HOME | DD

Description
The Nasty Aftermath by LoquaciousJango

No.
This was not what was going to happen. He wasn’t ready to accept it. Eckelson Kwillit was too good to die here, so now it was time to prove it.

Can’t breathe. Skin is on fire.

Stop whining.

Can’t see.

STOP IT.

THINK.

You’ve been here before, you’ve seen the layout. You can survive. You’ve seen how it’s done.

The medical kit. The ibycai with the needle.

Good, where is it?

Wall. Can’t see….

Focus. Don’t need eyes.

Kwillit’s mouth cracked open, letting loose a hoarse whimper of a sonic call. It painted the room around him in whispers, but was enough to make out the eastern wall, the shelving unit against it, and the small, innocuous box that lay about four feet off the ground. He crawled on his hands and knees, the damnable fluid that still issued forth from the sprinklers pounding into his back. He agonizingly pressed himself against the far wall, summing up his very last iota of strength and flailing his left arm upwards, extending his wing to the point that he felt the membrane would crack. He connected with the box and felt the medkit tumble open, scattering its contents on the floor and himself. In a small mercy, it felt as though the stream from above was petering out, its damage done.

The strength in his arms gone, Kwillit probed with his feet, feeling for the single capped epipen amongst sterilized pads and pill canisters. His clawed toes finally closed around the cylinder. He didn’t have time to try and confirm the contents, or muse that this was the second syringe of mystery fluid that he had injected into himself in a bid for survival. Bending his leg back, he tore off the cap with his other foot and plunged the needle into his inner thigh.
Almost instantly, his heart stopped beating. It felt like he was falling. It never occurred to Eckelson how quiet the world was without the sound of his own pulse.
Sensation returned as spike felt as though it was thrust into his chest, then it happened again, and again. His heart surged back to life, causing him to double over and take a gasping, painful breath. Then another.

He was breathing. He was moving. Light was fading back into his brain.
Kwillit gathered his strength as it started to return to his frozen limbs. His muscles had to be forced into motion, like breaking glass, but he was mobile again. His sight hadn’t completely returned, but he could make out broad shapes and colours, sharpened into clarity with the aid of his echolocation.

He crawled forward, over the half-crumpled stool that had prevented the security door from slamming shut and in to the hallway. With the deafening sirens, flashing red lights and rumbling chaos that seemed to be spreading through the complex, being spotted on a camera didn’t seem like such a big deal. It was that same shift in priorities that caused Kwillit to make a beeline for the sizable messenger shaft port a few meters away from him.

Dumbwaiters like these were primarily used to transport samples and supplies between levels, permitting ease of transportation without breaking any security parameters. With another painful flex of his arms, the relatively diminutive Kyroptian hoisted himself inside. The small plastic chamber was a snug fit, but if he curled himself up tight enough it would hopefully provide a straight shot to the surface. Kicking at the first floor button with his foot, Kwillit returned to the foetal position as the thin door slid shut and he felt the inviting lurch of movement. On the ride up, Eckelson flexed and relaxed his muscles despite the pain. He had to insure that they wouldn’t lock up again. He was still on edge from his brush with oblivion downstairs, and wasn’t entirely sure if it was the lingering effects of the toxin or his own nerves that kept his hands trembling.

He had to focus, dammit. Panic would kill him as quick as any bullet. Eckelson’s ears folded slightly as the rumble of the moving dumbwaiter gave way to an even louder cacophony. The door opened and Kwillit gracelessly unfurled from the tiny chamber, splaying out onto the floor. His already burdened senses were almost overloaded by the anarchy all around him.
What looked like a garage or loading dock had descended into a battlefield, with the entrenched security forces desperately fighting off a black-suited, well-armed militia of Ibycai. Kwillit scrambled to cover from the volleys of plasma and laser fire flying back and forth overhead, shutting his eyes against the pounding headache that was still bouncing around his skull. The dim emergency lighting provided pockets of darkness for the thief to move through as he desperately searched for a way out. The large loading ramp that served as an aperture to the outside world still lay open, but he doubted he could survive a charge through the front door, or the three mile run that lay beyond it. A dull hum flickered through the air, giving Eckelson enough warning to flatten himself behind a stack of metal pallets as a growling explosion went off several meters away, accompanied by an expanding ball of crackling green light that painted long shadows across the floor. The plasma grenade burned out a second later, leaving a scorched circle in the place where two guards had been taking cover.

Damning his every step, Kwillit sprinted along the far wall towards the motor pool. A small pocket of civilians that had just exited a nearby elevator looked like they had the same idea, scattering amongst the vehicles. A few unlucky ones were cut down in the crossfire. Kwillit felt a growing snarl of pain develop in his gut as he hoisted himself into the back of one of the larger cargo trucks, even as the engine hummed to life. He clutched at his belly, trying to will away the sensation. The sounds of pitched battle started to fade as the truck began to move, and Eckelson’s breath began to slow. He wasn’t out yet, but it was a start.

*****************

The lone Cochran checkpoint guard leaned out of his booth to wave down the sizable truck that was speeding towards the front gate. Thankfully, this one actually stopped. The gates that marked the perimeter between Nova Epsilon and the outside world were the last line of security on the long trek to and from the secretive base and didn’t amount to more than a thin metal barricade. The barricade in question had been completely flattened by the vehicle that had barrelled through them a minute or so beforehand. Something was obviously up if people were keener to leave Epsilon than usual. The watchman’s partner had already been called away to deal with it and frankly, it seemed a little above his paygrade.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” He shouted at the restless looking ibycai in the driver’s seat. “Do you even have clearance?”

“What?” The driver yelled, revving the engine “DO you even know what’s going on? The entire base is coming apart! People are shooting up the place for heaven’s sake, it’s Armageddon down there!”

“I’m not gonna stop you, let me just give you a once over” the guard replied. He trudged out of his booth and circled the large truck. In truth, his job wasn’t much more than turning away the odd wayward motorist, but there was still protocol to follow. He ran a quick scan for foreign tech on the underside of the vehicle, then double checked for fluids or structural damage. Bypassing what looked like a scorch mark on the left bumper, he then reached the back, threw open the doors to the cargo hold, and barely had time to register the reclining kyroptian pointing a gun at him within before he was tagged in the neck by a stun round.

Eckelson grunted, shifting from his prone position to double check the convulsing sentry. He hadn’t called out, and had fallen behind the car, so this might actually work. Kwillit kicked the side of the truck from within twice, silently hoping that the driver would take this as a sign of the all clear. To his relief, the vehicle spurred into motion once more, leaving the unconscious form of the unfortunate Cochran to shrink into the distance.

Eckelson couldn’t fully relax until he was actually off planet, but he was finally out of the lion’s den. A few less important concerns started to trickle into his brain again. Such as when he could get into contact with Hanuro, where he would find a doctor to address the lingering effects of the toxin, and surprisingly foremost; was there anything to eat?

Eckelson felt his belly let off a deep, low grumble and he winced at the hollow sensation that seemed to stretch up into his throat. Maneuvering the back of the cab, Eckelson started to rifle through the scattered crates that he had stowed away with. The first contained a series of long, black slabs which he could only guess the purpose of. The second was an empty coolant unit. He hit paydirt on the third, as a box of individually packaged protein supplements spilled out onto the shifting floor of the hold. He anxiously tore into the first one he could get his claws on, wolfing down the thick, starchy tasting bar before reaching for another.
“Told myself a long time ago I’d never go hungry” he smirked, already reaching for a third.

********************

Once his vehicle was back in the city, Kwillit bailed out at the first intersection, quickly losing himself in the bustle of the sizable colony. A swiftly appropriated hooded sweater helped him keep a low profile as he tried to get his bearings. Any Kyroptian worth his wings had a good sense of direction, and after quickly consulting a map at an infoterminal, Eckelson figured that he had about five blocks to go before he could reach where he had stashed The Bad Penny. Even this far out from what was left of Nova Epsilon, things were pretty hot. He wouldn’t feel truly safe until he was off-world.

Eckelson licked his fingers clean of whatever residue still stuck to them from his little feast. He had truthfully lost count of how many of those supplements he had devoured, though apparently one was supposed to feed a soldier for an entire day. He chocked it up to simple false advertising and scampered off, ignoring the substantial gut that had started to develop, spilling out of the seam between his tightly bound vest and his pants.

Skirting the alleys, the bustling sounds of community filtered into the kyroptian’s wide ears, and more importantly, the smells that pervaded his nostrils. To Eckelson’s eyes, this was a colony that had developed a little too quickly. It was roughly the size of a small town, but already multi-storey monoliths towered over ramshackle residential dwellings. Animated billboards washed the streets with the multi-coloured glow of competing product endorsements in the early hours of morning. He paused, glancing forward at the path to be taken, then to the side at the various food kiosks set up along the main street, already busy with early bird workers. His stomach growled in protest at any further action taken before consulting it and Eckelson sighed. A quick detour wouldn’t hurt.

He shambled up to a nearby noodle stand and hefted himself up onto one of the stools, kicking slightly as he clambered up.

“Bloody birds” he cursed under his breath. This colony in question was mostly built and populated by Cochran and Ibycai, among the middling sized races of the galaxy alongside Karks and Austicians. While Eckelson was considered tall by kyroptian standards, his people were definitely on the smaller end of the spectrum, standing a shade above the average ermine and towering above only proteans. As such, there were times when Kwillit found himself dwarfed by the world around him, though this was usually a boon to his work.

Finally resting his slightly more generous than usual backside on the stool, Eckelson tapped the counter, trying to get the attention of the ibycai manning the row of woks behind him. The vendor barely even offered him the smallest of glances before turning to another patron. Unperturbed, as he’d been used to this kind of treatment for most of his life, the kyroptian snatched up a discarded credit chit and flicked it at the back of the noodle-man’s head, hitting him just below his crest. The vendor whirled around in annoyance and with lingering eye contact achieved, Kwillit stared him down and after a second, deliberately tapped the counter once more.

After being served by the scowling cook, Eckelson immediately set upon his simple bowl of udon, varying between the pair of chopsticks and simply gulping back the entire mixture, letting the thick strands of dough and broth slide right down his throat. Without even taking his eyes off the meal, Kwillit reached into another pocket of his vest and withdrew a handful of ibycai yen, putting it down on the counter alongside his initial payment. Kyroptians were usually expected to pay up front.

“Whatever this’ll buy me” he mumbled between mouthfuls, tapping the counter once more.
His initial bowl became two. Then four. Then six. Eventually the dumbfounded noodle-man took away the stack of bowls and returned with an entire wok, stuffed to the brim.
“And more of those bread things” Kwillit requested, cramming a small, heavily glazed desert bun into his mouth alongside two others.

Nothing seemed to matter save the next mouthful. If he had been paying attention, he might have realized that he had stopped swallowing entirely. Whatever he ate simply slid down his throat, mingling in with the mishmash of starch and salt that comprised this extended breakfast. He unconsciously snuck a hand under his sweater and fiddled with the straps on his vest just as it started cutting into his sides, loosening the suddenly restrictive garment. His wide love handles almost visibly merged with his pronounced fuzzy belly, all over a rear that was starting to monopolize more and more of the oversized stool it was flattened against.

Kwillit belched, briefly coming up for air. He smacked his lips, glancing up from an empty bowl back at the kiosk vendor and most of the other patrons, who were now all giving him their undivided attention. So much for keeping a low profile.

Eckelson fumbled with his pouch and drew out a last handful of coins.

“One more please” he coughed.

When he said “one more” he had meant it, honestly. But Eckelson could have sworn he saw the cook try to skimp on flavouring, so he ordered another bowl just to be safe. Then a third as a courtesy to avoid hurting the ibycai’s feelings. The fourth one was mostly just momentum.

From a distance, the once svelt thief was almost unrecognizable. His rail-thin physique had been distorted and stretched out by the literal pounds of food and supplements that he had poured into his body. The starchy noodles in particular seemed to be reacting with the ration bars, expanding and causing even further growth. His buttocks had expanded to the point of drooping over the side of the stool, tearing a long seam in his pants that flashed a pair of blue underpants that looked as though they were painted on. His gut was even more impressive, a wide horizon of dark grey fur that would completely eclipse his feet should he ever look down, the hoodie and vest under it having ridden up the point of resembling a training bra. His entire body had taken on a sagging gumdrop shape, and it was only getting bigger.

A shudder passed through the narrow metal frame of Eckelson’s stool, causing his ears to twitch in alarm just as he crammed another fistful of buns into his mouth. All at once, one of the legs gave way entirely, sending the corpulent kyroptian tumbling to the ground and rolling away from the kiosk. The sensation of feeling his mass actually ROLLING across the ground snapped Eckelson out of his trance. He lay splayed flat on his back, the wide swollen mound of his belly rising ahead of him like a mountain range. Kwillit was speechless, truly taking in his form for the first time. How had this happened? He brought up a tubby arm and jabbed at the plush mass that was his torso. It gave way like jello, absorbing his entire finger and then some. Pulling himself free, Eckelson returned his gaze skywards. He really didn’t feel like getting up right now, or possibly ever again. As one final insult, a deep rumbling belch erupted from deep within him, flushing his pudgy cheeks with humiliation.

Eckelson honestly wasn’t sure how long we would have lain there in bloated surrender if his hearing didn’t pick up the distant hum of hoverjets. He was scanning the early morning skies, trying to discern the source of the noise, when a sleek black transport rocketed over the streets. Kwillit scrambled to right himself, finally giving up on the impossible task of sitting up and instead picking up enough momentum to roll onto one side and push himself back onto his feet. Sweating and gasping even from that miniscule effort, the portly bat made a break for a nearby overhang, squeezing into an alley and peering through the gaps in a plank fence that divided the adjacent streets. If he was lucky, Kwillit had just spooked himself with a passing cruiser. But he didn’t think so. Huffing and puffing as he dropped to one knee for a better look, Eckelson watched a small contingent of black suited military-looking operatives drop down from the belly of the transport. From his vantage point, he could make out the weapons that they were flashing at the quickly pacified crowd were decidedly non-lethal looking. Mostly stun guns, blowback rifles and a few shrink-wrappers. But his blood ran cold when he made out the small golden insignia on one of their shoulders: The Libra, the universal symbol of justice throughout the galaxy. These men were paralegals.

“Matron” Kwillit prayed “What the hell have I started?”

His shock subsiding, he turned his attention to hastily scan his environment for an exit. He needed to disappear, and fast. From the looks of things, the company that he had just hit was incensed enough at the loss of their facility to send in the best weapon they had. Another paralegal transport roared overhead, this one issuing a loud edict.

“THIS COLONY IS BEING HELD UNDER SUSPICION OF GRAND DESTRUCTION OF CORPORATE PROPERTY AND BREACH OF CIVIL CONTRACT BY HARBOURING INDUSTRIAL SABOTEURS. ALL RESIDENTS HAVE BEEN SUBPEONED AND ARE EXPECTED TO ARRIVE IN A COURT OF LAW. YOU WILL BE IMPOUNDED TO INSURE THAT YOU ARE FIT FOR YOUR COURT DATE. DO NOT RESIST THE OFFICIALS THAT HAVE BEEN DISPATCHED.”

Blocking out the noise, Eckelson spotted a way out, namely a service entrance for the sewers. If he managed to get underground and maneuver through the tunnels before the troops started to sweep them, there was a chance that he could reach The Penny. If his ship hadn’t already been secured, then he could possibly get off world and clear of this mess. There was a lot of If in this plan, but it was the best he had. If one of those black bag squads actually got a hold of him, it didn’t matter if they could charge him or not. He would disappear in a tangle of red tape and probably never see daylight again. As far as Eckelson was concerned, capture instantly meant a fate worse than death.

After letting an airborne patrol pass by once more, Kwillit broke into what was intended to be a crazed sprint but swiftly devolved into a lumbering jog. Already wheezing, Eckelson crouched over his pillowy belly as best he could, his thick arms pumped with effort, prying the simple plastic grating loose and maneuvering his significant bulk into the suddenly very narrow looking hole. He grunted in frustration. Normally this would have been accomplished in a matter of seconds, with a cocky smirk and an acrobatic flourish. But now, as Kwillit felt the rim of the manhole press in against all sides of his body, he realized that he was stuck.

He let out a long, low groan and uselessly kicked his dangling feet in attempt to dislodge himself, but to no avail. He wriggled and shook himself, succeeding only in busting a few more seams on his ruined vest. His ears swiveled in the direction of an approaching engine and he resumed his thrashing, desperate to escape his confinement. Just as he felt a bright spotlight against his back, Kwillit felt something within him give way.

With an almighty *SHLORP*, his upper body poured into the hole after his lower half. He hit the floor of the tunnel with a *BLOOMP* and his pants finally gave up all semblance of structural integrity, tearing off his legs and voluminous buttocks with an embarrassingly audible *SHRIIIIP*
His head spinning from the fall and his ears ringing with the onslaught of onomatopoeia, Eckelson struggled to stand. The lone shaft of light that he was occupying seemed to be the only source of illumination down here, which made it difficult to get his bearings or insure that everything was where it was supposed to be. Once he was fairly sure that his feet were back under him, Eckelson scooped up the fragments of his pants and belt and shambled off into the gloom of the sewers, taking refuge in the comforting blackness.

Now at least within partial sanctuary, Eckelson had time to recover the day’s events. He placed both hands on his inflated stomach once more, hefting it in his hands. What a disaster. By now he had figured out that the chemical shower he had received courtesy of the building’s security system combined with the resuscitation needle he had jabbed himself with had some kind of adverse effect on his metabolism, resulting in the flabby slab of kyroptian that he was gripping in his hands. He had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t nearly as temporary as one of Lorraine’s darts, and not nearly as entertaining either. If Kwillit didn’t find a way to reverse this and drop the sudden weight, he could kiss his illicit career goodbye.

He had heard that weight gain had an adverse effect on hearing, and was horrified when more and more of the rabble up above became harder to define. For the first time, Eckelson felt futility and panic rise in his considerable gut. He couldn’t sneak, he couldn’t hear, and he certainly couldn’t fly like this. What exactly was there left to define him as a kyroptian? This ponderance racked his brain as he made his way further into the blackness, occasionally sending out a garbled sonic call that barely helped him find his bearings. He had come down to relying on a hand against the wall to help stay on track, as he had never thought to carry a light source before today. The only illumination that he could muster was the small PDA he gripped in his left hand, a map displayed on it’s screen which he occasionally referred to in order to insure that he was on the right track.
Kwillit couldn’t confirm it without his vision, but he felt as though his feet were becoming harder and harder to lift off of the ground, almost as if his bulk was sagging down even further to envelop his legs. These suspicions seemed to confirm themselves as he felt….SOME part of him make contact with the floor. A strange bevy of new sensations reached him as Eckelson attempted to push forward. At first, he thought he was immobilized by his fat once more. He started to flail and thrash, attempting to push back at the suffocating weight that was eclipsing more and more of his body. His muscles were useless. His entire frame was gradually drowning in the fat that was obviously still over taking him. Was this how he’d be discovered? Hiding in a sewer, trapped by his own corpulence? Not exactly a dignified end for such a reputable thief.

Then, Eckelson felt motion. It was difficult to describe, and it certainly wasn’t muscular movement, but it was definitely…something. He could feel himself shifting and undulating. It wasn’t walking, he couldn’t even feel his legs anymore. But he was moving. It felt oddly effortless, and Eckelson found himself picking up the pace. He was moving faster than he had been since his unexpected growth spurt, and he wasn’t even breathing hard. It was as though he finally had total control over his own girth. The befuddled thief reached downwards, over the expanse of his stomach as best he could, probing at the lower half of his body in the darkness. There was no definition, just soft, damp, slightly sticky flesh.

What the hell was happening to him? Eckelson could only guess, though he was more than a little alarmed at the prospect that his legs and certain other extremities had seemingly melted away.
Eckelson smacked his lips and grunted as the smells of the sewer finally started to register all around him. His stomach growled again, causing him to regret not grabbing another pack of buns from the kiosk.

“Why the hell is that stench making me hungry?” he burbled to himself.

Nevertheless, the smell became stronger and stronger, until it felt as though it was starting to permeate his being. He could feel the odour surround him, against his skin and face. Normally this would have been hellish, but for some ungodly reason, his brain wasn’t making the connection between “Eau d’sewage” and “Revulsion”. Instead, it was diverting right into “Appetizing”. It was driving him crazy. Just when he felt as though this bizarre sensory overload couldn’t get more maddening, another link clicked in his brain, and his sense of smell crossed the line into taste.

Eckelson braced himself against the wall. He tasted the floor. He tasted the wall where his hand was. Everything carried a salty, bitter quality to it. He could feel a fibrous, plastic flavour on his shoulders and back, with hints of…metal? What was that? Was that his vest and tools? The flavour started to push past his skin, until it resided within him. Startled at this, Kwillit brought a heaving arm up to his shoulder, feeling nothing but more slimy flab. Where were his clothes? Had they just slipped inside of him? The implications of that were particularly terrifying. Even now, he could both taste and feel his trustworthy tactical vest, his belt, all of those expensive tools and equipment that he had milked out of his client. They were all coming apart inside of him, dissolving away into nothing. He felt the occasional jolt of energy as his newly omnipresent digestive system ate through the occasional power cell, the tiny plasma capsules detonating harmlessly within him and providing a slight burst of citrus. He probed at his belly, arms now resting comfortably atop it. Never mind being recognizable as a kyroptian, he wasn’t sure he even looked like anything except a shambling garbage heap. And now he’d just apparently devoured all of his personal effects by way of osmosis.

“Why me?” Eckelson growled, sounding as though he was talking through a mouthful of jelly. If only he could get to a light source, he could see the extent of the damage. Peering into the distance, he was fairly sure he could make out a pillar of light from an open manhole. It looked like both a chance at some answers, and a possible escape route. He crept forward even faster, pushing his body forward in a rhythmic lurching. He was so focused on making it to that little beam of salvation that he barely noticed the black suited ibycai standing just beyond it until he was almost face to face with him.

The paralegal was incommunicado with a colleague, a hand to his ear and his voice garbled by the masked helmet stretched across his beak.

“All clear in this sector. Had to neutralize three vagrants, but no solid leads. Regrouping with the unit in- What the hell?”

The paralegal whipped around as Eckelson oozed into view. There was a second’s hesitance between the two. The light from above filtered through the gloom and seemed to fall into the corporate enforcer’s black jumpsuit. For Eckelson on the other hand, the light seemed to hit him, then keep going. His entire body had become translucent, and the same dingy green colour as the chemical that he had been soaked in. He was completely homogenous, from the tips of his sagging ears to the bottom of his turgid belly that comprised most of his new form. The stomach in question was massive, marred by the faint impression of a belly button on it’s wide, curved surface. It reached all the way to the floor, flattening slightly against the ground. Save a wide rump that rested on the ground behind him, there was no trace of his legs ever existing. A few bubbles of gas and the dissolving remnants of his clothing were the only thing that broke the smooth sheen of the blob’s form.

On any ordinary day, Kwillit would accept that being caught unarmed and naked in front of a well-armed ibycai was a death sentence, but today was not such a day. He had more weight to throw around in this tiny tunnel than he ever had in his life. He was just as tall as the bird in front of him, and exponentially wider. Without thinking, Eckelson launched himself bodily at the paralegal in a tidal wave of goo. To his credit, the slender victim managed to squeeze off a single shot from his stun rifle, which sunk into the blob and ineffectually dissipated, before being completely buried in the considerable bulk of his attacker.

Eckelson shuddered at the bizarre thrill of feeling the thrashing ibycai enter him. Within seconds, the paralegal turned snack was completely enveloped, futiley struggling in the viscous ooze that was Eckelson. He could feel the slender man’s entire body. He could taste it. The threads of his jumpsuit, the similar electrical burst as his stun gun fizzled and was digested, the ceramic plating of his armour…the sharp, coppery taste of blood.

Wait. No. blood.

No. What the hell was he doing?

NO! Stop!

Summoning up every ounce of willpower he could, Eckelson contracted his bulk, thinning his outer wall and expelling the shuddering, half-clothed and thoroughly wet ibycai back onto the cold stone of the floor. He lay there, raw patches of skin dotting his feathery hide, the digestive fluid that he had been drowning in still fizzling slightly, but alive. Eckelson sighed in genuine relief, his voice gurgling on the way out. Kwillit was many things, few of them good, but he was not a killer.

What, exactly then, was he? Kwillit rested his wide arms on top of his belly, gazing through both and at the hazy green image of the floor below. His wings were now little more that sticky sheets of goo connecting his arms to his body. He resembled a sculpture of himself that someone had attempted to carve out of gelatin, then gave up on. He was all blobbish stomach now, the only thing that came close to eclipsing it were the twin gravid globes of his buttocks, which he twisted his head around to observe, feeling another sting of humiliation. He slapped at his belly, feeling it ripple slightly.

What a day. And he was still hungry.

Returning his gaze upwards, Eckelson was now faced with the prospect of climbing a ladder without the necessary limbs. The hole straight above seemed to mock him. So close, and yet so far. A thought occurred to him, sending another ripple through his body. If he really had total control of his mass as he thought he did, that included shape. Focusing on the exit above him, he contracted his body, forming himself from a blob into a pillar of glistening slime. The ceiling grew closer and Eckelson could simply stretch his arms up and through the opening. While entering a similar aperture had proven to be almost impossible earlier, he was now a great deal more malleable. He effortlessly oozed through the hole and took a gurgling breath of fresh air. After getting as much of himself over the lip of the manhole as possible, he pulled up the rest of his bulk in defiance of gravity, his elongated body swiftly returning to it’s globular shape. It wasn’t much of a victory, but it was a start.

By the memory of his map and his thankfully intact sense of orientation, the blob could guess that he was just a short distance from his ship. As he squeezed through another narrow thoroughfare, the only thing standing in his way was a simple fence. He didn’t even slow down, flattening himself against the flimsy barrier and eating straight through it, sampling the starchy, brittle fiberglass taste of it as it dissolved into plastic soup and diffused into him, bloating him up even further.

Finally, Kwillit could make out the sleek, draped form of The Bad Penny, resting innocuously within an abandoned garage. Having long ago eaten his keys along with everything else he had been carrying, the amorphous thief had to activate the hidden keypad nestled within his ship’s landing struts: a simple failsafe that while not exactly designed for this exact situation, was nevertheless there in case he had been stripped of his belongings and had to make a speedy exit.

The rear landing hatch swung open, creating a ramp that allowed Eckelson to slither safely within his craft and close the door behind him. He had to shift his sides in slightly as he made his way through the slightly cramped cargo hold, it’s walls lined with a myriad of specialized containers and vaults built to contain any matter of sensitive contraband, before reaching his more spacious cockpit. Eckelson peered over his wide butt at the path he had taken even as he tasted the metallic floor beneath him. He had left a long, smooth polished streak behind him on the normally dull gunmetal grey hallway. Grunting, he consciously attempted to stop digesting the floor of his spaceship, for fear of eating straight through the hull. Then came the precarious task of bending and maneuvering around his very comfortable leather pilot’s chair in an effort not to ruin it. His boneless body complied, and he was able to access the helm, tapping in a quick evacuation nav and powering up the ship’s thankfully quiet engines. As he felt the familiar lurch of leaving ground, Kwillit double checked the air traffic. He was confident that the multitude of stealth measures that were incorporated into The Penny would get him past the paralegal dragnet. After putting together a stable exit trajectory, Kwillit lifted off, affording minimal contact with the console.

The world shrank beneath him and the atmosphere thinned as he climbed higher and higher, free of the chaos that had dominated his day. The morning scarlet of a rising sun faded in lieu of the inviting starstudded blackness of space. Eckelson hit the autopilot and finally allowed himself to relax, sinking into his own body ever so slightly.

That was one problem dealt with.

***********************************

Kwillit had parked himself in deep space and oozed into his living quarters when he started to look over his very short list of potential options. In order to avoid chewing on his own ship, he was currently snacking on a bag of dehydrated fruit, letting them fall into him and disappear, aware that each one was only adding to his mass. He had no idea what had happened to him or how to reverse it, and he couldn’t think of anyone with expertise in this area…check that, Eckelson realised as he rolled his eyes, he knew ONE person.

Getting into contact with them wasn’t terribly hard for someone like him. He had a hacker friend with a backdoor into the IGPD servers, who from there could access their freelancer database. A few minutes of browsing found him the contact information that he needed. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this even as he set up the link.

“Hello?” a slightly out of breath female voice answered “I’m kind of in the middle of something. Is this about the Freed Contract?”

“Siltwater” the slime rasped “Pleasure to hear from you again. Do hope I’m not interrupting anything”

“I’m sorry” the bounty hunter’s voice grew a little clearer “This isn’t Welker, is it? Who is this?”

“Oh” he replied coyly “We’ve met. Tall, slick and handsome? Does his best work with the lights off?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line “…Wait, I know that accent... Kwillit?” she responded, sounding genuinely incredulous. “Why in the ‘verse are you calling me?”

“Listen” he grunted, shifting his bulk to and fro. “I need a favour. You can call it in any time you want, but I really need help here”

“Hold on” Lorraine stated. He heard her speaking to someone a little beyond the range of the microphone before she faded back in “-not like you can go anywhere, so stay cozy” she snickered

“Hey, I’m back, what was this all important favour?”

“Look” Eckelson chose his words carefully. Never mind the fact that he was talking to a bounty hunter, it had to be her. Why was it always her? “I’ve seen the kind of stuff that you pack. Nobody else has anything like that, so I figure you’ve got a hand at twisting up a bloke’s body, or you know someone who does”

There was another length of silence from Lorrie’s end. “I…have a supplier, yeah. But if you’ve got any ideas, I warn you that I’m pretty protective of my trademark”

“Nothing like that” Eckelson replied, stirring a finger through his body. “I’d just like to meet ‘em. I may-ah- I may need a little medical attention. Your kind of attention.”

“Nobody really NEEDS my kind of attention” Lorrie laughed. “And my friend isn’t exactly the hospitable or charitable sort.”

“You think I can’t pay?” the blob gurgled.

“Okay seriously, what’s going on?” Lorraine laughed again “You sound like you’re talking through a mouthful of jello”

Kwillit blew a wet breath in hesitance, before deciding that he owed an explanation. She deserved that much.
“Alright…but don’t laugh…”

Description
The Nasty Aftermath by LoquaciousJango

No.
This was not what was going to happen. He wasn’t ready to accept it. Eckelson Kwillit was too good to die here, so now it was time to prove it.

Can’t breathe. Skin is on fire.

Stop whining.

Can’t see.

STOP IT.

THINK.

You’ve been here before, you’ve seen the layout. You can survive. You’ve seen how it’s done.

The medical kit. The ibycai with the needle.

Good, where is it?

Wall. Can’t see….

Focus. Don’t need eyes.

Kwillit’s mouth cracked open, letting loose a hoarse whimper of a sonic call. It painted the room around him in whispers, but was enough to make out the eastern wall, the shelving unit against it, and the small, innocuous box that lay about four feet off the ground. He crawled on his hands and knees, the damnable fluid that still issued forth from the sprinklers pounding into his back. He agonizingly pressed himself against the far wall, summing up his very last iota of strength and flailing his left arm upwards, extending his wing to the point that he felt the membrane would crack. He connected with the box and felt the medkit tumble open, scattering its contents on the floor and himself. In a small mercy, it felt as though the stream from above was petering out, its damage done.

The strength in his arms gone, Kwillit probed with his feet, feeling for the single capped epipen amongst sterilized pads and pill canisters. His clawed toes finally closed around the cylinder. He didn’t have time to try and confirm the contents, or muse that this was the second syringe of mystery fluid that he had injected into himself in a bid for survival. Bending his leg back, he tore off the cap with his other foot and plunged the needle into his inner thigh.
Almost instantly, his heart stopped beating. It felt like he was falling. It never occurred to Eckelson how quiet the world was without the sound of his own pulse.
Sensation returned as spike felt as though it was thrust into his chest, then it happened again, and again. His heart surged back to life, causing him to double over and take a gasping, painful breath. Then another.

He was breathing. He was moving. Light was fading back into his brain.
Kwillit gathered his strength as it started to return to his frozen limbs. His muscles had to be forced into motion, like breaking glass, but he was mobile again. His sight hadn’t completely returned, but he could make out broad shapes and colours, sharpened into clarity with the aid of his echolocation.

He crawled forward, over the half-crumpled stool that had prevented the security door from slamming shut and in to the hallway. With the deafening sirens, flashing red lights and rumbling chaos that seemed to be spreading through the complex, being spotted on a camera didn’t seem like such a big deal. It was that same shift in priorities that caused Kwillit to make a beeline for the sizable messenger shaft port a few meters away from him.

Dumbwaiters like these were primarily used to transport samples and supplies between levels, permitting ease of transportation without breaking any security parameters. With another painful flex of his arms, the relatively diminutive Kyroptian hoisted himself inside. The small plastic chamber was a snug fit, but if he curled himself up tight enough it would hopefully provide a straight shot to the surface. Kicking at the first floor button with his foot, Kwillit returned to the foetal position as the thin door slid shut and he felt the inviting lurch of movement. On the ride up, Eckelson flexed and relaxed his muscles despite the pain. He had to insure that they wouldn’t lock up again. He was still on edge from his brush with oblivion downstairs, and wasn’t entirely sure if it was the lingering effects of the toxin or his own nerves that kept his hands trembling.

He had to focus, dammit. Panic would kill him as quick as any bullet. Eckelson’s ears folded slightly as the rumble of the moving dumbwaiter gave way to an even louder cacophony. The door opened and Kwillit gracelessly unfurled from the tiny chamber, splaying out onto the floor. His already burdened senses were almost overloaded by the anarchy all around him.
What looked like a garage or loading dock had descended into a battlefield, with the entrenched security forces desperately fighting off a black-suited, well-armed militia of Ibycai. Kwillit scrambled to cover from the volleys of plasma and laser fire flying back and forth overhead, shutting his eyes against the pounding headache that was still bouncing around his skull. The dim emergency lighting provided pockets of darkness for the thief to move through as he desperately searched for a way out. The large loading ramp that served as an aperture to the outside world still lay open, but he doubted he could survive a charge through the front door, or the three mile run that lay beyond it. A dull hum flickered through the air, giving Eckelson enough warning to flatten himself behind a stack of metal pallets as a growling explosion went off several meters away, accompanied by an expanding ball of crackling green light that painted long shadows across the floor. The plasma grenade burned out a second later, leaving a scorched circle in the place where two guards had been taking cover.

Damning his every step, Kwillit sprinted along the far wall towards the motor pool. A small pocket of civilians that had just exited a nearby elevator looked like they had the same idea, scattering amongst the vehicles. A few unlucky ones were cut down in the crossfire. Kwillit felt a growing snarl of pain develop in his gut as he hoisted himself into the back of one of the larger cargo trucks, even as the engine hummed to life. He clutched at his belly, trying to will away the sensation. The sounds of pitched battle started to fade as the truck began to move, and Eckelson’s breath began to slow. He wasn’t out yet, but it was a start.

*****************

The lone Cochran checkpoint guard leaned out of his booth to wave down the sizable truck that was speeding towards the front gate. Thankfully, this one actually stopped. The gates that marked the perimeter between Nova Epsilon and the outside world were the last line of security on the long trek to and from the secretive base and didn’t amount to more than a thin metal barricade. The barricade in question had been completely flattened by the vehicle that had barrelled through them a minute or so beforehand. Something was obviously up if people were keener to leave Epsilon than usual. The watchman’s partner had already been called away to deal with it and frankly, it seemed a little above his paygrade.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” He shouted at the restless looking ibycai in the driver’s seat. “Do you even have clearance?”

“What?” The driver yelled, revving the engine “DO you even know what’s going on? The entire base is coming apart! People are shooting up the place for heaven’s sake, it’s Armageddon down there!”

“I’m not gonna stop you, let me just give you a once over” the guard replied. He trudged out of his booth and circled the large truck. In truth, his job wasn’t much more than turning away the odd wayward motorist, but there was still protocol to follow. He ran a quick scan for foreign tech on the underside of the vehicle, then double checked for fluids or structural damage. Bypassing what looked like a scorch mark on the left bumper, he then reached the back, threw open the doors to the cargo hold, and barely had time to register the reclining kyroptian pointing a gun at him within before he was tagged in the neck by a stun round.

Eckelson grunted, shifting from his prone position to double check the convulsing sentry. He hadn’t called out, and had fallen behind the car, so this might actually work. Kwillit kicked the side of the truck from within twice, silently hoping that the driver would take this as a sign of the all clear. To his relief, the vehicle spurred into motion once more, leaving the unconscious form of the unfortunate Cochran to shrink into the distance.

Eckelson couldn’t fully relax until he was actually off planet, but he was finally out of the lion’s den. A few less important concerns started to trickle into his brain again. Such as when he could get into contact with Hanuro, where he would find a doctor to address the lingering effects of the toxin, and surprisingly foremost; was there anything to eat?

Eckelson felt his belly let off a deep, low grumble and he winced at the hollow sensation that seemed to stretch up into his throat. Maneuvering the back of the cab, Eckelson started to rifle through the scattered crates that he had stowed away with. The first contained a series of long, black slabs which he could only guess the purpose of. The second was an empty coolant unit. He hit paydirt on the third, as a box of individually packaged protein supplements spilled out onto the shifting floor of the hold. He anxiously tore into the first one he could get his claws on, wolfing down the thick, starchy tasting bar before reaching for another.
“Told myself a long time ago I’d never go hungry” he smirked, already reaching for a third.

********************

Once his vehicle was back in the city, Kwillit bailed out at the first intersection, quickly losing himself in the bustle of the sizable colony. A swiftly appropriated hooded sweater helped him keep a low profile as he tried to get his bearings. Any Kyroptian worth his wings had a good sense of direction, and after quickly consulting a map at an infoterminal, Eckelson figured that he had about five blocks to go before he could reach where he had stashed The Bad Penny. Even this far out from what was left of Nova Epsilon, things were pretty hot. He wouldn’t feel truly safe until he was off-world.

Eckelson licked his fingers clean of whatever residue still stuck to them from his little feast. He had truthfully lost count of how many of those supplements he had devoured, though apparently one was supposed to feed a soldier for an entire day. He chocked it up to simple false advertising and scampered off, ignoring the substantial gut that had started to develop, spilling out of the seam between his tightly bound vest and his pants.

Skirting the alleys, the bustling sounds of community filtered into the kyroptian’s wide ears, and more importantly, the smells that pervaded his nostrils. To Eckelson’s eyes, this was a colony that had developed a little too quickly. It was roughly the size of a small town, but already multi-storey monoliths towered over ramshackle residential dwellings. Animated billboards washed the streets with the multi-coloured glow of competing product endorsements in the early hours of morning. He paused, glancing forward at the path to be taken, then to the side at the various food kiosks set up along the main street, already busy with early bird workers. His stomach growled in protest at any further action taken before consulting it and Eckelson sighed. A quick detour wouldn’t hurt.

He shambled up to a nearby noodle stand and hefted himself up onto one of the stools, kicking slightly as he clambered up.

“Bloody birds” he cursed under his breath. This colony in question was mostly built and populated by Cochran and Ibycai, among the middling sized races of the galaxy alongside Karks and Austicians. While Eckelson was considered tall by kyroptian standards, his people were definitely on the smaller end of the spectrum, standing a shade above the average ermine and towering above only proteans. As such, there were times when Kwillit found himself dwarfed by the world around him, though this was usually a boon to his work.

Finally resting his slightly more generous than usual backside on the stool, Eckelson tapped the counter, trying to get the attention of the ibycai manning the row of woks behind him. The vendor barely even offered him the smallest of glances before turning to another patron. Unperturbed, as he’d been used to this kind of treatment for most of his life, the kyroptian snatched up a discarded credit chit and flicked it at the back of the noodle-man’s head, hitting him just below his crest. The vendor whirled around in annoyance and with lingering eye contact achieved, Kwillit stared him down and after a second, deliberately tapped the counter once more.

After being served by the scowling cook, Eckelson immediately set upon his simple bowl of udon, varying between the pair of chopsticks and simply gulping back the entire mixture, letting the thick strands of dough and broth slide right down his throat. Without even taking his eyes off the meal, Kwillit reached into another pocket of his vest and withdrew a handful of ibycai yen, putting it down on the counter alongside his initial payment. Kyroptians were usually expected to pay up front.

“Whatever this’ll buy me” he mumbled between mouthfuls, tapping the counter once more.
His initial bowl became two. Then four. Then six. Eventually the dumbfounded noodle-man took away the stack of bowls and returned with an entire wok, stuffed to the brim.
“And more of those bread things” Kwillit requested, cramming a small, heavily glazed desert bun into his mouth alongside two others.

Nothing seemed to matter save the next mouthful. If he had been paying attention, he might have realized that he had stopped swallowing entirely. Whatever he ate simply slid down his throat, mingling in with the mishmash of starch and salt that comprised this extended breakfast. He unconsciously snuck a hand under his sweater and fiddled with the straps on his vest just as it started cutting into his sides, loosening the suddenly restrictive garment. His wide love handles almost visibly merged with his pronounced fuzzy belly, all over a rear that was starting to monopolize more and more of the oversized stool it was flattened against.

Kwillit belched, briefly coming up for air. He smacked his lips, glancing up from an empty bowl back at the kiosk vendor and most of the other patrons, who were now all giving him their undivided attention. So much for keeping a low profile.

Eckelson fumbled with his pouch and drew out a last handful of coins.

“One more please” he coughed.

When he said “one more” he had meant it, honestly. But Eckelson could have sworn he saw the cook try to skimp on flavouring, so he ordered another bowl just to be safe. Then a third as a courtesy to avoid hurting the ibycai’s feelings. The fourth one was mostly just momentum.

From a distance, the once svelt thief was almost unrecognizable. His rail-thin physique had been distorted and stretched out by the literal pounds of food and supplements that he had poured into his body. The starchy noodles in particular seemed to be reacting with the ration bars, expanding and causing even further growth. His buttocks had expanded to the point of drooping over the side of the stool, tearing a long seam in his pants that flashed a pair of blue underpants that looked as though they were painted on. His gut was even more impressive, a wide horizon of dark grey fur that would completely eclipse his feet should he ever look down, the hoodie and vest under it having ridden up the point of resembling a training bra. His entire body had taken on a sagging gumdrop shape, and it was only getting bigger.

A shudder passed through the narrow metal frame of Eckelson’s stool, causing his ears to twitch in alarm just as he crammed another fistful of buns into his mouth. All at once, one of the legs gave way entirely, sending the corpulent kyroptian tumbling to the ground and rolling away from the kiosk. The sensation of feeling his mass actually ROLLING across the ground snapped Eckelson out of his trance. He lay splayed flat on his back, the wide swollen mound of his belly rising ahead of him like a mountain range. Kwillit was speechless, truly taking in his form for the first time. How had this happened? He brought up a tubby arm and jabbed at the plush mass that was his torso. It gave way like jello, absorbing his entire finger and then some. Pulling himself free, Eckelson returned his gaze skywards. He really didn’t feel like getting up right now, or possibly ever again. As one final insult, a deep rumbling belch erupted from deep within him, flushing his pudgy cheeks with humiliation.

Eckelson honestly wasn’t sure how long we would have lain there in bloated surrender if his hearing didn’t pick up the distant hum of hoverjets. He was scanning the early morning skies, trying to discern the source of the noise, when a sleek black transport rocketed over the streets. Kwillit scrambled to right himself, finally giving up on the impossible task of sitting up and instead picking up enough momentum to roll onto one side and push himself back onto his feet. Sweating and gasping even from that miniscule effort, the portly bat made a break for a nearby overhang, squeezing into an alley and peering through the gaps in a plank fence that divided the adjacent streets. If he was lucky, Kwillit had just spooked himself with a passing cruiser. But he didn’t think so. Huffing and puffing as he dropped to one knee for a better look, Eckelson watched a small contingent of black suited military-looking operatives drop down from the belly of the transport. From his vantage point, he could make out the weapons that they were flashing at the quickly pacified crowd were decidedly non-lethal looking. Mostly stun guns, blowback rifles and a few shrink-wrappers. But his blood ran cold when he made out the small golden insignia on one of their shoulders: The Libra, the universal symbol of justice throughout the galaxy. These men were paralegals.

“Matron” Kwillit prayed “What the hell have I started?”

His shock subsiding, he turned his attention to hastily scan his environment for an exit. He needed to disappear, and fast. From the looks of things, the company that he had just hit was incensed enough at the loss of their facility to send in the best weapon they had. Another paralegal transport roared overhead, this one issuing a loud edict.

“THIS COLONY IS BEING HELD UNDER SUSPICION OF GRAND DESTRUCTION OF CORPORATE PROPERTY AND BREACH OF CIVIL CONTRACT BY HARBOURING INDUSTRIAL SABOTEURS. ALL RESIDENTS HAVE BEEN SUBPEONED AND ARE EXPECTED TO ARRIVE IN A COURT OF LAW. YOU WILL BE IMPOUNDED TO INSURE THAT YOU ARE FIT FOR YOUR COURT DATE. DO NOT RESIST THE OFFICIALS THAT HAVE BEEN DISPATCHED.”

Blocking out the noise, Eckelson spotted a way out, namely a service entrance for the sewers. If he managed to get underground and maneuver through the tunnels before the troops started to sweep them, there was a chance that he could reach The Penny. If his ship hadn’t already been secured, then he could possibly get off world and clear of this mess. There was a lot of If in this plan, but it was the best he had. If one of those black bag squads actually got a hold of him, it didn’t matter if they could charge him or not. He would disappear in a tangle of red tape and probably never see daylight again. As far as Eckelson was concerned, capture instantly meant a fate worse than death.

After letting an airborne patrol pass by once more, Kwillit broke into what was intended to be a crazed sprint but swiftly devolved into a lumbering jog. Already wheezing, Eckelson crouched over his pillowy belly as best he could, his thick arms pumped with effort, prying the simple plastic grating loose and maneuvering his significant bulk into the suddenly very narrow looking hole. He grunted in frustration. Normally this would have been accomplished in a matter of seconds, with a cocky smirk and an acrobatic flourish. But now, as Kwillit felt the rim of the manhole press in against all sides of his body, he realized that he was stuck.

He let out a long, low groan and uselessly kicked his dangling feet in attempt to dislodge himself, but to no avail. He wriggled and shook himself, succeeding only in busting a few more seams on his ruined vest. His ears swiveled in the direction of an approaching engine and he resumed his thrashing, desperate to escape his confinement. Just as he felt a bright spotlight against his back, Kwillit felt something within him give way.

With an almighty *SHLORP*, his upper body poured into the hole after his lower half. He hit the floor of the tunnel with a *BLOOMP* and his pants finally gave up all semblance of structural integrity, tearing off his legs and voluminous buttocks with an embarrassingly audible *SHRIIIIP*
His head spinning from the fall and his ears ringing with the onslaught of onomatopoeia, Eckelson struggled to stand. The lone shaft of light that he was occupying seemed to be the only source of illumination down here, which made it difficult to get his bearings or insure that everything was where it was supposed to be. Once he was fairly sure that his feet were back under him, Eckelson scooped up the fragments of his pants and belt and shambled off into the gloom of the sewers, taking refuge in the comforting blackness.

Now at least within partial sanctuary, Eckelson had time to recover the day’s events. He placed both hands on his inflated stomach once more, hefting it in his hands. What a disaster. By now he had figured out that the chemical shower he had received courtesy of the building’s security system combined with the resuscitation needle he had jabbed himself with had some kind of adverse effect on his metabolism, resulting in the flabby slab of kyroptian that he was gripping in his hands. He had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t nearly as temporary as one of Lorraine’s darts, and not nearly as entertaining either. If Kwillit didn’t find a way to reverse this and drop the sudden weight, he could kiss his illicit career goodbye.

He had heard that weight gain had an adverse effect on hearing, and was horrified when more and more of the rabble up above became harder to define. For the first time, Eckelson felt futility and panic rise in his considerable gut. He couldn’t sneak, he couldn’t hear, and he certainly couldn’t fly like this. What exactly was there left to define him as a kyroptian? This ponderance racked his brain as he made his way further into the blackness, occasionally sending out a garbled sonic call that barely helped him find his bearings. He had come down to relying on a hand against the wall to help stay on track, as he had never thought to carry a light source before today. The only illumination that he could muster was the small PDA he gripped in his left hand, a map displayed on it’s screen which he occasionally referred to in order to insure that he was on the right track.
Kwillit couldn’t confirm it without his vision, but he felt as though his feet were becoming harder and harder to lift off of the ground, almost as if his bulk was sagging down even further to envelop his legs. These suspicions seemed to confirm themselves as he felt….SOME part of him make contact with the floor. A strange bevy of new sensations reached him as Eckelson attempted to push forward. At first, he thought he was immobilized by his fat once more. He started to flail and thrash, attempting to push back at the suffocating weight that was eclipsing more and more of his body. His muscles were useless. His entire frame was gradually drowning in the fat that was obviously still over taking him. Was this how he’d be discovered? Hiding in a sewer, trapped by his own corpulence? Not exactly a dignified end for such a reputable thief.

Then, Eckelson felt motion. It was difficult to describe, and it certainly wasn’t muscular movement, but it was definitely…something. He could feel himself shifting and undulating. It wasn’t walking, he couldn’t even feel his legs anymore. But he was moving. It felt oddly effortless, and Eckelson found himself picking up the pace. He was moving faster than he had been since his unexpected growth spurt, and he wasn’t even breathing hard. It was as though he finally had total control over his own girth. The befuddled thief reached downwards, over the expanse of his stomach as best he could, probing at the lower half of his body in the darkness. There was no definition, just soft, damp, slightly sticky flesh.

What the hell was happening to him? Eckelson could only guess, though he was more than a little alarmed at the prospect that his legs and certain other extremities had seemingly melted away.
Eckelson smacked his lips and grunted as the smells of the sewer finally started to register all around him. His stomach growled again, causing him to regret not grabbing another pack of buns from the kiosk.

“Why the hell is that stench making me hungry?” he burbled to himself.

Nevertheless, the smell became stronger and stronger, until it felt as though it was starting to permeate his being. He could feel the odour surround him, against his skin and face. Normally this would have been hellish, but for some ungodly reason, his brain wasn’t making the connection between “Eau d’sewage” and “Revulsion”. Instead, it was diverting right into “Appetizing”. It was driving him crazy. Just when he felt as though this bizarre sensory overload couldn’t get more maddening, another link clicked in his brain, and his sense of smell crossed the line into taste.

Eckelson braced himself against the wall. He tasted the floor. He tasted the wall where his hand was. Everything carried a salty, bitter quality to it. He could feel a fibrous, plastic flavour on his shoulders and back, with hints of…metal? What was that? Was that his vest and tools? The flavour started to push past his skin, until it resided within him. Startled at this, Kwillit brought a heaving arm up to his shoulder, feeling nothing but more slimy flab. Where were his clothes? Had they just slipped inside of him? The implications of that were particularly terrifying. Even now, he could both taste and feel his trustworthy tactical vest, his belt, all of those expensive tools and equipment that he had milked out of his client. They were all coming apart inside of him, dissolving away into nothing. He felt the occasional jolt of energy as his newly omnipresent digestive system ate through the occasional power cell, the tiny plasma capsules detonating harmlessly within him and providing a slight burst of citrus. He probed at his belly, arms now resting comfortably atop it. Never mind being recognizable as a kyroptian, he wasn’t sure he even looked like anything except a shambling garbage heap. And now he’d just apparently devoured all of his personal effects by way of osmosis.

“Why me?” Eckelson growled, sounding as though he was talking through a mouthful of jelly. If only he could get to a light source, he could see the extent of the damage. Peering into the distance, he was fairly sure he could make out a pillar of light from an open manhole. It looked like both a chance at some answers, and a possible escape route. He crept forward even faster, pushing his body forward in a rhythmic lurching. He was so focused on making it to that little beam of salvation that he barely noticed the black suited ibycai standing just beyond it until he was almost face to face with him.

The paralegal was incommunicado with a colleague, a hand to his ear and his voice garbled by the masked helmet stretched across his beak.

“All clear in this sector. Had to neutralize three vagrants, but no solid leads. Regrouping with the unit in- What the hell?”

The paralegal whipped around as Eckelson oozed into view. There was a second’s hesitance between the two. The light from above filtered through the gloom and seemed to fall into the corporate enforcer’s black jumpsuit. For Eckelson on the other hand, the light seemed to hit him, then keep going. His entire body had become translucent, and the same dingy green colour as the chemical that he had been soaked in. He was completely homogenous, from the tips of his sagging ears to the bottom of his turgid belly that comprised most of his new form. The stomach in question was massive, marred by the faint impression of a belly button on it’s wide, curved surface. It reached all the way to the floor, flattening slightly against the ground. Save a wide rump that rested on the ground behind him, there was no trace of his legs ever existing. A few bubbles of gas and the dissolving remnants of his clothing were the only thing that broke the smooth sheen of the blob’s form.

On any ordinary day, Kwillit would accept that being caught unarmed and naked in front of a well-armed ibycai was a death sentence, but today was not such a day. He had more weight to throw around in this tiny tunnel than he ever had in his life. He was just as tall as the bird in front of him, and exponentially wider. Without thinking, Eckelson launched himself bodily at the paralegal in a tidal wave of goo. To his credit, the slender victim managed to squeeze off a single shot from his stun rifle, which sunk into the blob and ineffectually dissipated, before being completely buried in the considerable bulk of his attacker.

Eckelson shuddered at the bizarre thrill of feeling the thrashing ibycai enter him. Within seconds, the paralegal turned snack was completely enveloped, futiley struggling in the viscous ooze that was Eckelson. He could feel the slender man’s entire body. He could taste it. The threads of his jumpsuit, the similar electrical burst as his stun gun fizzled and was digested, the ceramic plating of his armour…the sharp, coppery taste of blood.

Wait. No. blood.

No. What the hell was he doing?

NO! Stop!

Summoning up every ounce of willpower he could, Eckelson contracted his bulk, thinning his outer wall and expelling the shuddering, half-clothed and thoroughly wet ibycai back onto the cold stone of the floor. He lay there, raw patches of skin dotting his feathery hide, the digestive fluid that he had been drowning in still fizzling slightly, but alive. Eckelson sighed in genuine relief, his voice gurgling on the way out. Kwillit was many things, few of them good, but he was not a killer.

What, exactly then, was he? Kwillit rested his wide arms on top of his belly, gazing through both and at the hazy green image of the floor below. His wings were now little more that sticky sheets of goo connecting his arms to his body. He resembled a sculpture of himself that someone had attempted to carve out of gelatin, then gave up on. He was all blobbish stomach now, the only thing that came close to eclipsing it were the twin gravid globes of his buttocks, which he twisted his head around to observe, feeling another sting of humiliation. He slapped at his belly, feeling it ripple slightly.

What a day. And he was still hungry.

Returning his gaze upwards, Eckelson was now faced with the prospect of climbing a ladder without the necessary limbs. The hole straight above seemed to mock him. So close, and yet so far. A thought occurred to him, sending another ripple through his body. If he really had total control of his mass as he thought he did, that included shape. Focusing on the exit above him, he contracted his body, forming himself from a blob into a pillar of glistening slime. The ceiling grew closer and Eckelson could simply stretch his arms up and through the opening. While entering a similar aperture had proven to be almost impossible earlier, he was now a great deal more malleable. He effortlessly oozed through the hole and took a gurgling breath of fresh air. After getting as much of himself over the lip of the manhole as possible, he pulled up the rest of his bulk in defiance of gravity, his elongated body swiftly returning to it’s globular shape. It wasn’t much of a victory, but it was a start.

By the memory of his map and his thankfully intact sense of orientation, the blob could guess that he was just a short distance from his ship. As he squeezed through another narrow thoroughfare, the only thing standing in his way was a simple fence. He didn’t even slow down, flattening himself against the flimsy barrier and eating straight through it, sampling the starchy, brittle fiberglass taste of it as it dissolved into plastic soup and diffused into him, bloating him up even further.

Finally, Kwillit could make out the sleek, draped form of The Bad Penny, resting innocuously within an abandoned garage. Having long ago eaten his keys along with everything else he had been carrying, the amorphous thief had to activate the hidden keypad nestled within his ship’s landing struts: a simple failsafe that while not exactly designed for this exact situation, was nevertheless there in case he had been stripped of his belongings and had to make a speedy exit.

The rear landing hatch swung open, creating a ramp that allowed Eckelson to slither safely within his craft and close the door behind him. He had to shift his sides in slightly as he made his way through the slightly cramped cargo hold, it’s walls lined with a myriad of specialized containers and vaults built to contain any matter of sensitive contraband, before reaching his more spacious cockpit. Eckelson peered over his wide butt at the path he had taken even as he tasted the metallic floor beneath him. He had left a long, smooth polished streak behind him on the normally dull gunmetal grey hallway. Grunting, he consciously attempted to stop digesting the floor of his spaceship, for fear of eating straight through the hull. Then came the precarious task of bending and maneuvering around his very comfortable leather pilot’s chair in an effort not to ruin it. His boneless body complied, and he was able to access the helm, tapping in a quick evacuation nav and powering up the ship’s thankfully quiet engines. As he felt the familiar lurch of leaving ground, Kwillit double checked the air traffic. He was confident that the multitude of stealth measures that were incorporated into The Penny would get him past the paralegal dragnet. After putting together a stable exit trajectory, Kwillit lifted off, affording minimal contact with the console.

The world shrank beneath him and the atmosphere thinned as he climbed higher and higher, free of the chaos that had dominated his day. The morning scarlet of a rising sun faded in lieu of the inviting starstudded blackness of space. Eckelson hit the autopilot and finally allowed himself to relax, sinking into his own body ever so slightly.

That was one problem dealt with.

***********************************

Kwillit had parked himself in deep space and oozed into his living quarters when he started to look over his very short list of potential options. In order to avoid chewing on his own ship, he was currently snacking on a bag of dehydrated fruit, letting them fall into him and disappear, aware that each one was only adding to his mass. He had no idea what had happened to him or how to reverse it, and he couldn’t think of anyone with expertise in this area…check that, Eckelson realised as he rolled his eyes, he knew ONE person.

Getting into contact with them wasn’t terribly hard for someone like him. He had a hacker friend with a backdoor into the IGPD servers, who from there could access their freelancer database. A few minutes of browsing found him the contact information that he needed. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this even as he set up the link.

“Hello?” a slightly out of breath female voice answered “I’m kind of in the middle of something. Is this about the Freed Contract?”

“Siltwater” the slime rasped “Pleasure to hear from you again. Do hope I’m not interrupting anything”

“I’m sorry” the bounty hunter’s voice grew a little clearer “This isn’t Welker, is it? Who is this?”

“Oh” he replied coyly “We’ve met. Tall, slick and handsome? Does his best work with the lights off?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line “…Wait, I know that accent... Kwillit?” she responded, sounding genuinely incredulous. “Why in the ‘verse are you calling me?”

“Listen” he grunted, shifting his bulk to and fro. “I need a favour. You can call it in any time you want, but I really need help here”

“Hold on” Lorraine stated. He heard her speaking to someone a little beyond the range of the microphone before she faded back in “-not like you can go anywhere, so stay cozy” she snickered

“Hey, I’m back, what was this all important favour?”

“Look” Eckelson chose his words carefully. Never mind the fact that he was talking to a bounty hunter, it had to be her. Why was it always her? “I’ve seen the kind of stuff that you pack. Nobody else has anything like that, so I figure you’ve got a hand at twisting up a bloke’s body, or you know someone who does”

There was another length of silence from Lorrie’s end. “I…have a supplier, yeah. But if you’ve got any ideas, I warn you that I’m pretty protective of my trademark”

“Nothing like that” Eckelson replied, stirring a finger through his body. “I’d just like to meet ‘em. I may-ah- I may need a little medical attention. Your kind of attention.”

“Nobody really NEEDS my kind of attention” Lorrie laughed. “And my friend isn’t exactly the hospitable or charitable sort.”

“You think I can’t pay?” the blob gurgled.

“Okay seriously, what’s going on?” Lorraine laughed again “You sound like you’re talking through a mouthful of jello”

Kwillit blew a wet breath in hesitance, before deciding that he owed an explanation. She deserved that much.
“Alright…but don’t laugh…”