continued to scrutinize witnesses in Provo, Larissa Crabtree drove downstate through badlands. Although Flight 82 had ostensibly vanished off the face of the earth, there were some tipoffs and leads. Earlier a bloody copilot uniform was found by utility workers on some remote power lines. Later a Mormon farmer somewhat further south reported finding a disembodied empennage and aft pressure bulkhead on two different acreages of his land two miles apart. Both of these were confirmed to be aircraft parts and still warm.

Driving her black government sedan through the countryside, Larissa kept an eye out through her sunglasses. No distractions. She preferred working solo, hence why she was prompt to abandon hardened Toomey at the hospital. Having been a loner since her chain-smoking goth days in high school, Larissa Crabtree had gone through partners like condoms since joining the Marshals. Simply enough she needed silence to think. That's all. Silence also permitted her to ruminate on that survivor's laughable tale about a giant. But, just in case there was an ounce of truth to the fantastical story from Christa Moore, Crabtree kept a lookout for any gigantic abnormalities in the bland landscape.... Blandscape.

Having not seen another automobile for miles, Larissa kept one eye on the road and the other at the onscreen map. A blinking blue dot on the digitally displayed layout of central Utah indicated the location of Flight 82's ELT. Helicopters had already scoured the area and had not spotted wreckage or any survivors. Downsizing the digital map however, Crabtree noticed it was in proximity to the bloody uniform and the parts recovered near the Mormon homestead. "Must be some sort of clue out here," murmured Larissa, chomping her nicotine gum.

Following the GPS to where the tail parts from the aircraft were presumably scattered, Larissa found something unexpected in the middle of nowhere. As she drove closer to the transmitter, Crabtree spotted the colossus from a distance and filed the brakes down to a nub slamming them with a screech. "Holy shit that chick was on the level," said the lady Marshal gaping out her windshield

At first, Crabtree thought the unimaginably skyward form must have been a tornado forming down to earth. It wasn't until she drove closer that she saw it wasn't transparent but solid flesh and skin. Realistically when Larissa exited her car, she was probably five or six miles across the flatlands from the man who literally had his head in the clouds. Guesstimate, Larissa put them at 600-1000 feet! Seeming to be strolling toward the sunset, this stark naked dude, more than capable of swatting down a low 747 required picture evidence. Especially since the Emergency location transmitter must've been communicating from either on the giant's person or.... Inside their person.

With trembling hands the pale female fed snapped a few pics with her cameraphone. Sundown provided excellent light to illustrate the size and shape of this thing. For the love of god his hairline seemed to be above the sun's reach somehow. However, poor Marshal Larissa shouldn't have dawdled in sending those pictures to her superiors or partner. She had underestimated the near cosmic power of this otherworldly behemoth's eardrums. After several distant clicks of the cameraphone the giant who devoured flight GG-82 and it's passenger noticed the odd noise.

Unfathomably at least to little Larissa, this giant was directly in front of her in seconds flat. Several miles was a simple turn, skip and jump for him. Too shocked to move, Crabtree remained motionless as those watery blue meteors loomed over her from his eye sockets. With a shrug and a single lap of his dripping pink sea monster like tongue, the giant slurped down not only Larissa and her phone but also the government sedan. All clung to the tongue as it recoiled like a diving eel back between those lips. With all the evidence now in his bottomless stomach, the giant pranced away without a care.

Inside, the titan's stomach was as capacious as the nearby Grand Canyon. It smelled of bad breath, meat and jet fuel down there. Sure enough, Larissa saw a 747 nose cone and some landing gear when she flashed her phone's flashlight around. Silver paint was already peeling off the nose cone from the digestion, along with the squishy mess of human bodies around. No survivors. Unsurprisingly Larissa had no service in the gurgling stomach. Hiking to find a way out would be a waste of time. "Be digested before I find what her had for breakfast," she said cynically to herself, wry voice echoing off the stomach walls. She got an idea when she found a splintered piece of the plane's wing, jagged. After some thought, she picked up the sharp piece like a chisel and carved a broody gothic poem of macabre on the unending, fleshy stomach wall. Her last words, ever a part of this colossus's digestive tract.