Heavy Debt (Weight Gain, Drone TF, Null Bulge)

A commission for Glaz! His supervillain, the illustrious Scalebreaker Jack, collects on an overdue payment from a patron of his bank.

Brendan backed against the wall, staring at his pursuer as they trundled towards him. The alley walls were too close together, even if he had the necessary agility, there was no way he could squeeze past the approaching man. He was tall and wide, so wide in fact, that the width of both his belly and hips nearly impeded his advance through the narrow space. He was dressed in a fine vanilla coloured shirt, overlaid by a gold trimmed waistcoat with a striped pattern. His fitted trousers, immaculately tailored to his broad thighs and calves, shared the same patterning. Alternating shades of green between dark and light, and on the back and collar of his waistcoat, a slick jet black with golden stripes. The most alarming feature of the man’s outfit was the domino mask he wore across his eyes, his deep green eyes which were zeroed in on Brendan. 

Even with a mask to obscure his identity, he knew who this man was. Scalebreaker, aka, Jack Greenhill, aka, the owner of the Greenhill Trading Conglomerate and all its associated businesses. One such business under his control was the Greenhill Trading Bank, from which Brendan had taken out an enormous loan with six months earlier. He had every intention of making his payments on time, life just got in the way. Evidently his slowed returns to the bank didn’t sit well with their upper management but he never expected the boss to chase him down, let alone an actual bona fide SUPERVILLAIN. 

Jack was now only a few feet away. He stood with a certain dignity befitting his status as a man of wealth and power. His red swept back hair marred by a single white streak only served to make him seem even more stylish. He had a soft, lightly freckled face, encircled by carefully maintained chinstrap beard which didn’t hide his double-chin. He was incredibly handsome and youthful, but his demeanour suggested a cruel confidence which only supervillains possessed.

“You are quite the difficult man to get a hold of. We phoned you several times, Brendan.” He said Brendan’s name with such a dismissive tone, like he was so beneath him that even being forced to address him by name dirtied his palette. “Sent you letters, upon letters, do you know how much paper we wasted on correspondence with you?” Jack approached. He was taller up close, bordering seven feet in height. His silhouette blocked the afternoon sun from Brendan’s vision, leaving him in the colossal gentleman’s shadow. “So many trees had to die, all because you ignored us. Now... is that any way to treat your benefactors?”

Brendan was paralysed with fear.

“If I recall.” Jack had a duelling cane in one hand. He used it to prod Brendan in the chest. “You spent your loan on a new apartment, furnished it to your liking, then spent the rest of that money - which we had so kindly bequeathed to you - on luxuries.” Jack smiled, it was not a kind expression, it was the calculated bearing of a hunter cornering his prey. He was enjoying this, he liked to hear himself speak. His voice was deep and melodious, but the slow and methodical cadence he spoke with gave his words a wicked edge. Like he could cut Brendan down with words alone.

“I’ll pay you back,” Brendan said. “Every last penny, I swear!” He could barely think straight. “I’ll even work for you; I’ll even pay extra. Just don’t hurt me!” Brendan pleaded with the supervillain, feeling his legs wobble precariously under his weight. He was a fat man, nowhere near as fat as the Scalebreaker, but big enough for his own liking. He had spent much of the loan on food, enticed by the way other men responded to his increasing girth. As a gainer, he had an online following; people rewarded his upward gains. Hooked on the feeling of pseudo-celebrity status for indulging his love of food, he erred and spent the rest of his loan on a month-long high-calorie splurge.

Earlier today he had been celebrating hitting four hundred pounds. He was elated with the way his body had transformed, how soft and pliable it was, how full his breasts were and how his pendulous stomach swayed with every step. He booked a table at the fanciest restaurant in the city and planned to order “one of everything.” Instead of receiving his meal, he received a rather brisk and hurried apology from the waiter who informed him the owner wanted a word. That was when Jack, the Scalebreaker, emerged from the VIP section and asked where his money was. The rest was a panicked, sweaty chase through the city. Jack barely picked up pace, he always seemed to just a few steps behind him. He knew his power was something to do with a red gas, he didn’t think teleportation was included in that.

It was shocking how he went from feeling like a fat king among men, to a tiny bloated insect under the expensive leather heel of someone much more regal.

“Oh, you will be paying me back, let us not be mistaken here, there is absolutely no feasible way you are getting out of this scenario without making reparations for the money you effectively stole.” Jack flipped his cane with a masterful flick of the wrist. Mounted on top was a glass orb, filled with a black liquid. It swirled and moved without being shaken, practically alive. “You said you would be willing to work for me, is that correct?” Jack’s thumb brushed a subtle red button, Brendan watched him caress it in an anxious sweat.

“Yes...?” Brendan replied. He wasn’t sure what else to say. Engaging in wordplay or mind games with a supervillain wouldn’t end well for him, so he just decided to go along with things for now. Maybe the punishment wouldn’t be so bad. Right, right?

“Then we have a verbal agreement that you will enter my employ.” Jack laughed. Brendan didn’t like the way he sounded.

“Wh-... what would I have to do for you, sir?”

Jack pointed the cane, glass orb facing forward, at Brendan. “Oh, only a little product testing. Do you like doughnuts?”

He pressed the button before Brendan had time to answer the question.

The orb smashed against the wall next to Brendan’s head, the clear material he thought was glass just disintegrated on impact. He felt something cool and slick begin to tickle his ankle, looking down he saw the black goo rapidly multiplying around his feet. It held him in place, like cement had just hardened and anchored him to the spot. He felt the stuff shoot up underneath his trouser legs and down through his socks, adhering itself to his skin. He cried out in shock and tried to rip it off as it began to cover him from the waist up but his fingers found no purchase, it didn’t bunch, wrinkle, or peel, it was like another layer of skin. He kept fighting it and only managed to pinch himself, painfully. He could feel the fabric of his clothes through the substance. When the goop finally stopped, the only uncovered flesh remaining was his head. It stopped ascending half-way up his neck. He dug his nail into where it ended, hoping to worm his finger into a gap and use it to pull it off, only to scratch himself. 

“What is this stuff!?” Brendan said, lifting his shirt and pulling on his waistband to look at his skin underneath his clothes. He was completely smooth, shiny black, an instant latex catsuit. “I... if you wanted me to wear rubber for you, you could have just... asked!?”

“That is not ordinary latex.” Jack stated. “Biohazard Ben may be a touch cruder in his methods, but he does have a brilliant mind for engineering new ways to ensure victory, especially when it comes to the synthesis of new materials. I would personally have preferred a different colour, though I suppose it can be overlooked for now.”

Brendan’s body betrayed him. His arms shot out to either side of him, his legs too. He was stuck in a permanent starfish pose. “What, I can’t move!”

“You wanted to impress the world with your girth, correct?” Jack reached into his pocket. He pulled out a solid gold case, opened it to Brendan, revealing the most perfectly made doughnut he had ever seen in his life. Golden brown pastry, still fresh with the sweet enticing aroma of baked dough. It had a simple white glaze, golden icing spelled out a word. Scalebreaker. “You should be honoured, I baked this myself.” He fed it to Brendan, giving him a look that said if you don’t eat this doughnut right now, your life is forfeit. Brendan followed orders, he swallowed it.

“What a good man you are, so dutiful and understanding. Now all you need to do... is go to this address.” Jack handed Brendan a slip of paper, control of his limbs had been returned to him. He felt Jack’s words resonate inside his skull, massaging his head from the inside to make it limber and receptive to his orders. He felt comfortable hearing Jack’s voice, he wanted him to keep speaking. He wanted to please. Brendan forgot why he was ever scared of this beautiful man in the first place. In fact, he thought he should take steps to emulate his hero. That’s right. Jack, Scalebreaker, was a superHERO not a villain.

Brendan’s eyes turned red.

Brendan followed the directions to the letter. He walked in a forward, mechanical fashion. Every time he passed a bakery on the way to his destination, he heard Jack’s voice. “You deserve a break, why not have a bite?” He would enter each establishment in turn, devour their baked goods by force - anyone who impeded him was an enemy - and moved on once he was finished gorging. Whatever Jack’s doughnut contained had changed him.

Each bite had its caloric impact multiplied by magnitudes of hundreds if not thousands. His body swelling with newly developed fat, his metabolic processes amplified to instantly convert sugar and carbs into weight. His clothes became taut, his widening body no longer compatible with the dimensions of his 5XLs. His shirt ripped, his pants burst, shoes burst, like a cocoon to let his shiny black form be free. He jiggled his moobs, moaning happily at how turgid and sensitive they felt beneath the skinsuit. He shoved trinity of eclairs into his mouth, and sighed, wishing he had someone to help him enjoy his new magnitude.

Yes, that’s right. A friend. Someone else needs to become like me, they need to experience this. 

Brendan arrived at his destination. He went to knock and broke down the door, revealing a very scared looking man in boxer shorts and a white vest. “Scalebreaker wants you to join me,” Brendan said, exhaling a red mist. The man tried to run but Brendan caught up to him, he was faster now, stronger too. He held the terrified looking man in a chokehold, and smiled down at him, nestling his head between his sofa cushion sized moobs.

“Look is this about the suit!?” The man yelled. “I’m sorry, I told Jack I didn’t mean to ruin it. You gotta believe me... I work at his company, I’m a tailor, you don’t have to do this I--”

The black liquid which made up Brendan’s skinsuit spread to the slim tailor. It covered him and immobilized him in the same way it had Brendan. Without a doughnut to complete the transformation, Brendan had to do it by mouth. He pinched the tailor’s nose and blew into his mouth, inflating him with the red gasses until his stomach protruded like a basketball stuffed under someone’s shirt. After Brendan had given him the gift of Scalebreaker’s red gas, the tailor didn’t complain.

“... we need to make more friends.” Said the tailor.

Hours later, Jack sat in the foyer of the city’s Greenhill Trading Bank building. Six enormously fat men in matching shiny black skinsuits, eyes misted over with red swirl patterns, stood in front of him. They were barging into one another like sumos, rubbing at each other’s crotches - where their genitals had been replaced by a smooth bulge - and playing with one another’s moobs.

Another man sat beside him, in a black skin-tight suit that shone dark purple whenever the light shone on it. A luminous Biohazard symbol printed over the stomach. “You outdid yourself; I can put on a REAL parade with these boys.”

“I bet you can, Benjamin.” Jack produced another golden case. “Do with them as you please, I think this was a roaring success. Care for a doughnut?”