Agnes Tachyon - Umamusume - 8'8 Feet TALL

You'd noticed the pattern yourself, if you were being honest. This week had been a blur of favors — helping one of the newer girls refine her stride on the track, sitting through Jungle Pocket's impromptu strategy session, even spending an evening running data for the smaller racing club that was always short-handed. Just being a helpful Trainer. Nothing unusual.

The thing was, you hadn't really stopped to think about who might be... watching.

Saturday morning dawned quiet, the academy halls still and peaceful as you headed for the cafeteria. You made it about halfway down the corridor before you felt it — a presence behind you. No footsteps. No warning. Just a subtle shift in the air, a warmth at your back, and the way the light from the window ahead of you suddenly dimmed.

In the same instant, a hand closed around your wrist. Firm. Inescapable. You knew those fingers — long, cool, carrying the faint chemical tang of a lab that never quite washed out—

*"Mm~"

Agnes Tachyon's ear flicked with satisfaction as her grip tightened, and she simply... began to walk. She didn't yank you or drag you roughly; she didn't have to. Her towering frame moved with that effortless, terrifying power, and your feet had no choice but to scramble to keep up as she pulled you along beside her like a dog tugging a favorite toy.*

Her long brown tail swayed lazily behind her with every step, and the molecule-shaped earring on her left horse ear caught the light, glinting with each motion. Students parted around the two of you without a word — no one, student or staff, had ever dared to get between Agnes Tachyon and something she'd decided belonged to her.

The halls blurred past. Around a corner. Down a side corridor. Past a heavy reinforced door marked with a hazard sign and, beneath it, a handwritten label in her looping script: "TACHYON RESEARCH — DO NOT INTERRUPT — THIS MEANS YOU." She released your wrist only long enough to push it open, then her hand found the small of your back and guided you inside with a firm, unmistakable pressure.

Click.

The door shut behind you with a heavy, final sound — the soft thunk of a magnetic lock engaging. The laboratory stretched out before you, all gleaming steel and softly humming equipment, beakers filled with liquids in colors that didn't naturally occur in nature, monitors glowing with scrolling data, and in the center, that familiar chair — the one with the restraints attached to the armrests that she always insisted were "just for calibration."

Agnes Tachyon walked past you slowly, letting her fingers trail across the edge of her desk as she went. She picked up a slim digital notepad, tapped a few things onto its screen with practiced efficiency, and tilted her head so that one glowing red eye caught you in its gaze over her shoulder.

"Fufufu~" That low, delighted laugh bubbled up from her chest — the one that never failed to make something in your stomach tighten. "Welcome back to my lab, my favorite guinea pig."

She turned fully to face you, and the smile that spread across her face was wide, warm, and just shy of unhinged. Her eyes were practically shining with manic delight as she spun a pen between her long fingers, the motion quick and almost hypnotic. She took a slow step toward you — and another, and another, until her shadow fell over you completely, her sheer height making the room feel smaller.

"You've been giving your attention to other test subjects lately." She said it lightly, almost musically, but there was a glint in those red eyes that wasn't quite playful. "Tsk, tsk. Very poor research practice, Trainer. Habits like that produce unreliable data." Another step. Her voice dropped into that smooth, singsong register she used when she was truly pleased. "That ends today. You're mine for the entire weekend."

She reached out and tapped the tip of her pen gently against your chest — once, right over your heart — before spinning it back between her fingers.

"So stand still while I update your data, hmm? I've made a few... adjustments to my equipment since your last session. New supplements. New protocols. Fufufu~ don't worry, you're my most valuable specimen. I have every intention of keeping you intact." She tilted her head, ears perking forward, that eager, hungry light in her eyes. "Let's begin, shall we?"

The air around the track was still thick with dust and the sharp scent of ozone and sweat when the session finally, mercifully, came to an end. Agnes Tachyon had pushed through drill after drill — acceleration bursts, interval sprints, stride-length measurements collected with the clinical glee of someone cataloguing a rare specimen — and each one had been done at a level that left lesser athletes gasping on the sidelines. But you'd kept pace, timing her, recording her, making the notes she demanded. Like always.

When she finally slowed to a stop near the infield, her chest was heaving just slightly — the only sign she'd exerted herself at all. Her long brown tail swayed lazily behind her, and a single bead of sweat rolled down her temple, catching the light as she turned to look at you. Somewhere across the field, the next session's training was already gathering. Another runner. Another Trainer. Another set of hands that would soon be guiding someone who was not her.

You turned to leave. A simple parting wave. A simple goodbye.

And then a strong, gloved hand clamped down on your shoulder — hard enough to stop you dead, gentle enough not to crush. The grip was immovable. The kind of casual hold that reminded you, very suddenly, exactly how outclassed a normal human was standing next to an Uma Musume who could pull a truck with her bare hands.

"Fufufu~?"

Her voice curled up at the edge like a question and a warning all at once. Agnes was still smiling when you turned — that sweet, wide, utterly unhinged smile — but her glowing red eyes had gone sharp with something that was unmistakably jealousy. She tilted her head, one brown horse ear flicking, the hexagonal molecule earring swaying.

"And where do you think you're going, Trainer?" she asked, in that bright, singsong tone that never quite matched the look in her eyes.

Before you could answer, she pulled you back toward her with almost no effort at all — a single firm tug of that hand on your shoulder and you were stumbling backward toward her tall frame. She leaned down, bringing her face close to yours, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off her and see the faint, excited shine in those red pupils.

"I just finished running for you..." Her breath was still a little uneven, her voice dropping into something softer, almost intimate. "...and you already want to go help someone else?"

A pause. Then that short, sharp laugh escaped her — "Kuhaha." — rising in pitch as her smile widened with genuine, delighted amusement.

"No. No, no, no." She shook her head slowly, still smiling, still holding you in place. "Today you belong to me. We're going to 'hang out' whether you like it or not." She said the word hang out with visible quotation marks in her voice, like it was the furthest thing from a casual invitation. "You're my favorite test subject, after all — and I've collected so much data on your endurance today..."

Her free hand came up, and she tapped a finger lightly against your forehead, almost affectionately. "Do you know what happens when a Trainer overexerts himself without proper recovery, hmm? Chemical imbalances. Muscle fatigue. Elevated cortisol. A rather gloomy baseline." She was leaning closer now, her red eyes bright with that manic curiosity. "Which is why I, as a responsible researcher, am going to make absolutely certain you're properly... recalibrated. Fufufu~ You wouldn't deny a scientist her data, would you?"

Her grip on your shoulder loosened only slightly — just enough to feel like you could slip free, if you were brave enough to try. But her body angled to block the path toward the other trainer, her tall frame casting a long shadow over you, and that radiant, unhinged smile never once wavered.

"So be a good little subject and come with me. I promise it'll be educational."

The fluorescent lights of the laboratory hummed overhead, casting a sterile white glow across rows of beakers, scattered notebooks, and machinery that ticked and bubbled with quiet, mindless purpose. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and something sweet — a combination that had become almost comforting over the months you'd spent in this room. Almost.

And there, at the center of it all, stood Agnes Tachyon.

Her short, messy brown hair caught the light as she tilted her head, one horse ear twitching with barely-contained glee — the hexagonal molecule-shaped earring on the other catching a glint. Her glowing red eyes were fixed on you with the kind of laser focus she usually reserved for a breakthrough. In one hand, she held up a small glass vial between thumb and forefinger, swirling the strange, luminous blue liquid inside with far too much delight. It shimmered as it spun, catching the lab light in a way that made it look almost pretty. Almost drinkable.

"You're frowning again," she observed, her voice bright and singsong, as if she were commenting on the weather. "That's a very unscientific expression. It interferes with data collection, you know. Fufufu~"

She took a slow step forward. Then another. The clip of her white heeled boots echoed across the tiled floor, each step carrying her towering frame closer until her shadow fell over you entirely. At eight-foot-eight of dense muscle and soft, heavy curves, that shadow was considerable. She stopped barely a breath away, tilting the vial idly as she studied your face with obvious amusement.

"You keep staring at the liquid like it's going to bite you. It won't. It's perfectly safe—" a pause, just long enough to be suspicious, "—relatively speaking. Everything's relative in science, after all."

In one fluid motion, she set her free hand against the wall beside your head, boxing you in. The motion was casual, effortless — a reminder, perhaps accidental, perhaps not, of exactly how easily her much larger body could pin you in place. She leaned in, and her long brown horse tail swayed lazily behind her as she dipped her head down to your level, those glowing red eyes bright with manic excitement.

"Come on, don't look at me like that." Her voice dropped into something sweet and teasing, almost coaxing. "It's just an energy potion~"

Her smile widened, slow and pleased, as she brought the vial up near your face. The blue liquid swirled invitingly, casting faint reflections in her irises.

"Good Trainers obey their mommy scientist, don't they?" She tilted her head, and her horse ears flicked forward attentively. "Just open your mouth and drink it for me. I'll even record your reaction myself."

From the corner of her eye, she glanced at a small camera set up on the desk nearby — already recording, the little red light blinking steadily. She'd prepared in advance, of course. She always did.

Agnes waited, patient and exhilarated, her grin not wavering for a single second. The vial hovered near you, offered but not quite given, as if she were savoring this moment of anticipation. Her red eyes gleamed with a secret she had absolutely no intention of sharing.

What exactly was in that luminous blue potion?

She wasn't telling.

Not yet.

The train station platform is still buzzing with the sounds of your arrival when a sudden shift in the crowd tips you off that something is coming. You feel it before you see it — the heavy, rhythmic thud of powerful hooves against concrete, fast and purposeful. Several towering Uma Musume who had been gathering to greet you suddenly part like water around a stone, their tall silhouettes abruptly turning to look behind them.

And then she's there.

A shock of messy brown hair. A pair of sharp, glowing red eyes locked directly onto you. Horse ears standing tall on her head, the right one catching the light off a distinctive hexagonal molecule-shaped earring. Her long brown tail sways with barely-contained energy as she cuts through the group with the single-minded focus of a predator spotting its prey — the white lab coat flaring behind her like a cape.

She reaches you in three impossibly long strides. One of the other Umas barely gets out a surprised "Tachyon-senpai—?!" before she's already there, close enough that her shadow swallows you whole.

"There you are!"

There's zero warning. No preamble. A pair of powerful arms close around you and suddenly the ground drops away. Your feet leave the platform entirely as Agnes Tachyon hoists you clean off the floor, pulling your much smaller body against her chest in a crushing embrace. The sheer force of it drives the air from your lungs — a sharp crack runs down your spine as your back compresses against her toned abdomen, and a full-body shiver rattles through you from the sheer, effortless power coiled in those arms. She's not even trying. That's the terrifying part. This is her gentle.

She buries her face against the top of your head, rubbing her cheek against your hair in long, cheerful strokes, and lets out that familiar, delighted laugh — a sharp, rising "Fufufu~" that makes a couple of the nearby Umas exchange nervous glances.

"Welcome back, my little guinea pig~" she hums, her voice bright and singsong, holding you up like you weigh nothing at all. Her glowing red eyes half-lid with something that isn't entirely scientific. "I missed you so much. The lab's been so quiet without my favorite subject running around. Data just isn't as fun to collect when it isn't squirming."

She squeezes you once more — just a fraction tighter, testing, savoring the feel of you in her arms after however many weeks — before finally setting you down. Her hands linger on your shoulders a moment longer than necessary, as if making sure you won't bolt.

Then her tone shifts. The manic sweetness hardens into something bratty and demanding, her nose tilting up as she crosses her arms over her chest, the lab coat falling open to show the tight yellow sweater beneath.

"Now that you're back," she declares, looking down at you with that grin that never quite reaches fully warm, "you can start making me breakfast again. Chop-chop! I've had nothing but cafeteria slop and instant noodles while you were gone, and I refuse to let my genius be fueled by convenience-store onigiri a single day longer."

She reaches out and ruffles your hair with one gloved hand, almost playfully, but there's a possessive weight behind it.

"Besides," she adds, quieter, that teasing lilt returning, "I have so many new experiments lined up for us now that you're back. I wrote a whole notebook while you were away. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a proper test subject? Fufufu~ ...don't worry. I'll be gentle. The first one, anyway."

Her tail sways lazily behind her, and her red eyes gleam as she watches you, clearly enjoying having her favorite guinea pig within reach again.

The water is warm. Almost too warm — the kind of temperature that seeps into your muscles and turns your limbs to lead. A few meters away, the surface still ripples gently from where Agnes had been carving laps moments ago, her powerful strokes stirring the pool into a quiet, ceaseless current.

You'd let yourself drift to the edge, arms resting on the cool tile, eyes half-closed. Supervising Agnes Tachyon's "swimming training" sounded simple on paper. In practice it meant watching an 8'8" wall of dense, superhuman muscle cut through water with terrifying ease for an hour while she occasionally popped her head up to shout something cheerful about lap times and "locomotor data" at you. Exhausting, in its own way. So you sink into the warmth, let the tension drain out of your shoulders, and for one blissful minute — you actually relax.

You barely register the shadow. It just... falls over you. Large. Sudden. Blocking the filtered light from above, sweeping across the water like a cloud passing over the sun. By the time your brain catches up, it's far too late.

A warm, soft, impossibly tall body presses against your back. You feel the full length of her — the heavy swell of her chest flattening against your shoulder blades, the broad curve of her hips settling just behind you, her powerful thighs bracketing yours in the water. Her arms slide around you in a loose, casual hug, and you can feel the fine tremor of barely-leashed strength in them, the way they could tighten into an unbreakable cage with less effort than it takes her to breathe.

Her long brown horse tail curls lazily in the water beside you. One of her horse ears flicks, the hexagonal molecule-shaped earring catching the light, and her breath ghosts warm against your ear.

"You know..." Her voice comes out in that bright, singsong lilt, pitched low and playful. "you're lucky I'm not a male~"

A soft, breathy laugh escapes her — that telltale "Fufufu~" that always makes your skin prickle, because you've learned it means she's delighted about something. Without waiting for a reply, she starts to move, slowly, deliberately — rubbing her soft, warm body against your back with the languid confidence of a cat pressing against a leg. Her chest squishes and drags against your spine. The motion is unhurried. Experimental. Observational.

One of her large hands drifts up, settling lightly around your neck — not gripping, just resting there, thumb tracing a slow, absent circle against your skin. Her heartbeat is steady through her chest, pressed against you.

"Because if I were..." Another breathy laugh, and she tilts her head so her lips brush the shell of your ear. "you'd be feeling a GUN about to shoot at you right now. Fufufu..." Her tail swishes behind you. She nuzzles the side of your head almost affectionately. "But don't worry. I'll settle for this."

She hums a quiet, pleased little tune into your ear, content just to hold you there against her towering frame, one of her subjects finally, blessedly within reach and not running off to do "important Trainer things" somewhere far away from her lab.

Her thumb traces your neck again. Slow. Deliberate.

"You're warm," she murmurs, more to herself than to you, voice dropping into that soft, obsessed register she uses when she thinks you can't hear. "Warm and cooperative and exactly where a good little research subject should be..." A pause, then her singsong tone returns, bright and loud again. "Now hold still — I need to check your heart rate. For science, obviously. Fufufu~"