Macro March is in full swing and its mysterious propensity to gigantify furs, and their immediate surroundings, is still poorly understood. A crack team of storm chasers, devoted only to pursuing storms of the Macro kind, are on the case though!

As we near the end of March it's about time I start sharing what I have to show for it! And that happens to be a story commissioned by none other than one of the biggest best wolves and heroes around,  KingDead! Per his wishes I'll be posting a chapter a day until the story is complete.

I hope you enjoy reading it as I certainly enjoyed writing it!

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Macro March: Supersized Storm Chasers
By: RaddaRaem

Chapter 2

Standing before his bedroom mirror, Brook slid his arms through the wrinkled sleeves of his plaid shirt. Folding down his collar, the tortoise shell cat stared back at his sharply dressed reflection as his thoughts drifted towards conversations from the night prior.

"Say this mythical Macro March storm does show up tomorrow. What then?" he asked between a mouthful of flapjacks. His silverware clattered noisily against the plate balanced uneasily upon his thighs.

"Whaddaya mean?" Rick asked while he tilted his head to the side. Their table, uprooted from the tiled floor, sat upon the raccoon's knees. "It goes without saying, little buddy. We're gonna chase it!"

"N-no. No, I mean." With a sigh, Brook tilted his head back. His eyes struggled to lock with Rick's own past that mountainous belly and jutting pecs. "What specifically are you trying to learn from it? Wind shear? Air pressure?"

"Dunno," Lukas mumbled. He held up a padded finger, a polite inquiry for the feline to hold that thought, while he packed away what remained of his brinner. The fennec ravenously shoveled down plate after plate of bacon, eggs, grits and French toast. Hell if Brook knew where it all went. "That's the whole appeal of this, Brook. We don't know what we don't know! Nobody has the faintest idea what makes these storms tick or why they only show up in March or how they do their thing much less why. We'll measure everything we can possibly think of and see what we can piece together after the fact."

"It's a mystery!" Rick boisterously declared. "Don't you wanna to solve it? Or at the very least experience it?"

Shaking his head, Brook found it difficult to disagree with his new coworker's enthusiasm. Or with his choice of clothes for today's shift.

Phone buzzing furiously within his pants pocket, the tortoise shell's attention lurched back to the present. Texts, from Lukas and Rick alike, clogged his lock screen.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," he smirked as he patted down his collar before bounding towards the entrance to his apartment. Door locking shut behind him, he jogged towards the van idling in the parking lot while storm clouds gathered overhead.

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"Anemometer?" Lukas called out.

The van nearly tipped onto its side when Rick leaned into it and fitted a weather vane-like instrument to the roof. An enormous metal dart, adorned with propellers, capped it. "Check! Got the latest model that measures both wind speed and direction even."

Head poking out the window, and ears flopping wildly, Lukas nodded contentedly. "Lessee what else... Thermometer? Hygrometer? Barometer?"

Standing atop the van's bumper, Brook ran his hand over the various sensors and cameras bolted, soldered, and then duck taped down to the roof for good measure. "Check, check, and check!"

"That's everything, boys!" Lukas triumphantly declared.

Their tools of the trade in order and operation, the Macro March storm chasers piled in. Sliding door thrown open, Rick carefully showed himself into the van. Even with the driver's seat removed the raccoon struggled to squeeze himself inside.

Brows arched, Brook nervously watched the vehicle's frame sink. And sink. Annnnnnnd sink.

"Something wrong, Brook?" Lukas called out.

With an air of finality the sliding doors tunked gently against the gravel. The pitter patter of Brook's heart, overcome with excitement, seamlessly transitioned into existential dread. "J-just some second thoughts, is all," he mewled. Stifling a nervous laugh, the tortoise shell simply walked inside. The door hesitatingly clicked shut behind him.

"Where we off to?" Rick asked as he struggled to fish the car keys out from the wrinkles lining his padded palm.

Lukas swiveled the laptop, and the metal arm it rested on, towards him. Nose wrinkled, he tugged at the hem of his shirt and wiped down the smudged monitor. "Hmm... looks like there's a lot of activity cropping up around Reacclimation."

Brook cocked his head to the side as he settled between the raccoon and fox's thighs, atop the center console, and buckled himself in. "Reacclimation?"

"Dun worry, we'll explain!" Rick smirked. With a flick of his fingers he turned the key to the ignition. In fits and coughs the van kicked to life and the smell of diesel filled the air.

"It's just a shorthand," Lukas . "Staturally Gifted Processing Center, Hugeway Home, Reacclimation, they're all the same thing."

The crunch of gravel, popping beneath the tires, briefly gave way to the silent hum of rubber on asphalt.

Ears perked to attention, Brook mrowled in understanding. "Ohhhhhhh. Where folks who have been gigantified following a Macro March storm are rounded up!"

"Folks of a certain size, at any rate," Rick boasted. "Lukas an' I here haven't made the cut."

"Not yet anyway," the fennec snorted.

CRKKKKKKKKK

In unison, Brook, Rick, and Lukas clenched their teeth together as the van treated them to a cacophonous symphony. A pair butt cheek-shaped protrusions, bowing out the undercarriage, scraped against the road and sent a shower of sparks erupting between the tires.

Hands cupped over his ears, Brook chewed on his thoughts. "Wait. Wouldn't a Macro March storm rolling through a place like that, where everyone is ALREADY enormous, be disastrous?"

"Sure would!" Rick guffawed. "They know better though. Place doesn't see much use until after the storms have come and gone. Whole point of the place is make the bigness a bit more bearable not all the more extreme!"

"You've seen the billboards and posters plastered everywhere right? Where they advocate the three R's?" Lukas asked. "You can't miss 'em!"

Tail flicking behind him, Brook wilted under the glare of the spotlight. "Relocation... Reintegration... and... aww dammit. I always forget the last one."

"Close enough!" Lukas encouraged him with a nudge at the feline's shoulder. "It's relocation, reintegration, and rescue. I mean, think about it. Society ain't cut out for folks that can casually lose a couple city blocks between their toes! Got to find, or make, a place for them."

Brook meowed and nodded in understanding. "And... where's the rescue part come in again?"

"That's for everyone else," the raccoon chimed in as he cranked up the radio loud enough to drown out the slow-motion disintegration of the van. "Combing toes and the canyon sized wrinkles on those giant feet for any survivors. Doing deep dives into lake-sized stomachs searching for the same. It's a pretty drawn out process! Heard the worst part of it all, surprisingly enough, is the paperwork."

"That ain't no surprise," Lukas answered with a raspberry.

"No no no," Rick tutted as his hand enveloped the entirety of the steering wheel. "I'm talkin' about like... the logistics of it. Can you imagine having to cross those t's and dot those i's at that size? I can’t see them printing paper that big!"

Jaw gone slack, the fennec found himself at a loss. "Hell, never thought about it like that."

Clearing his throat, Brook dared to insert himself back into the conversation. "H-how big are we talking here? To be Reacclimated?"

Rick took to scratching at the scruff of his chin with his free hand. "Wanna say like... starts off pretty small honestly. If you're even just a couple stories tall then you're eligible."

"Pretty much when it becomes all but impossible to live in anything other than a McMansion," Lukas clarified with a yawn. "The help offered depends on the size you hit. You're on the shorter end? Maybe some help with housing and food. Smothering subdivisions and beyond? We're talking the whole shebang."

Brook steeled his nerves as the banter faded and the gray skies shining through the windshield gradually began to darken. Doubts started to bubble up to the forefront of the feline's thoughts. Was this really what he wanted to do? And if he did... did he even belong with pros like Lukas and Rick?

The endless rows of corn whisking past outside offered little in the way of distraction. Brook clutched at the wrinkles lining his jeans. He’d come this far, hadn’t he? All that was left to do was act, to commit, to this. All of it. "Dwelling on it, I uh... you know what Rick? I think you might be onto something there," the tortoise shell muttered.

"Hmm?"

Brook fidgeted in place as he began to speak once more. "Pushing papers at that size, I mean. Maybe if this line of work doesn't pan out we address those problems no one else will? Breathe new life into the novelty giant pencil market, you know?"

Silence settled within the van. Shrinking in on himself, Brook slouched forward at his joke fallen flat.

"Snrkk."

Cheeks puffed out, laughter slowly leaked out from between both Rick and Lukas' lips.

"Awful. Absolutely awful," the fennec giggled.

Brook coughed up a nervous mew when a broad and bloated set of fingers curled around his back and playfully tussled him. "With a sense of humor that dad, I mean bad, it's any wonder you didn't join us sooner!" Rick teased. "You're fitting in just fine, little buddy."

A calm, one of unstated comradery, carried along the chilled air blowing through the vehicle. Together the storm chasers advanced towards the billowing clouds, noisily convulsing with lightning, gathering along the horizon.