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Tomb Raider: The Fat Man Chronicles	By : MorbidFantasy Category: +S through Z > Tomb Raider (all) > Tomb Raider (all) Views: 221907 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Tomb Raider game series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 28
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Chapter 29: Assignment One: Arrival
After the 15 hour flight, the cargo plane carrying Dr. Evan Hanson’s newly assembled team landed in a small private runway in rural Peru.
Disembarking the plane, Hanson’s assistant was already awaiting his arrival, and scurried over to grab his luggage for him. He barely nodded an acknowledgement, turning to watch the crew carefully transferring their equipment from the plane onto the awaiting jeeps and pickup trucks. Hanson watched two of the newcomers wheel an abnormally large suitcase out of the ramp of the plane’s cargo hold.
Fernando and Vincent, if he remembered correctly. The former was the team’s diplomatic liaison. The latter was...tech support? Hanson wasn’t sure.
Calling the thing a large suitcase seemed inadequate. The hard covered black behemoth of a case looked like it could comfortably fit a human inside it, and rolled around on six heavy duty retractable wheels. The case had what looked to be digital password protected locks.
“This is Lady Croft’s travel case. It contains her most important assets and specialized equipment.” was all they told Hanson, with an air of mystery that only added to all the other reasons that he was annoyed.
Nominally, Hanson was in charge of the excavation. However, the team owed its continued existence to Lara Croft, so technically, she should be the one calling the shots. It annoyed Hanson that it wasn’t until he reached out to Lara Croft that his applications for funding to the excavation had been granted. Evidently the sponsors believed in the Countess more than they did a professor of thirty years.
That was really all Lara meant to Hanson, a cash cow, and sometimes forbidden eye candy. True, she was the daughter the late Croft Sr., whom Hanson had collaborated with on several occasions. But it irked Hanson’s professional pride how the girl, whom he had always thought to be too cavalier and definitely unfit for archaeological stardom, so easily grabbed the world’s attention.
The last time he saw her, it was just after Nepal, where Lara purportedly had discovered some ancient relic linking several culture’s legends of the underworld together. The media was ablaze with doting enthusiasm. The rumor mills were flying about how Lara was now tracing some new batch of Siberian relics, that those might be in the possession of some transnational mogul, a Mr. Everest, who Hanson knew was another one of Croft Sr’s acquaintance, although Hanson didn’t know the man personally.
All speculation, as nothing ever came of the fiasco, and it’s been more than a year since the media blackout over the aforementioned relics, and Lara Croft virtually disappeared from the excavation scene, only appearing every so often as a guest lecturer at some university or conference.
In that time, Hanson’s work in Peru finally prevailed. His sonar mapping team found anomalies in the earth that started out as what appeared to be an tunnel, but soon grew to what now seemed to them to be an entire underground city.
The success couldn’t have come at a better time. Hanson’s funding had run out, and his application for more had gone unanswered. The idea came to Hanson, while submitting his new findings to bolster his application, that Lara Croft might be of some use. Where the idea had come from, he couldn’t remember. He was at that age where he no longer wasted time on trivial matters, and didn’t pay much attention to remembering where the genesis of that idea came from. Someone next to him might have made an offhand suggestion, or maybe he happened across an old photo of him, Croft Sr., and the then barely 15 years old young Lady Croft.
Whatever the reason, Hanson must’ve told someone on his team to reach out to Lara, because the next thing he knew, he was being flown out of Peru to give a presentation to the application approval board, whom was immensely enthusiastic about the addition of the venerated Lady Croft to his team. The money was suddenly available, and Hanson would be returning to Peru with a bigger team, more equipment, and even a direct line to the local paramilitary entity, run by some warlord named Salva...Salva-something.
All this success because the overrated camera-wh... camera-friendly.... Lara Croft was being tacked on to his team. The more support he got, the more annoyed Hanson became, refusing to believe he might’ve owed it to the girl for saving his entire operation.
And she couldn’t even be bothered to fly back to Peru with him. As of yet, Hanson hadn’t even seen Lara. Not a phone call, nor an email, nothing since she said yes to his request. The only thing he’d seen of her so far was this big mystery of a lumbering suitcase, which Fernando and Vincent was now rolling up the ramp and into the back of a large motor home, apparently spending quite some time securing it inside the vehicle.
“Dr. Hanson, the mapping team would like you to look at some of the new data.” his assistant said. Hanson broke away from observing the two men, who was just now appearing from the back of the motor home.
“Let me know when Lady Croft gets here.” he said, turning and walking over to the small team of sonar mappers, the ones he had left behind when he had flown back to the UK. Absentmindedly, he thought about how he would embrace Lara in false enthusiasm, comment on her resemblance to her mother, and maybe take the opportunity to “accidentally” feel her up. Whatever reservations Hanson might’ve had while Croft Sr. and Amelia were alive, he didn’t have them any longer.
Not a whole lot of new finds, other than more evidence to support Hanson’s prognosis that subterranean labyrinth situated roughly 70 kilos north of of the airfield was most likely an artificial construct.
Hanson looked at his expedition, and couldn’t help but smile. When he had left, his team had been a meager 5 men company. They had to do everything themselves from tent pitching to toiling over a campfire to clearing their way through the thick underbrush with machetes and shovels. The only vehicle they had was a beaten up ATV used to lug their sonar mapping equipment. Any larger vehicle would have required much more effort in clearing a traversable path through the jungle.
Now there was a locally-hired team of five men devoted specifically to maintaining and driving a heavy duty vehicle capable of plowing a veritable highway straight to their destination, with enough room that even the large motor home could squeeze through. The Path Maker Vehicle didn’t just annihilate the underbrush, but crunched through small diameter trees like they weren’t even there, barely pausing to cut down and shred slightly larger trees. The ground behind the PMV was firm, stamped down by the its rear roller.
A more conservation-oriented archaeologist might have complained about the ecological damage. Hanson was just glad he could now sit in the comfortable seat of the lead jeep trailing a safe distance behind the PMV's carnage, protected from the mosquitos by the jeep's mosquito net and the crew’s access to bug repellent. It had been months since he hadn’t had to swap one of the offending insects against one of his limbs every few seconds.
Five men just devoted to path making, and another fifteen that took care of everything from cooking to setting up base camps and wildlife control. No more tediously slow caution needed to avoid snakes and night hunters. These men were armed with a versatile arsenal of firearms, nets, traps, and a stockpile of first aid equipment, ready to repel or exterminate any natural threat to the expedition.
Also gone was the fear of the local paramilitary entity. For months the only thing more dangerous than being bitten by a venomous snake or mauled by a jungle cat was being found and kidnapped, or outright killed, by the local warband, led by Salva...something. Hanson didn’t bother with names if it didn’t pertain to his work.
Now they weren’t just safe from the locals, they were legitimate. It was Salva-something’s men that provided Hanson’s team with the vehicles and extra manpower. Fernando and Vincent was to be the diplomatic go between, so Hanson didn’t need to worry himself about dealing with his local benefactor.
The only thing out of place was the motor home. They already had tents packed away on a separate truck, with enough of them to set up two or even three serviceable camps. It seemed to Hanson that other than being where Lara’s “special equipment” was held,the motor home only purpose was to consume additional petrol.
ll bought and paid for, Hanson supposed. He had a feeling the two, being the big shot diplomats now riding in the front of the motor home were being given the luxury of the its confines.
It had taken about five days of tedious hiking the last time Hanson had been to the edge of the site. Now, they were there by the time the sun was starting its slow descent.
When they got to the designated base camp, it took maybe half an hour for a luxuriously large area to be carved out by the locals, tents pitched, fires and spotlights lit, even perimeter fencing added to stop all but the largest of animals from encroaching upon the camp. Guns would deal with anything larger.
Hanson spotted Lara emerging from the motor home, and immediately called his assistant over, berating the latter for not letting him know Lara had actually arrived well before their departure from the airfield.
“I swear I never saw her...maybe she was already in the motor home when we arrived?” was all the useless chap could muster. Hanson brushed him off and went over to where Lara was conversing with Fernando in hushed voices. She seemed, irritated, but immediately composed herself and greeted Hanson with due professionalism.
She bore a striking resemblance to her mother, whom Hanson had known since he was twenty and Amelia barely a teen. The same attractive face, except with Croft Senior’s rugged eyes. Amelia’s eyes had been softer, gentler. Better endowed than her mother though, Hanson judged. And much more liberal about showing skin.
He wasn't complaining, his eyes tracing the contours of Lara's inner thighs up to where they met her pelvis.
The motor home didn't appear to have air conditioning, Hanson surmised, judging by the heavy coat of perspiration Lara was doused in. It looked like she had only recently changed into drier clothes, but as they spoke in length her sweat broke through the light grey tank top, turning it transparent and exposing much of her midriff, and the shadow of a small black bra that Hanson wouldn’t have missed had she gone without it. He definitely approved of the khaki short shorts that barely covered the girl’s buttocks. He mused that if she were to spread her legs too much in those shorts there wouldn’t be enough fabric to prevent him from stealing a peek at what she wore under them.
Hanson pretended to be deeply immersed in some random charts, and when Lara came up to meet him, he jerked around, as if surprised by her greeting, then feigned tripping over his own feet, and “accidentally” catching Lara's breast with a few fingers in a slightly exaggerated stagger. Following that, he apologized profusely, hugging Lara and commenting on how much she resembled her mother, all the while enjoying the feeling of her breasts squashed against his own. Lara didn't seem offended at all, which in Hanson's mind only reinforced his belief that she was probably something of a tart.
Mostly pleasantries at first, then Lara went for the prize, selfishly, in Hanson’s opinion. The girl wanted to be on point with the first team to enter the surface entrance. Dr. Hanson was quick to remind her that he was the head of the excavation, and she would be acting strictly in an assistance-based capacity.
So no charging in with her trigger fingers primed. Hanson wasn’t even going to let Lara into the tunnels on the same day as his first team. She was to enter only after they had made sure the tunnels were secure.
“Without you, we lose all of our funding. I can’t risk you getting injured, or worse, killed by some random pitfall or tunnel collapse.” Hanson reasoned.
Of course, he also wanted to get the first look at whatever might be worth finding in the tunnels. Lara had an uncanny ability to sniff these things out, and indeed made a strong case for it as she argued with Hanson’s decision.
No, she would not take over his excavation that easily. The last thing Hanson wanted was for the first official publication back home to list Lara as the initial discoverer of whatever the underground complex had to yield to the archaeological world.
He could tell Lara was miffed, as she brusquely returned to the trailer, shortly thereafter reappearing with a small backpack and shoulder light, trekking out of the brightly lit camp area and into the surrounding darkness without a word to anyone.
“We’ll go make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.” Vincent said, winking at Hanson as he mopped his bald forehead with a rag, his large belly poking out from between the drapes of his colorful tropical shirt, pulling a shiny handgun from his belt holster and gesturing vaguely at the woods Hanson nodded, and the Large man headed off in the direction Lara had taken, followed by Fernando, who carried with him a hunting rifle.
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Five minutes later, Hanson found himself with an abundance of time, and not a whole lot to do before bedtime.
He was fed, well rested from the flight over, had no fatigue because he hadn’t had to do any foot travel. And even now the Peruvian locals were diligently seeking out any imperfections about the camp in need of maintenance or upkeep. These were things that Hanson had grown used to doing and complaining about. Suddenly, he had free time on his hands.
So he found himself wandering in the same direction that Lara and her two baby sitters had gone. It wasn’t hard following the path they had taken. One of them had taken the caution of dropping blinking LED markers at regularly spaced intervals, and Hanson leisurely followed their trail through the jungle.
A hundred paces, and Hanson could hear the sounds of water flowing nearby. A few more dozen paces, and he could see the glow of a small lamp illuminating the silhouettes of the two men.
Fernando and Vincent saw Hanson approach, and waved to him.
“Dr. Hanson.” Fernando nodded, acknowledging him. Vincent grunted vaguely.
“Where’s Lara?” Hanson asked.
“Cooling off in the stream, probably. She has a tracker in her bracelet so we know she’s still down by that stream.” Fernando said, showing Hanson the dimmed display of a tablet with a soft glowing red dot a few centimeters away from the epicenter.
Neither men made a move to stop Hanson as he made to go over to where Lara was, about thirty or forty meters away.
For whatever reason, Hanson suddenly felt the inclination to quiet his footsteps, keeping his presence hidden. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the image of a hot and bothered Lara seeking out a cool source of water combined into certain fantasies that he was sure the girl wont care for.
He took out his small torch and clicked it on, but kept a palm over the bright LEDs, letting just enough light through to see where to step, avoiding breaking twigs or other potential sources of sound.
He could see the edge of the water now. It was indeed a stream, cascading down several mini waterfalls, the moonlight shimmering off of the flowing water.
He didn’t see Lara at first, and strained his eyes to look for her in the darkness.
Then he notice it. A slight anomaly in the reflections in the water. Something that looked neither like a submerged rock nor a piece of caught driftwood.
It was a face, Lara’s face. She had found some part of the stream deep enough to fully immerse herself in the water, and now laid, motionless, the water parting around her, conveniently covering her ears and muting out her surroundings. Hanson tentatively ventured closer, and saw that her eyes were closed, as if in meditation.
And there it was, in front of him. Lara’s small backpack, with a white folded towel resting on it, next to which he could make out the outlines of a small pile of clothing. Lara’s clothing.
Was she completely naked under that water? Hanson felt his heartbeat rise. For a moment, he crouched, straining his eyes from where he was partially concealed by a tall brush. The pile of clothing was barely two meters from where he was, Lara was a few more meters beyond that.
Did he really have to know? He knew he should feel shame even to think of whether a girl nearly thirty years his junior was naked. Hanson tried to explain his sudden primal urges as being for a much older woman, for whom the young lady in front of him just happened to bear an uncanny resemblance.
Before he realized it, Hanson found himself crouched above Lara’s discarded clothes. He carefully shutting off the torch, letting his eyes acclimate to the moon’s natural illumination.
He could smell an earthy, floral musk that made him feel lightheaded and giddy.
There it was, Lara’s sweat stained tank top, discarded along with the black bra he had seen under the shirt. There was the shorts, and… Hanson gulped, a stringy little thing that he couldn’t even begin to describe how small it was. He imagined Lara wearing it, and had serious doubts that the tiny fragment of triangular cloth could sufficiently cover the entrance to her most intimate parts.
A small motion in the water, and Hanson froze.
Two mounds, each with a perky nub, broke the surface of the water, joining Lara’s face in the night breeze, floating there momentarily before sinking back below the stream.
Hanson wanted more than anything to get a closer look at those exposed mounds. Then he remembered that he carried with him a binocular. All he needed was the safety of distance, some cover, and an unobstructed line of sight.
He turned to go, then stopped, a boyish smile forming at the edge of his mouth, feelings of juvenile excitement that he hadn’t felt in decades coursing through his body.
He reached down, and plucked Lara’s bra and thong out the cloth pile, leaving only the damp tank top, the shorts, and Lara’s socks and boots. He took her towel too, depriving her of the means to dry herself off.
Just for a finishing touch, Hanson pulled out his water canteen, undid its cover, and slowly poured its contents all over the tank top, thoroughly soaking it.
As he snuck away, Hanson brought Lara’s undergarments up and breathed in deeply, taking in her intoxicating odor.
He found himself a nice perch twenty meters off to the side, with a clear view of the stream and Lara, and pulled out his binoculars.
Just in time to see Lara lift herself up, her lithe and naked form slowly rising to stand in the stream.
Her breasts swung into view, filling up half of the binocular’s view with their perked nips, which to Hanson's disbelief were pierced with barbells! He hadn't seen them before, but now, the moonlight accentuated the metal heads on either sides of each nipple, and Hanson could barely keep his hands steady. Then, he shifted his view down to see that her wet womanhood was entirely bereft of hair, and a third piercing, bless his heart, glittered in the moonlight.
'She must really like getting shagged and having her naughty bits played with.' thought Hanson. Why else would a proper girl have nipple and vaginal piercings?
Lara was looking up at the moon, seemingly deep in thought. For several glorious minutes, she stood motionless, and Hanson just stared lasciviously through his binoculars, up and down her body, drinking in every detail. He could feel an immense pressure in his shorts, but dared not do anything about it, afraid that if he took his eyes off of the exquisitely beautiful figure standing in the shallows, she would vanish into the air.
Lara finally did move, briefly sitting back down to splash some water all over herself, rubbing her breasts and reaching down between her legs to briefly rub herself under the water, just long enough for it to be a cleansing stroke and not self pleasuring. Then she got back up and headed for where she had left her clothes.
Hanson watched, gleefully anticipating her imminent discovery that her undergarments had been taken. He took another whiff of his trophies, making sure they were indeed in his possession, and looked back at Lara, who was now craning her head around, looking into the surrounding woods. Hanson had put away his binoculars, afraid they might reflect some light from the moon, so he couldn’t see Lara’s facial features from where he was. He simply waited.
Lara seemed to have given up her search, and was now trying to wring the excess water out of her tank top. Not that it mattered. The entire point of pouring water on the tank top was to make sure the parts of it that mightn’t been kept somewhat dry by the barrier of the bra was now wet. It only took the fabric being damp for it to become translucent. Hanson shuddered as he watched Lara give up, stickily pull the tank top over her, and start to work the short shorts up past her toned thighs.
Even from where he was off to the side of the trail, he easily found his way back to Fernando and Vincent before Lara did, and told them he couldn’t find her. A bold faced lie, but the two didn’t seem at all suspicious, and told Hanson that they’re sure Lara will come back to camp of her own accord. After all, they still had the tracking device on her. They told him to go on ahead back to base. They’ll wait for Lara a bit longer, then go tell her to come back.
Two minutes later, Hanson found himself in the unlit darkness of his tent, doing something he hadn’t done in a long time, since his youthful libido had waned.
He had Lara’s stolen bra wrapped around the biggest erection he had seen himself have in years, pumping vigorously, afraid that if he took too long someone might peek in and see him diddling himself.
When he climaxed, he cummed an impressive amount, feeling a strange spurt of pride with each load of ejaculated semen that landed inside the cup of Lara’s bra that earlier on had been rubbing against her right nipple.
And found himself immensely sleepy immediately after-wards. Still, hanson unzipped the entrance of his tent, positioning himself to peer out into the camp from the darkness of his abode, looking at the path leading from Lara’s forest entrance to her trailer.
And indeed, she finally appeared, looking flustered and sheepish, one arm up and holding her chest, where her two dark nipples had to be clearly visible through the tank top. Even her walk seemed to emanate an immense amount of discomfort, which must have been because she was closely accompanied by Fernando and Vincent, who Hanson could tell by the grin on their faces had undoubtedly noticed her wardrobe malfunction.
Hanson looked around, and saw that some of the other men had noticed Lara's predicament as well. A few modestly looked away, while others grinned after stealing a few glances. Some were not so subtle, their eyes glued to Lara's chest as she walked across the camp ground. It had to be one hell of an embarrassing moment for the little privileged princess. He was suddenly a little regretful that he had taken her thong rather than her short shorts. How much more embarrassing would that have been for her to make that shameful walk wearing a see through top and a tiny g-string.
As for Fernando and Vincent, they walked Lara up to the motor home, whispering a few words to her. She frowned, became even more flustered, and for a moment Hanson thought maybe the two men had ratted him out. But Lara neither looked at his tent nor displayed any further discontent. Rather, she looked tired, and went into the motor home, shutting its door.
At this point Hanson had stopped watching, zipping up his tent. The sight of a flustered Lara had just gave him a second erection, something that hasn’t happened in twenty years. He was determined to deposit a second load in the other cup of Lara’s bra before he hid his trophies and went to sleep.
Had he continued spying on the motor home after Lara had entered it, however, he would’ve seen Fernando and Vincent wheeling the large suitcase out from the back. They wheeled it past the rows of occupied tents and into the large tent at the furthest edge of the camp, sealing the tent's entrance behind them. Two hours later, they pushed the suitcase out of their tent and back into the motor home, securing it in the back before leaving to go to sleep. Even if he had witnessed it, however, Hanson would’ve brushed it off as a mere contrivance, too caught up with his late night victory.
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Tomb Raider: The Fat Man Chronicles