Ch 1 – Fiery Voluptuous Redhead

“You are such a dick!” the voluptuous redhead bellowed, her voice rich with the kind of fury usually reserved for discovering that someone has eaten the last of the ice cream and left the empty tub in the freezer as a cruel reminder of your misplaced hope.

As she waved her arms for emphasis, her breasts—those glorious, gravity-defying entities—began an enthusiastic wobbling routine of their own. They jiggled, bounced, and, for a brief moment, seemed to move with an entirely separate sense of agency, as if debating whether to stay confined to her turquoise blouse or launch a bid for independence. The blouse itself was having an existential crisis, its buttons straining against the very fabric of reality, quite literally.

Povel Vieregg was, as any rational man might be, utterly transfixed. Somewhere in his periphery, Idun Amalie Wang’s mouth was moving, her arms flailing, her expression an artistic masterpiece of rage. But Vieregg, poor Vieregg, could hear none of it. His ears were temporarily out of order, his brain occupied with what scientists might call significant sensory overload.

Her breasts, he thought dreamily, were living a life of their own. Perhaps they had dreams, ambitions, goals. Maybe they were considering a quiet retirement in the countryside, somewhere peaceful, where they could wobble freely without the constraints of corporate dress codes.

He sighed.

Idun.

A name fit for a goddess. Specifically, a goddess of fertility, sexuality, and eroticism, which, in this particular moment, seemed deeply, profoundly appropriate. And Amalie! A classic, refined name. A name for sipping wine at candlelit dinners. A name whispered in the darkness of a bedroom. A name that deserved to be sighed dramatically from chaise lounges in silk robes.

Somewhere in his mind, a parallel universe unfurled. In it, he and Idun were tangled in the sheets, limbs intertwined, her ample, magnificent form pressed deliciously against him. His hands roamed, exploring the plush softness of her—

“Are you hearing any fucking words I am telling you?!” she shrieked.

Vieregg blinked, recalibrating.

She had a temper, this one. Not at all like the gentle, mystical Idun of legend. No, this was something else entirely. This was Thor—all storm clouds and fury, hammer raised, ready to smite the unworthy. He had a sudden vision of her soaring through the sky, Mjölnir in hand, laying waste to entire cities in the name of righteous anger.

A vase flew past his head.

Not just any vase. A well-crafted, alarmingly sturdy one, which exploded against the wall with the kind of force that suggested Idun had spent a good portion of her life training for the Olympic shot put.

“Of course,” Vieregg lied smoothly, the way one might assure a customs officer that no, I have absolutely not packed anything suspicious, and that suspicious-looking shape in my bag is most definitely not an unregistered bottle of duty-free schnapps.

He cleared his throat.

“You are not very happy with your employment situation, here at Vieregg Industries.”

Idun’s eye twitched.

The next projectile, Vieregg suspected, would not miss.

She had a point.

Which, Vieregg felt, was highly inconvenient. Points tended to complicate things, and he generally preferred a world where women with very large breasts did not yell at him quite so much. But, alas, this was not that world.

Idun Amalie Wang had been hired about two months ago as a mechanical engineer. Vieregg could still remember it as if it were yesterday. Actually, he could remember it as if it had just happened five minutes ago, because the moment had seared itself into his brain with the intensity of a particularly aggressive branding iron.

She had walked into his office, and the air had left.

Not just a little. Not just in the poetic, oh-she-took-my-breath-away kind of way. No, the actual air had vacated the premises, as if it had decided that its day was also too overwhelming and had booked a one-way ticket elsewhere.

Her hips swayed as she walked. Not in the way that normal hips do, which is usually functional and unremarkable, but in the way a pendulum swings hypnotically before you’re lured into a state of irreversible stupidity. Her breasts—bountiful, bouncy, and seemingly guided by their own mischievous agenda—wobbled in a synchronized display of Newtonian defiance.

And then there was her face. That infuriating, adorable face, framed by red hair so vibrant it could have been used as an emergency beacon. Green eyes full of intelligence and, if he had been paying closer attention, the quiet exhaustion of a woman who already knew what she was about to deal with.

Vieregg had, up until this point, considered himself a professional man. A man of science. A man of logic. But when she stepped into his office, every single rational thought he had promptly packed its bags and left.

His fingers, previously occupied with a delicate sterling engine model, forgot how to function. One of the cylinders leapt from his hands in what could only be described as an act of self-preservation, plummeting towards the floor.

Idun, with the reflexes of an apex predator, caught it midair.

And bent over.

And Vieregg—who up until this moment had never considered himself particularly religious—saw heaven.

Had he ever seen so much boobage in a single moment? No. Could he remember his own name? Barely. Was he currently staring into the cleavage equivalent of a supernova? Absolutely.

It was at this moment that Vieregg decided Idun needed to work here immediately.

Norway had been where he was born, but he had left at the age of four, meaning that his strongest memory of the place involved falling into a mud puddle and crying until someone gave him a biscuit. Instead, he had grown up in Gothenburg, Sweden, where life was predictable, heavily regulated, and came with at least one mandatory fika break per day.

Despite knowing next to nothing about modern Norway, he had heard stories.

Imperial Norway was not exactly subtle about its women. If anything, it actively boasted about them. There were rumors, whispered theories, and, of course, an entirely ridiculous (but inconveniently accurate) Wikipedia article detailing the genetic experiments that had allegedly reshaped the Norwegian female population.

According to his hasty post-hire research, the Novi Soviets—who had briefly occupied Norway in 2026 before discovering that Scandinavians were really stubborn—had dabbled in genetic modifications. Specifically, retrovirus-based gene therapy, known as DOLL-3, which sounded less like a scientific breakthrough and more like a terrible brand of sex robots.

The DOLL-3 retrovirus was said to contain modifications to genes with important-sounding names like ESR1, PPARγ, and GHR, which were probably critical to something very technical that he absolutely did not understand.

The results?

Unnatural breast growth. Exaggerated hips. A libido so powerful that it could, theoretically, cause global warming.

Vieregg, a man who tried very hard to be professional, had dismissed this at first. Surely, he had told himself, this was an exaggeration. Women were not actually walking sex goddesses fueled by Novi Soviet gene-tampering and black-market biology.

And then Idun had walked into his office.

And Vieregg had realized—oh no, they absolutely are.

Now, of course, he had not personally witnessed any of the alleged side effects. Idun, as far as he could tell, was perfectly professional.

However.

Certain observations had been made.

For one, Idun took frequent bathroom breaks. More than seemed normal. More than any human bladder should reasonably require. And there were… rumors.

Someone—possibly Olav in Industrial Design, but no one wanted to name names—claimed to have seen a very large dildo peeking out of her purse.

This, naturally, sent the engineering department into an absolute frenzy of speculation.

Why did she have it?

Why did she bring it to work?

Was it a coincidence, or a symptom of her condition?

These were, of course, completely inappropriate workplace discussions, but that had not stopped a single one of them.

Vieregg Industries had always been an innovative, forward-thinking company. They allowed flexible work hours. They had excellent remote work policies.

And yet—since Idun had started?

Sick leave had dropped to zero.

Nobody worked from home anymore.

Productivity had skyrocketed.

The most recent employee survey had the highest morale scores in company history. Vieregg had never seen so many new, highly competent engineers desperately trying to work at his company.

He had no idea why.

But he was beginning to suspect.

It was Idun.

Idun, with her impossibly curvy body and dangerously competent hands.

Idun, whose mere presence had sent a team of socially awkward men into a feverish frenzy of scientific overperformance.

Idun, who had, by some terrible biological conspiracy, been designed to be both extremely good at her job and an absolute menace to workplace decorum. 

Further reading on wikipedia had convinced Vieregg that the VIR-X9 retrovirus based gene therapy was likely to blame. The Novi Soviets had exposed the Norwegian female population to both DOLL-3 and VIR-X9 through a cocktail called VIR-DOLL. Apparently that was a major blunder. Often referred to as a super soldier serum giving women unusual strength, quick reactions and heightened intelligence. Not a smart thing to give the people you occupied. 

Vieregg should have realized earlier what was going on with his male employees.

But, in fairness, he had been very distracted.

They wouldn’t say why they were so eager to work at Vieregg Industries.

Which, in itself, was suspicious. Engineers were not, as a rule, mysterious creatures. They were straightforward, logical, and prone to explaining basic physics to people who absolutely had not asked for it. But lately, highly competent engineers were flocking to the company in droves.

Vieregg had a theory.

It was not the cutting-edge technology.

It was not the competitive salary.

It was not the company-sponsored Friday fika with complimentary cinnamon buns.

It was Idun.

Oh well. If he could profit from it, it was all good.

Idun was the golden goose, except considerably bustier and much less likely to lay eggs.

She was, incidentally, also an exceptionally competent engineer. But Vieregg had not known that at the time.

Because when she had walked into his office that Monday in early March 2051, he had not been thinking about her engineering skills.

He had been thinking about boobs.

“Aren’t you going to conduct an interview?” Idun had asked, blinking at him in mild confusion.

Vieregg, whose ability to conduct structured interviews had been violently dismantled by overwhelming cleavage, had straightened his posture and lied with the confidence of a man who absolutely did not know what he was doing.

“No,” he had said. “Your CV was unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, and your recommendations were excellent.”

This was, in every possible way, a lie.

Fact #1: Vieregg had not read her CV.

Fact #2: Vieregg had not spoken to a single one of her previous employers.

Fact #3: Vieregg had, in fact, made his hiring decision based entirely on a mix of primal instinct and terminal horniness.

Idun had lit up.

That smile. That glorious, radiant smile.

It was the kind of smile that could melt glaciers and force nations into unconditional surrender.

And just like that, she was hired.

The next morning, Vieregg walked Idun through the engineering department.

It was as if a celestial being had descended from the heavens.

The room, normally a dimly lit cave of introverts, transformed. Engineers—engineers—stood up straighter. Smiled. Interacted with other humans in ways that suggested they were capable of speech.

People who, just yesterday, had been arguing over the viscosity of synthetic lubricants now greeted Idun as if she were the best thing that had ever happened to them.

Vieregg had never seen them this enthusiastic.

Idun smiled, taking in her overwhelmingly friendly reception.

Vieregg thought she was being treated like a Disney princess.

Idun, however, had a very different perspective.

“This place is the most sexist, chauvinist place I have ever worked. And you are a total dick!” she yelled.

Vieregg blinked.

This was not the response he had expected.

“I am deeply sorry to hear this,” he said, deploying his best CEO voice. “I thought we had a very good environment, and that you have been very welcomed here. Everyone is so happy to have you here, Idun.”

Idun looked like she was debating whether to launch him out of a window.

“Too happy!” she snapped. “Yes, every day I come into the office, and you are all smiling at me while you are ogling my boobs and gawking at my ass. And I cannot even communicate properly with the other engineers!”

Vieregg frowned. “Not communicate?”

“They lose the ability to function when I talk to them,” she seethed. “I keep repeating ‘I am up here.’ Does it work? No! Thirty seconds later, they’re back staring at—”

She stopped.

Her eyes narrowed.

Vieregg followed her gaze.

Ah.

Yes.

He had absolutely been staring at exactly what she was complaining about.

Oh no.

“FUCK YOU, VIEREGG!”

She turned on her heel and slammed the door so hard that a picture leapt from the wall and crashed to the floor in sheer terror.

Vieregg sat down at his desk, rubbing his temples.

“What a mess.”

He exhaled.

“How do I fix this?”

Per, one of Vieregg’s lead engineers, strolled into the office with the kind of casualness that suggested he had either not just witnessed the Viking Berserker Storm known as Idun Amalie Wang, or had already accepted that his life expectancy in her presence was significantly shortened.

He chuckled. “That woman sure has a temper.”

Vieregg sighed and leaned back against his desk, wiping a theoretical bead of sweat from his brow.

“You could say that again. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I was going to be murdered or just maimed beyond recognition.”

Per nodded in the way men do when discussing the complexities of avoiding workplace homicide. Then he smirked.

“She’s so hot when she’s angry, though. Did it turn you on?” He gave Vieregg a knowing look—the kind of look that implied mutual understanding, deep camaraderie, and absolutely zero self-awareness.

Vieregg let out a nervous laugh. “Hehehe, it actually did.”

Which, objectively, was not the right thing to say in this situation.

“My pants got way too tight,” he admitted, shaking his head. “Good thing she didn’t notice, or I’d be in the hospital right now. Possibly missing parts.”

Per waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. She’ll be fine. Probably just on her period. You know how women are. So irrational.”

Vieregg, a man who had never once in his life correctly read the subtext of a conversation, nodded sagely.

“She says we’re all really sexist,” he said, as if this was new information rather than a blatantly obvious fact.

Per made a face. “Pffft. Most likely just a spoiled girl. I mean, come on, everyone here goes out of their way to help her. She overreacts way too easily. You should’ve seen what happened when Tom slapped her ass—she totally blew up.”

Vieregg frowned. “How do you know?”

“Oh, because she really wound up to hit him. Like, full wind-up, ready to absolutely deck him in the face. Then—boom! Stops midair and storms off.”

Vieregg tilted his head. “Huh.”

Per continued, warming to the topic. “I mean, it’s so weird. Nisse gave her a nice slap the week before—like, a real good one, you could hear it across the lab. She got red in the face, sure, but nothing like when Tom did it. And that was nothing—nothing—compared to when Bosse grabbed her tits at Friday beer.”

Vieregg blinked. “Bosse what?”

“Oh yeah,” Per said, as if recounting a mildly interesting sports match. “He had a bit too much to drink. You know how it is. All in good fun.”

Vieregg let out a low whistle. “She got upset?”

“Oh, very. We tried explaining to her that Bosse was just drunk, and drunk people do stupid stuff. No need to get worked up over it.”

Vieregg shook his head with a laugh. “Boys will be boys, right?”

Per chuckled. “Exactly. She just needs to lighten up.”

With the important business of reaffirming their own complete lack of self-awareness settled, Per unrolled a large sheet of polymer paper on Vieregg’s desk.

“This,” he announced, “is the new underwater harness we’re working on for deep-sea welding in the North Sea. Our clients in Imperial Norway need it for their hydraulic-assisted diving suits.”

Vieregg studied the design. It was sleek, efficient, and—he squinted—oddly rounded in certain areas.

He pointed at the chest region. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh yeah, you know Norwegian women will be using this,” Per explained, in the same tone one might use to explain why ovens get hot when turned on. “And, well, apparently they’re all pretty much built like Idun. Like, really large chest region.”

Vieregg nodded slowly. “So, the original design…?”

“Wouldn’t work,” Per said matter-of-factly. “At all.”

“Right. Naturally,” Vieregg said, as if discussing perfectly normal engineering adjustments rather than a corporate-wide struggle to accommodate an entire workforce of genetically-enhanced fertility goddesses.

Per tapped the blueprints. “So, we thought Idun should try out the harness. We got several prototypes, and she’s got the right body type for it. What do you say?”

Vieregg shrugged. “No, yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Did you check her measurements?”

Per chuckled. “Oh, we tried asking, but she’s pretty sensitive about her breasts. She got real fired up when we asked how big they were.”

Vieregg frowned. “I mean, it’s just a technical question. Just some measurements.”

Per threw up his hands. “I know, right? I don’t understand women sometimes.”

Vieregg sighed, shaking his head.

“Yeah. They’re from another planet.”

He said this with the kind of profound certainty that could only be achieved by a man who had never once critically examined his own worldview.

Satisfied that this conversation had reached its natural conclusion, Vieregg turned his attention back to the schematics sprawled across his desk. The harness looked solid—at least on paper. But he knew better than to trust mere blueprints.

He needed to see the real thing. Or at least the augmented-reality projection of the real thing.

“It all sounds good, Per. Just talk to Idun, tell her I approved it, and let her help with the testing.” Vieregg waved a hand, magnanimous and full of the confidence of a man who was about to make his employee’s life much, much harder.

Per nodded. “No problem, boss. I’ll leave the drawing here for you. Had it plotted out five minutes ago.”

Vieregg nodded as if this were the most normal thing in the world rather than a clear indication that Per had been planning to involve Idun in this from the start.

Per left, and Vieregg picked up the sheet of polymer paper.

This was why he liked physical drawings.

They were real. Tangible. Unlike the purely digital designs, which required annoying things like network stability and patience, polymer drawings could be passed around, studied, and slapped dramatically onto desks during meetings.

Still, the future demanded progress, and Vieregg had long since made peace with augmented reality.

He reached for his AR goggles.

“Hey, Benny,” he said, waking up his AI assistant.

A beat of silence. Then a voice, far too casual for an inanimate program, responded:

“What do you want, big man?”

Vieregg sighed. “I have some polymer sheet drawings of an underwater diving harness. Scan them and give me a 3D model at scale.”

“No problem, boss.”

A faint red light flickered across the drawings as Benny processed the lines. A few seconds later, the harness materialized in midair, hovering just slightly too close for comfort.

Vieregg adjusted his goggles and took a slow step back, circling the projection.

He examined the harness. Then frowned. Then tilted his head.

“Hmmm. This doesn’t look quite right,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the chest region.

It was too small.

Idun was bigger than that.

And so were her hips. And so was her ass.

This harness would never fit her. Which meant it probably wouldn’t fit any Norwegian woman at all.

Ah well. That was future Per’s problem.

“They’ll find out soon enough,” he shrugged, pulling off his goggles.

Vieregg leaned back, rubbing his eyes.

“Okay, Benny, let’s call it a day. I have dinner with my parents.”

He didn’t know why he felt the need to tell Benny this. It wasn’t as if Benny would care. Benny was an AI. Benny did not have thoughts. Benny did not have dinner plans.

Or at least, Vieregg sincerely hoped Benny did not have dinner plans. If Benny had dinner plans, that meant something had gone very, very wrong with his programming.

The 3D capture system was capable of many things.

For example, it was supposed to be used for professional purposes—such as analyzing design flaws, stress-testing virtual prototypes, and ensuring workplace safety.

It was not supposed to be used for creating hyper-detailed nude models of coworkers.

And yet.

Somewhere, in the less professional corners of the engineering department, someone—probably Nisse—had recorded Idun without her knowledge.

And then, because some men simply could not be trusted with technology, had used the company’s highly advanced design software to create a fully interactive 3D model of Idun.

Which could be undressed at will.

And which, according to rumors, could do other things as well.

Vieregg had not seen the model himself. But he had heard whispers.

He had considered telling Nisse to delete it.

But then he had considered how much Idun would absolutely lose her mind if she ever found out about it. And then he had considered the various objects she might throw at his head in response.

It was probably best to pretend he knew nothing about it.

For now.

Vieregg walked out of his office, stretching his arms. His car was waiting for him.

It had been a long, exhausting day. But, he thought, at least Idun would calm down by tomorrow.

Yes. Tomorrow would be fine.

He was sure of it.

Vieregg would soon discover that he was very, very wrong.