I saw Jessica Yamada and Darnall, off in the one corner, talking to other Warden employees.

I saw, on the big screens at the far end of the room, a giant of a man with gray skin and brutish features, holding the torn-off top of a car in one hand. It looked less like a distinct image, and more like the faces one might see reflected in a window at night. Shadows and glimpses, overlapping.

He’d already armored himself in part. He walked, holding car roof and construction materials, and the two overlapped, pressing in together, steel girders becoming fiberglass, then car roof becoming an arrangement of girders. He stopped, bent down, and twisted the girders so they fit to the curvature of his leg.

Then, touching more armor, he blended existing armor to new armor, translating and combining aesthetics, making it uniform. Pelvis, butt and crotch, three-quarters of his legs had already been covered, and arrangements sat under his feet and between his toes like sandals. With the new addition, he was armored from the waist down, pretty much. Boots to be filled out, the rest encased.

He turned, head roving as he checked his direction. Heads, plural, as he refracted, each head looking in a different direction. The refracting carried down to the armor he wore, showing off different aesthetics.

Everything distilled to a different form as he began marching in a direction, bending down to pick up a dumpster, holding it in one hand.

On the next screen, a giant of a woman was wreathed in a draping of flesh so thin it looked almost translucent, with veins webbing through that flesh, the webbing of veins more than any flesh itself protecting her modesty. In a radius around her, naked figures crouched and stood, all human and human-proportioned, but only halfway between her height and an ordinary human, which put them at about ten or twelve feet in height. I saw a man crouching, fists pressed into the ground like forelegs. A man stood, askew, head resting against the side of the building, like standing up straight was too much effort.

There were enough of them that I couldn’t see much around the woman. But the camera moved slightly, and I could see the front of the crowd, where an obese, naked, ten-foot tall woman sat on an obese, naked man. The ground around them was flesh, and hands were tearing that flesh bloody from the far side, groping, pressing their way up and out. As the flesh tore enough, I could see below, see the glistening face, and the muscular contractions of an extradimensional space thrusting the woman up and out.