Embrace the booba that save you.
—
The ceiling had come down sometime after the third explosion.
Gerry wasn’t sure exactly when—everything after that had blurred into smoke, heat, and the steady, terrifying realization that he couldn’t move. A slab of concrete pinned his left leg, another chunk pressed across his ribs hard enough that every breath felt shallow and borrowed. He tried shifting it once, teeth clenched, muscles screaming… and nothing happened. It didn’t budge. Not even a millimeter.
The air was getting worse.
Each breath burned, thick with smoke and dust, and he had to fight the urge to cough because every spasm sent a sharp lance of pain through his chest. Somewhere nearby, something crackled loudly, followed by a low whoosh as flames crawled along the wall. Orange light flickered across the debris above him, growing brighter by the second.
This is bad, he thought distantly. This is really bad.
He didn’t know how long he’d been there. Minutes? Maybe more. His phone was gone—lost when the floor gave way. Sirens echoed faintly outside, maddeningly distant, and he couldn’t tell if they were getting closer or not. All he knew was that the fire was spreading, the air was thinning, and his strength was already starting to drain.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stay conscious.
Then something crashed through the wall.
Not an explosion—something controlled. A shockwave of displaced air rolled through the room as the remaining flames nearest him were abruptly snuffed out, leaving behind hissing steam and scorched black marks where fire had been seconds before.
Heavy footsteps landed nearby.
“Okay,” a confident voice said, bright and utterly unconcerned. “Found one.”
Gerry forced his eyes open.
Standing in the wreckage like it was nothing more than a messy living room was Twin Peaks Girl.
Her costume was pristine despite the chaos—bright colors, unmistakable silhouette—and she barely seemed to notice the heat still radiating from the walls. With a casual gesture, she swept her hand through the air, and the remaining flames in the room died instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch.
She knelt beside him, inspected the rubble pinning him down, and then, without even bracing herself, lifted the largest slab of concrete off his leg with one hand. It rose effortlessly, like foam instead of stone, and she tossed it aside where it shattered harmlessly.
“There we go,” she said cheerfully. “You’re lucky. Five more minutes and this whole section would’ve gone up.”
Gerry tried to respond, but it came out as a hoarse rasp.
She leaned closer. “Easy. Save your breath.” Then, businesslike: “How many more people are in the building?”
He swallowed, throat raw. “M-my friend. And… a few coworkers. I—I don’t know exactly. We were on different floors.”
She nodded, already standing again, already planning. “Got it.”
Relief flooded through him… real, dizzying relief. He was saved. She was here. Everything was going to be—
“Alright,” Twin Peaks Girl said, turning back to him and smiling. “Get in my cleavage. You’ll be safe there until we’re out.”
Gerry blinked.
“I—what?”
She didn’t wait.
Before his brain could catch up, before he could ask a single clarifying question, she reached down, grabbed him under the arms, and yoinked him upward with startling speed.
The world flipped.
There was a brief sensation of falling sideways into something impossibly soft—and then Gerry vanished from sight entirely, swallowed into the space between her breasts as if it were a doorway instead of… well. What it very much looked like.
From the outside, nothing seemed amiss.
From Gerry’s perspective, reality folded in on itself, light warped, and gravity politely excused itself from the conversation.
Gerry’s first coherent thought was that there was too much space.
He wasn’t crushed. He wasn’t suffocating. In fact, he wasn’t even pressed tightly against anything in the way he’d expected after… whatever had just happened. Instead, he found himself suspended in a warm, softly lit pocket that felt elastic in every direction, like the inside of a very gentle trampoline.
Then Twin Peaks Girl started moving.
Hard.
She took off at a run, and the world lurched as Gerry was abruptly flung sideways, bouncing off one invisible wall, then another. There was no sharp impact—just a buoyant boing sensation that sent him ricocheting back the other way.
“Whoa—!” he yelped, tumbling end over end.
From his very strange vantage point, he could see out.
Not clearly, not normally—but through some kind of warped, fisheye window that gave him a front-row seat to the chaos outside. Twin Peaks Girl vaulted over collapsed beams, kicked through burning doorways, and leapt entire stairwells in a single bound. Each landing sent another elastic ripple through the space Gerry occupied, bouncing him up, down, sideways, and occasionally spinning like a dropped coin.
Boing. Boing. Boing.
“Okay, okay,” she muttered to herself as she ran. “Fire suppression first, then people. Gotta prioritize. Although I wonder if that guy I just saved noticed that I hadn’t had as much time as usual to do my makeup… Haa…”
Makeup? What?
She slapped her palm against a wall mid-sprint, and flames vanished in a hiss of steam. Gerry bounced straight up, gently smacked the top of the space, and drifted back down again like gravity was only a suggestion.
Despite everything, despite the speed, the motion, the sheer insanity of it all, he wasn’t hurt. Not even dizzy in the normal sense. It was… weirdly comfortable. Like being jostled inside a padded toy designed by someone who had never heard of physics.
She jumped. He flew.
She landed. He boinged.
After what could’ve been seconds or minutes—time was hard to judge when you were a human pinball—Twin Peaks Girl finally skidded to a stop.
"Found another one," she said brightly.
Her hands reached in, and Gerry was pulled partway toward the opening, light flooding in. He caught a glimpse of another soot-covered man coughing on the floor before Twin Peaks Girl scooped him up just as easily as she had Gerry.
"Don't worry," she told the stranger. "You'll be safe in here."
Then she stuffed him in too, but not where Gerry expected. The man simply vanished, swallowed into some unseen pocket that Gerry couldn't access or even perceive. One moment the stranger was there, the next… gone completely.
Gerry floated alone in his elastic dimension, suddenly aware that he might not be the only passenger, just the only one in this particular compartment.
It was only then, now that everything had stopped moving, that Gerry noticed something was… off.
His face felt strange.
He reached up, rubbing his chin out of habit, and felt nothing. No scratchy stubble. No beard. Just smooth skin. He blinked, confused, and touched his cheek, then his jawline.
"That's weird," he murmured.
His voice sounded… lighter. Not drastically different. Just enough that it made him pause.He flexed his legs slightly, noticing they felt a bit longer somehow, the proportions subtly wrong, like someone had adjusted a model by a few careless clicks.
He swallowed, glancing down at himself.
"Hello?" he called out, wondering if the other guy could hear him from wherever he'd ended up. Only silence answered.
Outside, Twin Peaks Girl cracked her knuckles.
"Alright," she said cheerfully. "Round two."
She broke into a run again.
Gerry didn't get another moment to think before the world turned into soft, elastic chaos once more.
And Twin Peaks Girl didn’t slow down.
If anything, she sped up.
The moment she launched back into motion, the gentle elastic bobbing from before turned into full-on kinetic mayhem. She sprinted down collapsing hallways, leapt over holes in the floor, and occasionally just took off, blasting through open air as flames curled uselessly beneath her.
Inside the cleavage-space, Gerry was no longer drifting.
He was pinballing.
Boing.BOING.Boing—thwump—boing!
Every stride sent him slingshotting from one invisible boundary to another, flipping end over end, limbs flailing as the soft, yielding walls caught and redirected him again and again. There was no “down,” no stable surface—just constant motion and the deeply unfair realization that it all felt… cushioned. Supportive. Like physics had decided to be kind about ruining his life.
Outside, Twin Peaks Girl hummed loudly, completely unbothered.
🎵 “Bustier than a summer sale meloooon~” 🎵
Gerry bounced so hard he spun twice before righting himself.
“Oh no no no no—”
🎵 “Enchantingly cute, even hardened criminals fall to their kneeeees~” 🎵
Something pulled at his middle.
Not sharply. Not painfully. Just a steady, unmistakable pressure, like an invisible corset tightening itself while he was mid-air. He curled instinctively, trying to look down at himself between bounces, and felt his waist draw inward as if gently squeezed by unseen hands.
His hips answered by… not cooperating.
They pressed outward, wider with every elastic rebound, changing his balance so thoroughly that when he tried to brace himself, he completely misjudged where his center of gravity was supposed to be.
“What—what is happening—”
🎵 “Sexy and heroic, a paragon of desire~” 🎵🎵 “That’s me, Twin Peaks Giiiirl~” 🎵
His hands smacked against one of the soft boundaries, and he froze for half a second too long.
They were smaller.
Not drastically—just enough that his fingers looked wrong when he spread them. Slimmer. The knuckles less pronounced. His palms felt narrower, the fingers more delicate, like someone had quietly swapped them out while he wasn’t looking.
He flexed them again, panic creeping in fast.
“Nope. Nope. Nope.”
His shirt rode up as he flipped, fabric tugging awkwardly against a torso that no longer matched its expectations. His pants twisted around his legs, suddenly loose in some places and uncomfortably tight in others. The belt he’d cinched that morning slid uselessly, no longer even pretending to do its job.
Gerry’s breathing picked up, eyes starting to spiral as he spun.
“This isn’t happening. This is—this is smoke. This is shock. This is—”
Twin Peaks Girl skidded to a halt so abruptly that Gerry slammed gently against the front of the space and rebounded.
“Oh hey!” she said brightly. “There you are.”
Her hand plunged in.
For a split second, Gerry caught sight of another soot-covered figure—
—and then the man simply vanished as she stuffed him into her chest like he’d been dropped into a completely different reality.
“Safe!” she chirped.
No pause. No check-in. No explanation.
She immediately took off again.
Gerry was flung backward, tumbling helplessly as the humming resumed and the bouncing intensified.
🎵 “Saving lives with style and flair~” 🎵
His heart hammered in his chest—too fast, too loud—as the realization finally, fully set in:
Whatever was happening to him wasn’t stopping.
And Twin Peaks Girl, blissfully singing her own theme song, was absolutely not slowing down for him to catch up.
At this point she barely even stopped at all either.
Hallways blurred past. Walls crumbled and were ignored. Fires went out the moment she passed them, snuffed with a flick of her hand or a careless kick of displaced air. When she spotted someone, she didn’t break stride. She just reached out, grabbed them, and stuffed them into her chest with practiced efficiency.
“Safe.”Yoink.Gone.
Inside, Gerry barely had time to register the pauses before he was flung back into motion again.
The pinball never stopped.
Boing—boing—boing—BOING.
The impacts came faster now, overlapping, stacking on top of each other as if the space itself was excited to keep him moving. He curled in on himself instinctively, arms wrapping around his torso… and that was when he felt it.
Pressure.
Not from the outside this time, but from himself.
His chest pushed outward with every bounce, reacting to the elastic recoil in a way that was unmistakably not how his body used to behave. Each impact sent a strange, tingling echo through his front, spreading and multiplying until the bouncing wasn’t just happening to him anymore.
It was happening with him.
“Oh—oh no—!”
The sensation intensified, a fizzy, vibrating feeling that built and built until—
It stopped.
The tingling vanished entirely, replaced by a sudden, very different awareness as something brushed across his shoulders… then his back… then his waist.
Hair.
His hair.
Long, loose, and completely out of control, whipping around his face as he spun helplessly through the space. He reached up on instinct and grabbed a fistful of it, eyes wide.
“This—this is not—!”
His voice betrayed him.
High. Clear. Entirely unfamiliar.
“Kya!”
The sound slipped out of him without permission, sharp and unmistakably feminine, and whatever last internal argument his body had been having seemed to decisively lose at that exact moment. Another bounce sent a strange, final lightness through him, like something important had simply… opted out.
And she knew what that meant.
Gerry squeezed her eyes shut as she ricocheted again.
When she opened them, the panic was still there, but at least she felt more calm about the situation.
It really did help.
The bouncing continued. The chaos didn’t stop. But somewhere between one elastic wall and the next, Gerry forced herself to breathe. To think.
She was alive.
She wasn’t hurt. Kinda.
She was… a girl now. For some reason. And will probably have PTSD from Rollercoasters for the rest of her life.
And yet—
Outside, Twin Peaks Girl hummed thoughtfully.
“Hmm… maybe I should ask Jeremy out tonight,” she mused aloud as she sprinted up a stairwell. “A movie could be nice. But then again, if we go back to my place after, I’d have to cook… and I cannot cook.”
She vaulted through a burning doorway.
“Unless takeout counts. But is that too obvious? Also, I’m not sure I want him finding out about the secret identity thing yet…”
Gerry bounced gently off one wall, then another.
“Of course,” she thought dully. “Her brain is somewhere else entirely.”
Another person was scooped up and vanished into her chest without ceremony.
Still, the fires were going out. People were being saved.
And as ridiculous, overwhelming, and unconventional as her situation was… Twin Peak Girl was doing her job.
Gerry let out a slow breath as she floated through another soft rebound, hair drifting around her like it belonged there.
“…Okay,” she muttered to himself in a voice that still startled her. “Okay. Panic later. I think I should just be happy that I have survived… for now.”
The pinball kept going.
But for the first time since it started, Gerry wasn’t fighting it quite as hard.
By the time the last of the flames died down, the house was more smoke than fire.
Firefighters moved in coordinated lines now, hoses hissing, axes resting at their sides. Whatever Twin Peaks Girl had done (combined with actual, normal emergency response) had worked. The building still stood, charred and broken, but no longer trying to kill anyone.
Twin Peaks Girl took one last look through the nearest window, nodded to herself, and then leapt.
She sailed out of the second floor with effortless grace and landed in front of the fire engine in a neat three-point stance, barely disturbing the grass beneath her boots.
The fire captain straightened immediately. “Twin Peaks Girl. Thanks for the assist. We really appreciate it.”
She waved it off. “All in a day’s work!”
He cleared his throat. “Did you manage to find the people still trapped inside?”
She smiled brightly, stuck her chest out with obvious pride, and said, “Of course!”
Then she reached in.
One girl emerged first, soot-smudged, wide-eyed, but very much alive, placed gently on the grass.
Then another.
Then another.
A hand wrapped around Gerry’s arm, and a moment later she was pulled free, tumbling out and landing squarely on her, she winced, much more plush backside. She sat there for a second, stunned, grass tickling her legs, oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder.
Then more girls followed.
And more.
Until eight women sat in a loose, confused semicircle on the lawn, all breathing, all unharmed, all wearing clothes that were clearly not designed for their current proportions, baggy everywhere except around the chest and hips, where the fabric clung like it had given up pretending.
Twin Peaks Girl tilted her head, hands on her hips.
“…Huh. That’s odd. I could have sworn I put some guys in there too.”
All eight girls blinked.
The fire captain blinked.
Twin Peaks Girl snapped her fingers. “Ah.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. I should really try to break that curse on my boobs sometime.”
She glanced at the captain, then at the group. “But I’ve gotta go. My people need me. Bye for now~!”
Before anyone could respond, she took off at a jog, then a leap, then a streak of color disappearing down the street, cheerful, unbothered, and very clearly unwilling to further deal with the situation.
Silence settled over the lawn.
Finally, Gerry looked around at the group, at the unfamiliar faces that somehow felt familiar, and cleared her throat.
“…Okay,” she said, still getting used to the sound of her own voice. “Which one of you is Dennis?”
A beautiful, long-haired woman with an impressive figure raised her hand slowly. She blinked down at herself, then back up.
“…Hi.”
Gerry stared. Dennis… this Dennis was, objectively, a complete knockout. Honestly, so were the others.
She let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “Wow.”
Another girl shifted on the grass, brushing ash off her sleeve. “So,” she said, looking around the group, “does anyone else feel like they need a drink and about twelve hours to process whatever this was?”
There was a beat.
Then nods. Immediate, unanimous nods.
The fire captain sighed, rubbing his temples. “I… could also use a drink.”
Gerry smiled despite herself, pushing herself to her feet and steadying on legs that still felt a little new.
“Yeah,” she said. “Drinks sound good.”
And together, eight very confused, very alive women, plus one deeply tired firefighter, walked away from the burned-out house, ready to let reality catch up with them somewhere that served something strong.