Fed By Daylight

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<center><p style="font-size:5em">Fed By Daylight</p></center> <center><p style="font-size:2em">[[Enter the fog->Wake up at a campfire]]</p></center>

<<include "StoryInit">>The first thing you perceive is the crackling of a nearby campfire, the orange, flickering light teasing at the corners of your vision. Above you hangs a starless, empty sky, an utterly black void that fills you with unease. You are Pale, a diminutive but incredibly rotund corgi. You're wearing your work attire: comfortable clothes and a white apron, and the last thing that you remember is struggling to close the bakery's shutters for the night, before a shiver ran up your spine, and the world went dark. As you regain your bearings, you realise that you're lying on your back. You attempt to sit up, but, as always, your colossal, fatty gut prevents it. Instead, as per usual, you're forced to roll onto your front before pushing up onto your knees and eventually managing to stand. For a few moments after making it to your feet, you worriedly brush at your apron with both hands. You managed to get it a little muddy, and a few twigs even managed to hook onto the fabric as you lay atop it. "Hey!" an unfamiliar voice calls out. "The fat one's awake!" You can feel the blush in your cheeks. You know they're talking about you—when people talk like that, they always are. It's at that moment you notice there are others around the campfire. A punkish raccoon, a sporty-looking wolf, a bluejay in a dirtied lab coat, and a well-dressed dragon who looks utterly disgusted by the rest. "Hey, lardball!" the wolf calls out, striding towards you and poking an accusatory finger to your plump middle. "Where the heck are we?" "I-I," you blurt out. "W-what?" You turn in place, looking around, soft body jiggling from your increasingly frantic, worried movements. As best you can tell, you're deep in the forest somewhere... not that you recall any forests near your work. Could you have been //taken// somewhere? Kidnapped? These people seem just as confused as you are. Perhaps this is all an elaborate prank? Truth be told, you've been the butt of several pranks throughout the years, simply by virtue of being such a big target. "Told you," the bluejay suddenly cuts in. "Butterball was unconscious when I woke up, and so were the rest of you." The group begins to argue, with nobody trusting one another. Expletives are thrown around, accusations too, and it becomes clear that his group will never be able to work together. "Alright, I don't have time for this," the dragon abruptly exclaims. "You can all play in like children as much as you like, but I'm going home." He stomps off in one direction. The three others choose directions of their own and begin to leave the light of the campfire. //You need to choose a companion, or you'll be left all alone...// [[Follow raccoon]] [[Follow wolf]] [[Follow bluejay]] ==Follow dragon== [[Go it alone]]

You decide to follow the punk raccoon woman, much to her chagrin. She's openly and unabashedly annoyed with you as you follow after her, frequently quickening her pace in a passive-aggressive attempt to lose you. At several points, she easily hops over a branch or trunk, and you're left stumbling and wheezing, body wobbling as you try to replicate her seemingly effortless movements, only to discover that your body has no intentions of cooperating. "Ugh, won't you leave me alone?" she asks with a snarl. "Go find a burger joint or something!" Although you're left muddied and breathless, you manage to follow her to an abandoned shack. [[Old shack]]

// You follow after the snooty dragon. He seems genuinely angry, so you get the feeling that you can trust him. // Unfortunately, as soon as he realises you're wobbling after him, he begins to interrogate you. // "So, what do you do for a living?" he asks with a rude grin. It feels less like a genuine question, and more like he probing for ways to insult you. // "I um..." you whimper, struggling to keep up with him. "I work at a bakery!" // "Oh, yes, that makes sense," he responds, visibly glaring at your stomach, stifling a laugh. "Do your bosses know that you're eating all the merchandise? Oh, what am I saying—of course they do." // Too embarrassed to speak, never mind defend yourself, you continue to trudge after the dragon, eventually arriving at a burnt-out house. With a huff, the dragon steps inside, and you anxiously follow behind him. // The interior of the house is more dilapidated than you could've possibly imagined, yet there are handprints in the dust on nearby surfaces, seeming to indicate that //someone// has been here recently. There's a set of stairs as well, leading down into a dimly lit basement and, much to your horror, the dragon begins to descend them, perhaps hoping to find someone. // For a moment, you stand at the top of the stairs, whimpering and whining, before the fear of being left alone grows too great, and you follow after him. As you make your way down the stairs, step by step, you struggle not to tip down them. In your imagination, you picture yourself tumbling and bouncing down into the basement, or crashing through the steps. // Luckily, you make it to the bottom without incident, if only just. [[Pig's Basement]]

You follow closely behind the labcoat-clad bluejay. On some level, their professional-looking appearance soothes your worries, making you feel as if you're following after someone who knows what they're doing. "Hm?" They suddenly ask, grimacing back at you. "Are you sure that's sensible?" "W-what?" You respond, already struggling to catch your breath. "Walking around, lardass," They answer, looking you up and down with obvious contempt. "Shouldn't someone your size be hooked up to a machine, or lying down, or something?" Although their questions are certainly unkind, you sense some genuine concern within them, if only because the bird doesn't want to have to deal with you having a sudden heart attack in the middle of the forest. "I-I'm fine!" You eventually blurt out, trying and failing to hide your blushing face. "J-just big-boned!" "Nonsense, nobody's bones are //that// big..." They respond, unconvinced. "If you turn hypoglycemic, or your heart gives out, or you need a snack or something, I'm not slowing down, got it?" You nod, unusually aware of your chin wobbling as you do. [[Continue->Old Asylum]]

You decide to go with the athletic wolf, wobbling after him as quickly as you can. Something about sticking close to someone so muscular makes you feel safe, and hold out hope that, should worst come to worst, he'll protect you from any dangers you might encounter. Unfortunately, though, those hopes are soon dashed... "Y'know, you're actually a little faster than I expected," The wolf calls back over his shoulder. "Still slow as fuck, mind you, but damn... I thought for sure you'd have passed out or something by now!" You huff and wheeze, staggering after him, too breathless to respond. "How'd you get so fat anyway?" He asks, laughing. "Bad metabolism? Too much takeout? ...Oh! Oh, you're //into// it, aren't you? You are, aren't you!" Again, you're too breathless to respond, although the redness in your cheeks almost certainly betrays the truth. The wolf continues to tease you, revelling in the one-sided conversation and never offering you a chance to defend yourself--not that you can, anyway, since you're on the verge of passing out just from the brisk pace you've been forced to maintain these last few minutes. "Actually, it might be useful having you around," he suddenly smiles. "Now I don't have to outrun any beasties out here--I just have to outrun //you//!" [[Singularity - Woods]]

You hesitate, rooted in place by both indecision and pudge, calling out after the individuals as they depart in wildly different directions, unable to decide who to follow--or perhaps who to trust. An embarrassed part of you even wonders if you //should// go with anyone. Surely, your wobbling, blubbery little body would just slow them down. As if on cue, your belly rumbles hungrily, the loud, shameful groans leaving you thankful that nobody was around to hear it. You can only imagine what kinds of colourful insults it would have invited. With no other options, you stagger directionlessly into the woods, hoping to find help... or at least to bump into someone again. You are left [[alone in the woods->Alone in the woods]]

You're standing beneath the spotlights, the audience yelling at you. "Eat!" They yell. "Burst!" They cheer. The teleprompter begins to display text. What you see chills you to your core. "Complete the recipe or perish." That's what must've happened to the raccoon woman. If you mess this up, you're going to swell up with cake until you pop. Still... you're a baker. If anyone can survive such a terrible challenge, it may just be you. The following recipe flashes across the screen: <center>1. Preheat the oven. 2. Make the batter. 3. Place the batter in the oven. 4. Remove cake from oven. 5. Make the buttercream. 6. Assemble and frost.</center> [[Get started->Bake A Cake]]

<<if $CookingShow_Mistakes is 0>>WRONG! A siren blares, and you begin to panic, attempting to wobble your way off the stage. Unfortunately, your escape is halted by the crowd as they circle you. There's nothing you can do as the vacant onlookers begin shovelling the remains of your ruined 'cake' past your lips and you are forced to gulp down your failure. By the time the crowd disperses, your stomach is uncomfortably full, and you feel quite nauseous from having eaten so many raw ingredients. There's no escape, though. You'd better <<link "try again" "Bake A Cake">><<set $CookingShow_Mistakes += 1>><<set $CookingShow_Steps to []>>  <</link>> and hope you do better!<<nobr>> <</nobr>><<elseif $CookingShow_Mistakes is 1>>WRONG! Sirens blare and bright warning lights flash. You cry out as you're surrounded again and more raw ingredients are forced past your lips. You //have// to swallow, lest you suffocate, and soon wind up with a gut so bulbous and overly full that your apron and the clothing beneath it have begun to tear. Tears well up in your eyes. You need to <<link "try again" "Bake A Cake">><<set $CookingShow_Mistakes += 1>><<set $CookingShow_Steps to []>>  <</link>>, and if you don't manage it this time, you get the feeling your gut's going to suffer the same fate as your clothes!<<nobr>> <</nobr>><<else>><<goto "Cooking show: Get popped">><</if>>

Owing to your experience baking all kinds of tasty treats in the past, you manage to cobble together a surprisingly tasty-looking cake, even under such incredible pressure! You're soon left horrified, however, when the audience descends on the stage, gorging themselves on the food you've just made. You watch countless individuals stuff themselves, their bodies bloating until their bellies are near-spherical. It isn't long before one reaches their limit and--<<nobr>> <</nobr>><h1>POP!</h1><<nobr>> <</nobr>>The explosion throws you across the stage and, somehow, you land outside the television, a little bruised but otherwise unharmed. Good thing you're so excessively padded, or that would've hurt! Stumbling to your feet, you can hear laughter from outside. There are [[stairs down->Onryo - Basement]] into a nearby basement, and a [[back door->Onryo - Escape]] to the building. You should run, but maybe you should [[destroy that television->Try to destroy the TV]] first...?

Enraged by yet another failure, the audience members descend upon the stage, surrounding you, prying open your mouth, and forcing another cake past your lips. They don't even bother to cut it into pieces this time, simply cramming the entire thing into your muzzle, uncaring whether or not you can handle it, squashing the disintegrating dessert down your bulging gullet. Tears stream down your icing-bloated cheeks as thousands upon thousands of calories are forced down your throat. You're sure that you can feel this cake land atop the others, piled up high in your aching stomach. Unfortunately, despite being such a fat, gluttonous little dog, these cruel, repetitive, gorging punishments have finally pushed you to your limit. The gurgling and creaking of your distended stomach grow louder and louder as it pushes out, inch by inch, until finally the sounds of your close-to-bursting, spherical gut are loud enough to drown out the rapturous cheering of the audience. You experience a moment of genuine surprise as you feel your gargantuan belly poke beyond the edges of the stage, larger than any of the victims before you, and just as you think you can't possibly get any bigger-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You follow the raccoon woman inside the shack, and the two of you are left stunned by what you find. All four walls are lined with hundreds of <<nobr>> <<link "old tapes,">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Old tapes"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Old Tapes").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>haphazardly stacked on top of each other to form countless stacks. They seem to have been arranged to block the windows, leaving the interior of the building especially dark. The only source of light comes from a flickering old cathode ray tube television positioned against the far wall. The <<nobr>> <<link "raccoon woman">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Raccoon woman"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Raccoon Woman").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>fearlessly steps inside and begins to examine the nearby tapes, a look of disgust on her face as she realises just how dusty they are.

You hurriedly waddle your way towards the back door of the building, stifling a yelp as you become briefly stuck--your XXXL love handles becoming snagged on either side of the door. It takes you a few seconds to press and pull at your immense bulk before finally wobbling free. By the time you're staggering into the <<nobr>> <<link "woods">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Woods"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Woods").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>, you can hear giggling close behind you, making it clear that your supernatural <<nobr>> <<link "pursuer">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Pursuer"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Pursuer").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> is hot on your tail. Suddenly, you hear a groan, a scream, and a pop so loud that it hurts your ears. Strangely enough, it sounded like the audio was being played over a speaker... or coming from a television. [[Flee deeper into the woods->Onryo - Woods]]

Panicking, you make the snap decision to take refuge in the basement. Unfortunately, as soon as you take that first step onto the stairs, the rotten wood disintegrates beneath your weight. You cry out, tumbling down into the dark, dingy basement. For the second time in as many minutes, you find yourself thankful for your immense pudge and the way it cushions your clumsy tumbles and falls. Picking yourself up, fatty stomach still wobbling from the impact, you notice shelves lining all four walls. Each contains hundreds of tapes, presumably all of similar horrors to those you narrowly escaped. You should [[destroy the tapes->Burn the tapes]] somehow, but you can't deny the morbid curiosity inside you. Maybe you should [[watch one of the tapes->Watch a tape]] before destroying them?

Gripped with paranoia, you struggle past your own wobbling gut and pick up a brick, tossing it at the nearby television's screen with all your might. The brick simply bounces off the screen. All you achieve is making yourself wobble for a few seconds; at first, you curse your flab-buried, unwieldy arms for the lack of a result... until you try again and notice that the screen has a rubbery, distinctly organic feeling. It's almost as if the screen itself is an organic membrane formed out of static. You try to hit it again, this time with a rusty old pipe propped against a nearby wall. Much to your surprise, however, it becomes stuck against the screen. Your heart pounds in your chest as static begins to climb the length of the pipe, quickly coating your hand and forearm. Although you cry out, let go and try to pull away--perhaps hoping to leverage your weight to //help// you for once--the television just ends up dragged along as you stagger and fall. The static rolls across your doughy body, across your blubber and down between your countless folds, bubbling and crackling against your skin. It scales your pudge until it locates your lips and, much to your horror, your expansive, wobbling rear as well. Try as you might, there's nothing you can do as the living static begins pouring into you from both ends, wriggling through your guts and down your oesophagus, the sensation like a million static shocks all converging within your stomach. You grow so large from all the static in your stomach that it struggles to cover your entire surface, with large sections of your gigantic gut poking through, covered in deep, foreboding stretch marks. It's a testament to your unusual durability that you haven't burst already... but it isn't much longer before you-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

Gripped by a strange and unshakable curiosity, you push another tape into the VHS. This time, although it shows that all-too-familiar stage, there is a dark void where the victim should be. At first, you believe it be a simple corruption of the video, until tendrils of pure television static lash out, gripping and squeezing your rotund, fat stress ball of a body and pulling you towards the screen. You cry out in terror as your cheek squashes against the screen. --And then you're bound on the stage, filling the role of the missing victim. You're left to gaze down at your own rotund, jiggling belly, moments as a dark-haired Kitsune rises from your blind spot, a truly terrifying look on her face. Panicking as she traces a slender, knife-like claw across your doughy gut, you call out for help--but that was a mistake. She seems to pluck a slice of chocolate cake from thin air and immediately pushes it past your lips. And then another... and another... and another... and another... You become dizzy from all the sugar, your belly gurgling painfully as it fails to digest dozens of Birthdays' worth of cakes. Your pillowy gut pushes outwards, mouthful by forced mouthful, soft and flabby at first, but soon growing painfully firm, like a balloon that's soon to burst. Just as the discomfort in your cake-blimped gut begins to feel so intense that you're close to passing out, the awful Kitsune smiles down at you, teeth like razorblades, and prods a claw into your creaking middle. <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You can practically feel the darkness radiating from the countless tapes, immediately deciding that they need to be destroyed. A candle sits on a table across the room, flickering gently. All it takes is a few rearranged scraps of paper and a shove, and an inferno begins ripping through the shelves. Rapturous screams escape the myriad tapes as you clamber up the stairs again. By the time you reach the top, you're drenched in sweat. It's a miracle you didn't roll back down into the basement and burn. [[Hurry into the woods->Onryo - Woods]]

You waddle and wobble breathlessly into the woods. Although you attempt to stumble along in a straight line, your fatty body fails you, and you trip, immediately becoming so disoriented that you can't possibly figure out which way you were going before you fell. Just as you're about to choose a random direction, you hear a scream--and then a //pop//--in the distance. The awful sound was distorted, as if it came from an old television. Then there's a second scream, but this time you recognise it not as one of terror, but of sheer, unbridled rage. Your pursuer, you're sure, probably having just discovered the house you left behind, now ablaze and burning, along with the hundreds of tapes within. You don't want to think about what will happen if the woman chasing you manages to track you down now. [[Run to the noise->Onryo - Run towards the noise]] [[Run from the noise->Onryo - Run from the noise]]

You hobble your way towards the noise--towards danger--taking an embarrassingly long time to arrive. By the time you do, you're breathless, panting, drenched in sweat and //far// too tired to "run" again any time soon. Much to your horror, all that awaits you is evidence that one of your acquaintances has met a very violent fate. A crater and scattered shreds of clothing are all that remain of them, as if their viscera have already been devoured by unseen creatures. What's even more concerning is the old-style television camera pointed directly at the clearing where they met their end... and, by proxy, straight at //you//. You turn to flee, but the Kitsune is already towering over you. She smiles down at you with the widest, toothiest, most sadistic grin you've ever seen. A gasp escapes your lips as claws composed of television static crackle forth from the fog, gripping your limbs and twisting them painfully as your obese, jiggling body is hauled from the ground. A television soon floats ahead of you, flicking through channels, each far too brief for you to comprehend, until... "The new JUMBO BURGER™ is now available and--" An advert for a fast food chain? You don't understand--at least not until the advertisement ends, the restaurant's entire menu seems to pour from the television's screen and straight down your throat. You cough and gag as several tens of thousands of calories slam into the bottom of your stomach, filling it to the brim and causing it to bulge several inches. Waves of nausea and sleepiness wash over you as your dietary needs for the half-week are sated within seconds. A second advert begins to play. "New in store: The ChocoShake Deluxe™. Featuring more sugar, more caramel, and even more--" Just as before, the entire menu begins pouring from the screen, this time in the form of tens of litres of different milkshakes. Your mind goes blank as sugary liquid pours down your throat, your body completely overwhelmed, your gut simply groaning in confusion as it utterly fails to digest its contents. Your stomach felt full before, but now it feels painfully //tight//. A third advert begins. You try to avert your gaze, but the Kitsune grips your fatty cheeks, forcing you to keep watching. "New from Burger Bing™, the 'visitor' deal! A free, all-you-can-eat buffet for any visitors at our //prime// location, while stocks last!" Your eyes go wide. Did it just say... "All-you-can-eat"?! A moment later, and a stream of burgers, fries, milkshakes and desserts begins pouring from the screen like a fattening waterfall. You try to resist one final time, to stop the fate that's rapidly approaching, but the arms grip your arms with almost bone-breaking force, subduing your pathetic, wobbling protests. A series of sharp pops and bangs can be heard beneath your skin as you finally exceed your limits, and then-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You hurry away from the angry screams, your pace only quickening when they begin to rapidly approach your location. Heart racing, and so exhausted it feels like your fat-riddled heart is going to give out at any moment, you are overcome with relief when you spot what looks like an exit in the distance. ... At least until you realise there's //two//, and that you have no idea whether or not one is a //fake//. [[Run at a random screen->Guess a screen]] [[Test one of the screens->Check the screens]]

Thinking quickly, you bend down to pick up a rock from the ground. It takes you a few tries, your joints straining as you crouch, pushing down past your own fat gut, but eventually, you manage it. With all your might, you throw the stone at the nearer of the two exits and are both horrified and relieved when its structure flickers, revealing it to be nothing more than an illusion. With the incorporeal, screeching fox quick on your heels, you hurry towards the remaining exit and find that it's real. <<include "Good ending - Bloated by the fog">>

In a blinding panic, you frantically wobble towards the nearest screen, only to impact its surface with a comical 'Wham!'. As you tip backwards, comically obese body jiggling from the impact, you feel something torn away from you, although as you inspect yourself, you feel physically unharmed. It's only when you turn your bruised face back towards the screen and notice a truly chilling sight that you realise what was stolen from you was far from physical--and far more important than you possibly could have imagined. <b>Your soul.</b> The screen now displays footage of //you//, bound and smiling, the terrifying Kitsune towering over you. She snaps her fingers and a feeding tube glitches into existence, its tip already pushed past your doppelganger's lips. In an instant, you feel a phantom, rhythmic pressure pushing down your throat and building in your stomach. The footage pulls back, and the other end of the feeding tube is revealed to be a thousand-gallon tank of heavy cream. Your eyes go wide; you already know that you're doomed, your body already bloated and too heavy to move. Although your stomach's bloated with... //nothing//... you can feel that //nothing// sloshing around inside. In desperation, you plead with your doppelganger to stop swallowing, but they don't react, a euphoric, greedy look on their face. It's as if your own soul, now stolen away, and at the truth of your being is gluttony, gluttony now unrestrained by the need for self-preservation. It continues to gulp down heavy cream; a mindless, self-indulging voodoo doll that's growing closer and closer to bursting without a shred of concern for what will happen to you. Your belly gurgles, creaks and groans. The pressure is becoming unbearable, your wobbling, pillowy gut now more closely resembling an overinflated beach ball, covered in huge stretch marks, akin to faulty seams. The Kitsune's slender claws brush over a valve on the side of the tank, and it turns by a tiny, almost imperceptible degree. In an instant, your counterpart in the footage immediately bloats to the size of a football stadium, the camera thrown backwards with tremendous force. You--or at least, your body--proves far less malleable than your soul. You have only the briefest of moments to contemplate how utterly fucked you are before-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You force your obese, unwieldy body to its limits, wabbling desperately from the terrors pursuing you. It's only when you finally gather the bravery to turn and find nothing chasing you that you finally allow yourself to fall to your knees, panting and wheezing. The only thing that stops you from collapsing completely is the circumference of your plump, doughy stomach. Your heart feels like it's about to explode, unused to you exerting yourself like this--or at all, for that matter. For a while, it's just you, huffing and puffing, peering out into the infinite darkness that stretches out seemingly infinitely in every direction. You did it--you survived! You escaped! It's just as you begin to feel //grateful// that you survived that you realise none of your companions were as lucky. You're immediately overcome with intense and inescapable guilt, wondering if perhaps--just maybe--you'd been less of a waddling butterball, somebody else might've escaped. You clamber to your feet. Your ankles are aching from hefting your bulk, but that's nothing new. Exhausted, you trudge out through the fog. All you can do now is keep going--keep hoping--and maybe, just maybe, you'll find a way out of this hell. Unfortunately, the deeper into the fog you venture, the more difficult it becomes to navigate. It hangs heavy in the air; it's difficult to push through... and even harder to breathe. Soon, the fog grows so thick that it almost feels //solid//. It requires effort to inhale and exhale, and the very dark itself feels as if it rolls across your doughy rolls, teasing at every inch of your wobbling flesh as if it's exploring you. You try to take a deep breath and are horrified when the fog instead forces its way down your throat and into your stomach. You try to exhale, and then to squeeze your stomach in a desperate attempt to force a burp, but it's no use. Next, you reach for your face. You try to grasp at the darkness flooding past your lips, but it's no use. It appears to condense only once it's past your lips, and you're left swatting blindly at the air, to no avail. The flow feels like an air hose pumping straight down into your gut. Your obese, corpulent belly pushes out inch by inch. Your clothing begins to tear. Nearby twigs and branches, which had been mostly harmless just inches before, now become deadly, threatening to pop your ballooning gut if you make even the tiniest mistake. At first, there's some give in your flesh. You sink your fingers into your middle and find that your excessive blubber has ensured that it's still pillowy soft. ... But, soon enough, you're so full of fog that your skin has become so tight that your middle begins to feel rock solid. Discomfort overtakes you in waves as your insides begin to //stretch//. Your existing stretch marks, souvenirs from a life of unrepentant gluttony, begin to look far more like //fault lines//. You try not to panic, to ignore the creaking. Why are your cheeks so red? With tears in your eyes, you begin to wonder which inch of your blimped gut will rupture first. In your mind's eye, you imagine yourself exploding like a bomb, nought but a smoking crater left behind. Given the immense pressure building inside, you doubt that's entirely inaccurate. You open your mouth to call out for help, and even more, fog rushes past your lips. You panic and begin to scream, and even more, fog rushes in. You open your mou--<<nobr>> <</nobr>><h1><b>P O P !</b></h1><<nobr>> <</nobr>>It's all over in an instant, so quick that you never get an answer to your question. In truth, a tremendous ravine suddenly emerged from either side of your stomach, connecting at your navel for the tiniest of moments before you detonated in earnest. There's no pain--simply a tremendous feeling of //relief//. As the last embers of your spirit dissipate, they are plucked from the natural order by a malignant, unseen force. //Soon, you will <<link "awaken by a fire">> <<goto "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>, with no recollection of what happened here.//

You turn your attention to the raccoon woman you've chosen to follow. You estimate her to be in her mid to late 20s, and from her punkish attire and limited interactions with you, you can at least approximate what kind of person she is. When she spots you staring at her, however, she becomes irate. She grimaces down at you, looking disgusted. "Hey, fatass, don't be getting any ideas!" she snarls. "Just 'cause you managed to follow me doesn't mean we're friends or anything." "I-I wasn't--" you blurt out, but are interrupted. "If you want a girlfriend, why don't you try someone more on your level," she tells you. "Y'know, like a body pillow, or an escort--a well-paid one. Or hell, eat an apple once in a while, why don't you?" You're left red-faced and whining, utterly disarmed by her scathing remarks.

You pick up a tape and insert it into the television. It begins to play. What you see is nothing short of terrifying. At first, it looks like a regular movie, until you realise that the character on-screen is panicking, begging for help. A moment later, through a series of haphazard accidents, they've managed to eat themselves to the point of immobility. The footage then begins to degrade, but you're sure you see a shadowy arm reaching down, forcing a final handful of food down the poor man's throat. His body creaks and groans, and then-- POP! You and your companion reel back, utterly horrified. You immediately eject the tape and try another one, but are left increasingly horrified as you realise every tape in the building contains similar content. "S-so, uh..." the raccoon woman asks. "What's your money on? Serial killer? Or just some kinky bastard?" You're too fearful to respond, turning away from the television. At that moment, you notice there's <<nobr>> <<link "one tape">> <<script>> Dialog.close(); <</script>> <<goto "Marked Tape">> <</link>>  <</nobr>> left, marked with a red "X."

You pick up the marked tape, hands trembling, and insert it into the nearby VHS player. As the video begins to play, you note that the quality is especially poor. You and your companion scoot closer and closer as you try to spot what's happening. As you near, the static becomes more dense. It begins to spread from the corners of the screen. It dominates your peripheral vision. You feel yourself falling. The next thing you know, you're sitting in a stand, with dozens of <<nobr>> <<link "vacant onlookers">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Vacant onlookers"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Vacant onlookers").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>sitting on either side of you. It appears to be <<nobr>> <<link "the set">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("The set"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - The Set").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> of an old cooking show, complete with bulky cameras and stage lighting. On stage stands the raccoon woman you were sticking with. She's hurriedly trying to do something--scanning a teleprompter with a worried look on her face, then trying desperately to cook something. Eventually, she pulls a cake from the oven. The crowd begins to boo. You watch, horrified, as a pair of attendants walk on stage, hold her still, and force-feed her the entire thing. Her stomach bulges, tearing her clothes. Delirious from the amount of food she's just consumed, and inevitably a terrible sugar rush as well, she tries again... ... and fails ... Again, the attendants force-feed her the failed cake she's just made. It isn't long before her stomach's so gigantic and bloated that her middle appears lightly bruised. Deep stretch marks can be seen running across her solid sphere of a gut. As she fails for what must be the fifth or sixth time, she suddenly lurches over atop her stomach, whimpering, begging for mercy. The curtains drop for a second, and her cries become muffled by yet more handfuls of cake. You think about rushing down to try and save her, but-- //POP!// The curtains lift. There's no sign of her. You watch one of the attendants eject a tape from a camera behind the curtain. Is this where all of those awful tapes came from? You don't have long to think about that, though, as you're soon being led towards the stage. [[Now, it's your turn->Given recipe]]

Complete the steps in the right order, or perish. <<nobr>><p id="Choice_1"><<link "Remove cake from oven">> <<run $CookingShow_Steps.push("4")>><<include "Called: Check recipe">><<replace "#Choice_1">>==Remove cake from oven==<</replace>><</link>></p> <p id="Choice_2"><<link "Assemble and frost">> <<run $CookingShow_Steps.push("6")>><<include "Called: Check recipe">><<replace "#Choice_2">>==Assemble and frost==<</replace>><</link>></p> <p id="Choice_3"><<link "Make the batter">> <<run $CookingShow_Steps.push("2")>><<include "Called: Check recipe">><<replace "#Choice_3">>==Make the batter==<</replace>><</link>></p> <p id="Choice_4"><<link "Preheat the oven">> <<run $CookingShow_Steps.push("1")>><<include "Called: Check recipe">><<replace "#Choice_4">>==Preheat the oven==<</replace>><</link>></p> <p id="Choice_5"><<link "Place the batter in the oven">> <<run $CookingShow_Steps.push("3")>><<include "Called: Check recipe">><<replace "#Choice_5">>==Place the batter in the oven==<</replace>><</link>></p> <p id="Choice_6"><<link "Make the buttercream">> <<run $CookingShow_Steps.push("5")>><<include "Called: Check recipe">><<replace "#Choice_6">>==Make the buttercream==<</replace>><</link>></p><</nobr>>

You examine those around you, albeit trying your best not to draw attention to yourself. Immediately, you're surprised to find that most individuals are as obese--or even //more// obese than you are. Each bears visible stitching across sections of their bloated stomachs, as if they met some unfortunate end and their bodies were repaired before contributing to the "audience". They make little reaction, except to chant the words "Eat!" and "Burst!" as they display on signs above the stage.

You are sitting in the stands of what looks to be a set for a late 90s-era cooking show. At random, the pristine environments glitch and flicker, reminding you that you're trapped inside a tape. There are displays overhead which--rather horrifyingly--don't indicate when to clap or cheer, but rather read "Eat!" and "Burst!" every few seconds, much to the strange crowd's delight.

You peer out into the woods. A thick blanket of fog hangs in the air, making it difficult to see more than about 15 metres in any direction. What you can make out leaves you deeply anxious: Trash, tattered shreds of clothing, and rusty metal hooks pinned up onto random trees. A terrible feeling persists, no matter where you look, confirming a thought that you continually try to push from your mind. //You are not safe here.//

Laughter pursues you as you jiggle along, frequently tripping over roots and just barely managing to stay upright. This is probably the most exercise you've gotten in years. Sometimes, you catch a brief sight of a woman--a fox with raven-black, unkempt hair, you think--darting between the trees, her body incorporeal, as if woven from television static, but as soon as you spot her, she disappears again.

After some time, the two of you eventually reach the outside of an old building--a hospital of some kind, it seems. A worried yelp escapes your lips when your companion suddenly pries a wooden board from a nearby, already broken window and climbs inside, cursing loudly as they accidentally tear their lab coat. "Watch out, tubby," They tease. "There's glass fucking //everywhere//. Wouldn't want you to pop, would we?" Your cheeks scarlet, but in no rush to injure yourself, you carefully pluck pointy shards of glass from the window frame before attempting to climb through it. Your excessively plump belly and thighs snag the edges of the window as you just //barely// manage to climb inside. The bluejay stands in a room a few metres away. They look visibly unsettled, and when you join them, you find out why. In the centre of the room sits a truly menacing device, one you'd only ever seen in movies, and certainly one you'd hoped you'd never actually encounter: An <<nobr>> <<link "electric chair.">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Electric chair"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Electric Chair").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> A <<nobr>> <<link "generator">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Generator"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Generator").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>sits on the other side of the room, seemingly hooked up to the chair. There's a <<nobr>> <<link "shelf">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Shelf"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Shelf").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> nearby, too, that appears to hold all kinds of medical apparatus. "We're in an insane asylum," The bluejay suddenly declares, voice shaky. Their fear is contagious, and you immediately wonder if you should leave. "We've got to find something that'll help us. People your size are usually good with technology--you got any experience with generators? Maybe we can get a phone working and call for help!"

You examine the electric chair. It's old. Very old. Composed mostly of wood, albeit with leather straps and buckles, and a menacing, rusted metal helmet hanging loosely above where a victim would sit. To your discomfort, there's a noticeable scent of burning flesh emanating from the barbaric device. Currently, the chair doesn't seem to have power, so although it's certainly //unsettling//, it seems to be completely safe... at least for now.

You crouch down and examine the old generator. It appears to be rusted and broken, but you can't help but shake the feeling that you may be able to fix it. A side panel has already been removed, revealing bundles of frayed wires and warped metal insides. Truthfully, with your fatty, clumsy arms, you're much more likely to get stuck than make any kind of progress, but you're sure it couldn't hurt to try. <<nobr>> <<link "WIP - Auto-succeed">> <<script>> Dialog.close(); <</script>> <<goto "Start The Generator">> <</link>>  <</nobr>> [[Zapped By Generator]]

You approach the nearby shelf, gazing up at it. From down here, you can make out some medical equipment: Scalpels, bone saws, pill bottles and surgical masks. Unfortunately, you're far too short to reach it, and far too heavy to even //consider// trying to climb. When you ask your companion for help, it's unclear if they fail to hear or simply choose to ignore you, but they don't respond, simply continuing their own search on the other side of the room.

Although your fat fingers impede you the entire time, you somehow manage to touch the ends of two damaged wires together without shocking yourself. Without warning, the machine suddenly sparks to life. You step back, a relieved grin spreading across your doughy face. You happily call out to the labcoat-wearing person next to you, assuming it's your bluejay companion, only to turn your gaze upward and discover it's someone you've never seen before, a <<nobr>> <<link "Bloodied doctor">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Bloodied doctor"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Bloodied Doctor").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> bearing a horrific grin. [[Tesla doorway->Tesla Gate]] [[Window->Doorway]]

With fingers as fat and undextrous as yours, it's only a matter of time before you make a clumsy mistake. Electricity suddenly surges through your pudge, and your jiggling body is thrown across the room and into the opposite wall. A groan and a wisp of smoke escape your lips as you black out. . . . When you eventually come to, you're horrified to find that your belly's so full of unknown fluids that its sloshing weight has pinned you to the floor. What's worse, countless electrodes have been placed all over your pudge, and even pushed between several of your deep, fatty rolls. Your own obese body prevents you from reaching or removing them. You let out an involuntary, panicked whine as you follow the wires with your eyes, tracing their snaking path across the room, right up into the generator you were trying to fix earlier. To your horror, it seems to have been successfully repaired while you were unconscious, and a manic-looking otter in a doctor's coat stands with his hand resting on its button. In the gloom, it's impossible to tell if his cragged smile is genuine. Metallic clips and sutures suspend his expression in a constant, horrific grin, but when he activates the generator and current begins pouring into your flab, you swear that you hear him laughing. You spasm and wobble like jelly, foaming at the mouth, and the liquid bloating your stomach seems to destabilise. It begins to bubble, expand, inflate you like a balloon and, without warning, spontaneously ignites in your gut. The resulting explosion leaves a sizable crater in the middle of the room... not that you were around to see it. <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You gaze up at the doctor, and he smiles down at you in turn. His face is pinned with metal clasps into a constant and horrible grin, making it impossible to read his actual emotions. He appears to be an otter, although his appearance is so dishevelled that it's genuinely hard to tell. His lab coat appears to be both stained and burned, and you can't help but notice a coppery scent that you recognise as that of blood. He's just gazing down at you, examining you as much as you examine him. Perhaps he's just that confident that he can catch you if you run...

Without a thought, you waddle straight between the two Tesla pylons, perhaps assuming that because your middle is composed of several thick tyres of fat, that maybe you've developed some kind of non-conductive properties. Unfortunately, any such theories are quickly disproven, as your pudge-buried, spasming muscles seize and consciousness abandons you. You crash to the ground, wobbling and jiggling in a truly pathetic display of bad decision-making. . . . You awaken sore and singed, panic building as you find yourself sitting in the electric chair. Although neither your arms nor legs are bound in place, your gargantuan ass has become lodged in the seat, the wood splintered and deformed around your colossal 'bakery'. There's nothing you can do as the terrible doctor--an otter with a face stapled into a permanent, terrible grin--begins preparing several gigantic, multi-litre containers of unknown, hyper-calorific fluids. He forces you to gulp down huge mouthfuls, adjusting a nearby panel so that the metal bowl atop your head zaps your brain whenever you swallow. You are filled with a particular terror as you realise each zap feels better than the last, and that he's no longer //forcing// you to drink, you just can't stop yourself. By the time the last of the containers are empty, your sloshing, turgid gut spills across the room. Deep, uncomfortable stretch marks run across your bulbous, blimped middle, and it's abundantly clear that if you don't stop, it's over. To your abject horror, the doctor suddenly slides a plate atop your tight, creaking gut. Atop it sits a particularly thick, tall chocolate cake, one that you know for sure will spell your doom. Knowing that you'll explode, but completely Pavlov'd into associating eating with the pleasure centres of your brain getting zapped, you can't stop yourself from immediately forcing the cake down your gullet. Your brain's so cooked that you don't even feel fear or regret as you detonate, merely the dull, thought-clouding pleasure of associated stimulus. <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You rush towards the window where you came in, but your clumsy, fatty body ends up blocking the only escape route for your companion. "You fucking fatass, what are you doing!?" The bluejay yells, shoving your ass at first, but quickly resorts to booting your blubbery behind with all their might. "Move, damn you!" You cry out several times, pudge wobbling from the repeated impacts, before a final, particularly painful kick sends you tumbling out through the window. As you clamber to your feet, you see your companion, a chloroform-saturated cloth held over his beak, being dragged further into the building. You //know// you should try to rescue them, but what's a fat little doughball like you going to accomplish...? Instead, you wobble into the woods. As you waddle along, you realise that your left ass cheek feels unusually tender, at first assuming it's due to the kicking you endured, but soon pulling a syringe from your bruised bakery. To your horror, the syringe is already empty, and you can feel a strange sensation spreading throughout your body that feels most intense in your flabbiest areas. [[Continue->Doctor - Woods]]

As you continue to stumble through the woods, your plump body wobbling and jiggling with every step, you notice that myriad <<nobr>> <<link "tesla pylons">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Tesla pylon"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Tesla Pylon").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> have surged to life. Did //you// do that by starting that generator...? Whenever you get too close to one of the pylons, you feel a strange sensation in <<nobr>> <<link "your gut">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Your gut"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Electric gut").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> that seems to grow more intense the closer you get. Suddenly, lightning strikes a rod mounted atop the asylum, and a moment later, you hear a loud POP! You get the distinct feeling that you won't be seeing your companion again. Peering through the fog, you spot some <<nobr>> <<link "flashing lights">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Flashing lights"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Flashing Lights").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> in the distance.

You heft your plump gut with both hands, but the strange feeling doesn't go away. It's like there's static lurking in your gut, and you swear that whenever you get too close to one of the Tesla pylons nearby, you begin to feel softer, heavier and more sluggish. Could this be the result of that strange serum you were injected with...?

The Tesla pylons throughout the forest hum loudly, frequently discharging without warning through other, nearby objects. More than once, a sudden bolt of electricity leaps out to zap a random object nearby, and it never ceases to make you flinch. You get the distinct feeling that you shouldn't get too close to one, especially since whenever one is close by, you feel a strange feeling in your pudge. <<nobr>> <<link "Take a closer look">> <<script>> Dialog.close(); <</script>> <<goto "Exploded By Tesla">> <</link>>  <</nobr>>

You waddle past a Tesla pylon that you're sure wasn't active before, but this time it suddenly begins to hum. You feel the static in the air for the briefest moment before a surge of electricity leaps into your belly, coursing through your pudge! Muscles spasming, you buckle over, heart racing and breath unsteady. Whisps of smoke escape your mouth and ears, and your thoughts feel indistinct and slippery. By some miracle, despite the discomfort throughout your body and lingering current in your brain, you're still conscious and //mostly// unharmed. ... Except the Tesla was never //meant// to injure you. Instead, you realise, much to your horror, that it was merely intended as the catalyst for the serum that the terrifying doctor injected you with moments ago. The chemicals injected into your wobbling ass have saturated all of your adipose and have now been energised by that sudden jolt, immediately providing your body with several thousand times your yearly recommended calories. In mere seconds, you are rendered so embarrassingly obese that you fall back onto your seat-obliterating ass, too fat to move a single muscle. Your skin feels tight and uncomfortable, the growth of your pudge outpacing any kind of adaptation your body can muster. As long as you don't move, though, and give your body some time to catch up... maybe you'll be able to rise to your feet again... eventually? Unfortunately for you, your excessive weight means that you're unable to do anything but jiggle and cry out helplessly as you hear the Tesla charging again. The second zap pinballs through your adipose-entombed body, and your fat swells to dozens of times larger than mere seconds earlier. Despite the relative durability and unusual stretchiness of your flesh, the rest of your physiology fails to endure the burdens of your mountainous fat. <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

Peering through the fog, you suddenly realise that the flashing lights in the distance are mounted to what seems to be a massive doorway. The second you lay eyes on it, you are overcome by the feeling that you should hurry through it, and that you'll be safe if you do. That being said... it could be a trap. <<nobr>> <<link "Run towards the doorway">> <<script>> Dialog.close(); <</script>> <<goto "Doctor - Escape">> <</link>>  <</nobr>> <<nobr>> <<link "Hesitate">> <<script>> Dialog.close(); <</script>> <<goto "Nervous System Control">> <</link>>  <</nobr>>

The doctor's laughter reverberates through the forest as you pass through the doorway, striking fresh terror into your heart. <<include "Good ending - Bloated by the fog">>

You hesitate for the briefest of moments, worried that the exit might be a well-disguised trap. Unfortunately, that's all the time the terrible doctor needs to close the distance. You feel something cold press against the back of your neck--and then a sudden, blinding pain. You go rigid, standing upright, your posture exaggerated and 'proper', even though at your weight, maintaining such a posture is nothing short of torture. When you turn back towards your attacker, it isn't by choice; your fatty legs simply move on their own. Terror swells in your heart as you spot the cobbled-together remote in the doctor's hands. He spends a while puppeterring you around the room, forcing you to waddle around, laughs hysterically as you try and fail to do jumping jacks, and then attempts to make you do a single pushup... only to realise that you're so sphere-shaped that your belly prevents your paws from reaching the ground. He's messing with you so much. Does this mean that those people from earlier are already...? Unimpressed with your jiggling physique, he decides to make you do something you certainly //can// do, given your appearance, and pilots you over to a nearby banquet of food. With impressive dexterity, he hammers away at his remote, forcing you to cram food into your maw, even as you beg and whine, until your gut's so full of food that, even puppeteered, you struggle to eat any more. It's obvious that you've hit your limit, but the doctor's cruelty knows no bounds. He places a massive cake atop your gurgling, close-to-bursting gut, and makes you take //teeny tiny// bites. Each one sends you ever so slightly closer to annihilation. You can feel the copious stretch marks running up and down your gut growing deeper and deeper. Truthfully, it's a miracle you haven't burst already... or perhaps it's the expertise of the professional bloating you bigger and bigger, and he knows exactly what it's going to take for you to pop. The last crumbs of cake descend down your gullet, and you're left teary-eyed and gasping, having overeaten so much that you're genuinely exhausted by the process. It feels like your sluggish, fat, food-blimped body is using every ounce of energy just to hold itself together. You are genuinely surprised that you're still alive. There's no more food, either. Have you actually //survived// this terrible ordeal? As if to answer your question and snuff out all remaining hope, the doctor assumes control of you once more, and you're soon pressing a singular claw to your tight, stretched, painfully thin skin. At first, it barely touches you. Then it presses a little bit harder... And then a //little// harder..... And then-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

// You take a few tentative steps into the basement, heart racing, terror gripping you as you look around. It becomes immediately clear that you're standing in a workshop of some kind, but what is made here is utterly unclear. // There are dozens of strange, cobbled-together devices scattered around the room in various states of completion. Given the springs, timers and other recognisable mechanics, they appear to be <<nobr>> <<link "traps">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Traps"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Traps").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>of some kind. On a distant wall, there are dozens of hastily scrawled pictures—<<nobr>> <<link "blueprints,">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Blueprints"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Blueprints").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>you think. "Great!" the <<nobr>> <<link "dragon">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Dragon"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Dragon").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>suddenly scoffs. "We've stumbled into some junkie's lair. Let's get the hell out of here, fatty. I'm not getting a tetanus shot over this." [[Bloat Helmet]]

// There are traps in various states of completion all around the room. Some appear new, others are so rusted that they couldn't possibly still work. // Much to your horror, many of the traps involve pumps, funnels, and high-capacity tanks, leaving you with no shortage of lewd ideas as to how they might work. // Some of the awful contraptions bear dried red smudges. You try not to think about it too hard.

// Throughout the basement, you find countless pictures and scribbles. They appear to have been drawn in countless different ways, as if some kind of manic, terrifying //creativity// overcame whoever made them. // Some are drawn in crayon, scrawled over various documents and surfaces. Others are scratched into the walls. A few appear drawn out in a dried, dark red fluid. // The smell of copper turns your plump stomach, as does the subject of each image; various contraptions, all designed to bloat their victims until they bloat and burst.

// Your draconic acquaintance is putting on a brave face, but is clearly terrified. // You can tell that at the first sign of danger, he'll abandon you and run, probably knowing that he doesn't need to outrun any dangers you encounter--he just has to outrun //you//. // The more worried he becomes, the more frequently he insults you, transmuting his terror into disdain for your doughy, unhelpful presence.

// As you search through a cabinet, finding only rusted metal and strange-looking tanks, you suddenly hear a scream. // You turn to find your companion, now equipped with some kind of bulky helmet, staggering around the room as he desperately tries to pry it off. // Behind him stands a truly horrific sight; a pig woman, her features hidden behind messy black hair, an awful smile on her face. Her clothes are covered in dirt and dried blood. You are so utterly and completely gripped with terror that it's a miracle your already overstrained heart doesn't give out here and now. // The dragon, still panicking, races up the stairs, leaving you alone with his attacker. // She approaches you, another helmet in hand. // "I'll give you a few more minutes than him," She chuckles, winding an egg timer mounted on the helmet's side. "You're such a fat little slice of meat; it won't matter in the end." // So paralysed with fear that you can't move, there's nothing you can do but whine and plead as the trap is slipped over your head and locked in place. A large mechanical section covers your lower face, and beneath it, a pair of hoses poke past your lips. There are tanks mounted to the side of the helmet, heavy enough to upset your already tenuous balance. Your perception is eclipsed by the constant ticking of the timer, which, despite your best efforts, your fat little arms are unable to reach. // "You're going to make //such// a mess when you die," She laughs, tracing a blade across your stomach, albeit not enough to break the skin. "//He's// going to be so proud of me." // Without another word, the pig hurries up the stairs, presumably to pursue the panicking dragon. [[Stuck with Bloat Helmet]]

// Left alone in the basement. // <<nobr>> <<link "Bloat Trap">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Bloat Trap"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Bloat Trap").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> <<nobr>> <<link "Workshop">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Workshop"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Workshop").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> [[Leave->Pig - Ruins]]

// Description of bloat trap // // If you found the key from earlier, it doesn't unlock *this*, but you decide to keep hold of it for later, since it might be important.

// Examine the workshop. There are countertops, drawers and cupboards.// <<nobr>> <<link "Countertops">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Countertops"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Countertops").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> <<nobr>> <<link "Drawers">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Drawers"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Drawers").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> <<nobr>> <<link "Cupboards">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Cupboards"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Cupboards").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>

// The bloat helmet ticks loudly // [[Pig - Exit Hatch]] [[Search For Dragon]]

// Various mechanical scraps. None of it seems useful or feasible to haul around. You're already carrying enough weight, after all //

// YOU FIND A KEY!// // if found key, you find nothing for re-searching everything

// Jars of unknown fluids, preserved junkfood, and even more mechanical scraps //

// Approach the exit hatch // // If you have the key from earlier, you have the option of trying to squeeze down the tight escape hatch. [[Stuck In Hatch]] [[Search For Dragon]]

// Find the dragon, but it's too late. You arrive just in time to watch his trap activate, bloating him gigantic, fat and round, and then his stomach detonates, spelling his quick and messy end. // // The pig then chases you! // [[Stand still->Pig - Popped]] [[Pig - Tip A Pallet]]

// Get stuck, hear your companion pop, and then whine and plead as the Pig watches you, relishing in your fear as the timer ticks down. You then pop. //

// She boots you to the floor and steps on your throat, pinning you down and insulting you until the device around your head activates, bloating you painfully full and inflating you until you explode //

// Tip a pallet, which briefly stuns the pig! You notice she's dropped a pair of keys! // [[Grab Pig's Keys]] [[Flee From Pig]]

// Grab the keys and run // [[Trap About To Activate!]]

// Forget about the keys!! Just run!! // [[Trap About To Activate!]]

// The ticking becomes more rapid. The trap is now gushing quite a lot of hypercalorific liquid down your throat. It's only a matter of time before you're popped! // <<nobr>> <<link "The trap">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("The trap"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - The Trap").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> <<nobr>> <<link "Your stomach">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Your stomach"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Your Stomach").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>

// Examine the trap. It's about to go off!// [[Trap explodes]] [[Escape The Trap]]

// Your stomach is lurching as overflow sporadically pumps down your throat, the pressure inside the helmet about to reach a breaking point!//

// You can't do anything and the trap detonates, bloating you almost perfectly spherical for a moment, before you detonate //

// Manage to unlock and throw aside the trap. A second later, the attached hose sprays liquid with such force that the contraption begins to cartwheel through the air, smashing itself to pieces // // You can see an exit from here // [[Rush The Exit]] [[Wait A Moment]]

// You escape, barely. The Pig screams at you as you wobble through the exit. // [[Good ending - Bloated by the fog]]

// Pig catches up to you, roughs you up, and puts the bloat trap back on you... but not before forcing you to swallow the key // // She calls you a pig as you round and bloat, tears in your eyes, knowing there's not a chance in hell the key will be retrieved, at least, not before... You pop. //

As you wobble along, increasingly drenched in sweat, your wolf companion frequently turns back to you. You try to reassure yourself that it's to check that you're still there, but it's far more likely that he just wants to continue teasing you. Suddenly, though, he freezes. "Holy shit!" He yells, jumping back. "What the hell?" You stumble to the side so you can see what he's looking at, and are startled when you see a humanoid shape standing ahead of him. It takes you a moment to realise that although it's shaped like a person, it's made of metal, with a pair of red, glowing eyes. "I get it!" The wolf laughs. Turning back to you with a relieved smile on his face. "So this is it? The prank is a scary robot. Are you kidding me?" You then watch in horror as the <<nobr>> <<link "robot">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Robot"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Robot").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>reels back, swivels its head a few moments, as if calculating depth, and then drives a syringe into the wolf's belly. "Gah! What the fuck?!" He cries, falling to the ground. There's nothing you can do as the machine drives several more <<nobr>> <<link "needles">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Needles"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Needles").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>into his belly, before the wolf is finally able to kick at the machine, driving it back a few paces. "Are you alright?!" You cry out, hesitating to get any closer. The robot just watches intently as the <<nobr>> <<link "wolf">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Wolf"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Wolf").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>writhes on the ground and, to your absolute terror, [[begins to change->Wolf Begins To Change]].

The robot ahead of you shudders and twitches, correcting and overcorrecting its own stunted, unnatural movements. Its composition is strange--mostly of rusted metal, but some sections appear organic, even throbbing as if they have a heartbeat. You try to convince yourself that the red speckles across its body are something other than blood, although you can't quite manage it. Its right arm is a brutal, sickle-like blade. Its left appears like some kind of claw, albeit with a long, protruding syringe at its centre. There's an awful coldness emanating from the machine, more than emptiness or indifference--a silent, utter contempt for you, for what you //are//.

Your companion is rightfully terrified, scrambling away from his attacker, afraid to take his eyes off the unsettling machine ahead of him. Although he was undeniably injected with //something//, there's no way to know what it might have been, nor //why//. From a glance--which is as long as you're willing to pull your eyes from the robot waiting patiently ahead of you--you notice that the wolf's middle appears a little less toned than before. The fabric of his clothing seems tighter than when you first met. You hope it's just your imagination.

Although the forest is suffocatingly dark, you cast your attention to the syringe built into the robot's left arm. There's a tank a little past the wrist, full of a strange liquid. It seems to glow occasionally, changing hue every few seconds, as if its composition is unstable and still being altered--or //perfected//. Regardless of what the liquid //is//, you get the feeling you should do whatever it takes to avoid it. As for your companion... well... you can do little but hope they'll be ok.

You follow after your injured companion as he stumbles into the forest, crying out in fear, confusion and pain. He easily outpaces you, and for a moment you fear you're going to lose sight of him... until his movements begin to slow. At first, he sprints, then jogs, then walks, and then merely waddles ahead of you, and you soon realise why. He's getting shorter, wider, more plump and rotund. His clothes are beginning to tear, revealing newfound, jiggling adipose as it bubbles beneath his skin. You swallow hard, heart pounding in your chest. He's starting to look a lot like... //you//. Eventually, he can run no further. He turns back to you, his obese body drenched in sweat, rubbing at his bloating, spherical belly as it pushes outwards, inch by inch. You hear a click, your gaze snapping upward to a glowing mass in a nearby tree. It clicks several more times. A <<nobr>> <<link "camera\'s">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Camera"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Camera").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>shutter, snapping shut over and over again, capturing each stage of your companion's corpulent plight. Much to your horror, the <<nobr>> <<link "fattening wolf\'s">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Fattening Wolf"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Fattening Wolf").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>gut begins to //creak//, and a look of mortal peril spreads across his face.

You turn your attention towards the camera mounted in the nearby tree. It appears to be a combination of flesh and technology, similar to the horrible robot you encountered earlier. It's //unsettling// to know that whatever will happen to you will be captured. You're in no hurry to become part of the accursed machine's snuff collection.

You examine your fattening, increasingly red-faced companion as he continues to panic, his clothes tearing apart as his pudge continues to multiply. He's about eye-level with you now, and equally plump--although it seems that his stomach is rapidly bloating, too, and far faster than even his rapidly changing physiology can handle. Out of embarrassment, he tries to stifle a belch, only to wind up teary-eyed and wincing. He allows himself to burp loudly after that, although his belly continues to swell faster than he can relieve the pressure. His gut gurgles and creaks loudly now, and the tatters of his destroyed clothes fail to cover the deep, dangerous-looking stretch marks across his flesh. Any moment now, he's going to blow! <<nobr>> <<link "Take Cover">> <<script>> Dialog.close(); <</script>> <<goto "Take Cover">> <</link>>  <</nobr>> <<nobr>> <<link "Try To Help">> <<script>> Dialog.close(); <</script>> <<goto "Limits Tested">> <</link>>  <</nobr>>

Consumed with intense guilt and feelings of helplessness, you throw yourself behind a nearby, fallen tree. A second later, there's a colossal BOOM. A few scraps of clothes are thrown over your hiding place, and you dare not look over to where your companion once stood. Unfortunately, your hesitation creates a perfect blind spot and, much to your horror, the flesh-covered android grips you, and you feel something attach itself to your back. Through either luck or //by design//, you are able to wriggle free, wobbling out into the woods, crying out in terror. As you stumble and waddle, body wobbling in a particularly undignified way, you're further horrified to find that another <<nobr>> <<link "camera">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Camera pod"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Camera Pod").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> has glued itself to your back. [[Enter a nearby building->Singularity - Building]] [[Continue through the woods->Singularity - Woods 2]]

Powerless to help, but unwilling to leave your rapidly inflating ally behind, you're suddenly caught in the inevitable blast as their body surpasses its limits. They burst with enough force to throw even an obese, weighty little doughball such as yourself. When you come to, the monstrous robot is already towering over you, body whirring and screeching, a grid of lights sweeping down your fat body as your biometrics are catalogued as 'Baseline'. Without a word, it jabs your excessive adipose in dozens of locations and with countless needles, and forces a strange, sweet-tasting mixture down your throat. EXPERIMENT :: METABOLISM ACCELERATOR PROCESS :: DNA EDITS COMPLETE ADMINISTERED :: HYPERNUTRIENT MIXTURE O-B353 You whimper and wobble, suddenly beginning to put on weight, bloating fatter and fatter with each passing second. Your body suddenly seems capable of absorbing a truly ludicrous number of calories. You feel uncomfortably hot as your body's natural processes accelerate in a desperate attempt to process the hypernutrient concoction filling your stomach. The robot steps back, scans your bloating, creaking body, and then steps back a few additional paces, having already calculated the safe radius for when you inevitably detonate. By this point, you are all buried in fat. Plush, excessive adipose fills the edges of your vision, and your limbs are so thick with pudge that you can't bend them at all. You wobble helplessly, stretch marks forming across your countless shelves and rolls of lard, strangely aroused by your impossible weight, until-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

The limits of your obese, unwieldy body prevent you from reaching the fleshy mass mounted between your shoulderblades. You hear it clicking from time to time, documenting your desperate attempts to escape. Although you're no stranger to your excessively pudgy, overweight body being seen and even photographed, for some reason, the knowledge that your huffing, wobbling form is being captured leaves you particularly embarrassed.

You squeeze your expansive pudge through a nearby doorway, finding yourself in a rundown old house. Metallic scrapping and the squelching of cloned flesh can be heard outside, indicating to you that the robot is patrolling outside, although it's unclear if it knows where you are. Affixed to a nearby wall is a <<nobr>> <<link "rusty hook">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Hook"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Hook").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> that drips with a suspiciously copper-scented, crimson liquid. [[Vault the window->Caught By Hux]] [[Leave through door]]

You stumble through the woods, huffing and puffing. This must be the most you've moved in years... As you struggle to stay upright, your bulbous belly upsetting your balance with every step, you happen to pass by a <<nobr>> <<link "rusty hook">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Hook"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Hook").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> and briefly wonder what the strange red fluid dripping from it might be. [[Keep Moving]]

You examine the hook more closely, feeling increasingly uncomfortable as you watch it drip a strange red liquid to the floor below. Suddenly, you realise that you may have a use for the rusty old hook. You turn around, backing into it as gently as you can, wriggling from side to side, your body wobbling like jelly, until the camera on your back is speared by the rusty metal. When you step forward, a moment later, the fleshy camera rips from your back. Although your clothes are damaged, you are completely unharmed! <<nobr>> <<set $Singularity_RemovedCamera to false>> <<link "Examine the camera on the hook">> <<script>> Dialog.close(); <</script>> <<goto "Singularity Hooked">> <</link>>  <</nobr>>

In a moment of shortsighted desperation, you attempt to vault through the window. For quite literally anybody else, it would be at least //possible//, but when you attempt it, you catch your gravid belly on the windowsill, crying out as you hop and jiggle, failing to escape again and again. The robot casually approaches you, watching your failures with an unsettling indifference. SUBJECT DISPLAYS :: ADVANCED STAGES OF OBESITY NOW TESTING :: METABOLISM ENHANCEMENT You yelp as the robot drives a needle into your fat, upturned ass cheek, pumping an unknown substance into your bloodstream. In an instant, you are overcome with an impossibly intense hunger, your slow, plodding metabolism suddenly kicked into impossibly high gear. Stomach rumbling, you manage to dislodge yourself from the window, stumbling and wobbling your way through the building, so ravenous that you ignore the robot as it effortlessly follows you, recording your journey as you whimper, stomach growling and painfully empty, and try to find something--anything--to eat. It's by design that you soon stumble across a collection of colossal containers with a sweet-smelling liquid inside. You gulp down the first container without a moment of hesitation, and although your hunger is sated for a moment, you're left horrified as your fur turns a dark shade of grey, taking on the appearance of a raccoon. You down another of the containers, and a strange warmth burns within you. Your tail becomes long and reptilian, and scales sweep across your body. Your belly begins to hurt. Your existing stretch marks appear more pronounced than they were a few moments ago, and your gut sloshes whenever you move. You gulp down the contents of yet another container. Feathers sprout from your arms and across your flabby chest. Your stomach is aching now, creaking, too. The hunger remains, though, and your thoughts are clouded by the single-minded need to feast. You swallow down the last container, whimpering as the last dregs disappear down into your stomach. A second compulsion overtakes you for a few moments, letting out a howl as your snout lengthens and your fur grows more coarse, taking on the properties of a wolf. Staggering backwards, you're horrified by the realisation that your belly is now perfectly round and too heavy to lift. It's so full of fluid that it no longer sloshes, your stomach full like an overfilled, delicate balloon. NEW DATA ACQUIRED :: PARTIAL CHIMERISATION You try to slow your breathing, worried that if you breathe too deeply, the air in your lungs might put //just// enough pressure on your close-to-bursting belly to spell your end. It's only now, in this briefest moment of lucidity, that you spot your reflection in a nearby mirror, realising that your appearance now resembles a combination of all those you met around the fire. Horrified and in denial that you've just gulped down the genetic material of your former acquaintances, you try to break the mirror, absentmindedly trying to strike it with your belly when your arms are too stubby to reach past your gut. Unfortunately, a few sections of broken glass are hanging from the mirror's edges. Your bloated body, close to bursting with the remnants of your allies, which you were all too happy to gulp down to sate your hunger, proves far from durable. <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You turn back towards the hook. Maybe you can pry it down and use it to defend yourself, or-- A pained yelp escapes your lips as a hydraulic claw clamps down around your forearm. Were you any less padded, the excess force would've broken a bone. To your horror, you realise that your indecision has allowed the terrible machine to catch up to you. It seizes your excessively tubby body, mechanical limbs creaking as it hefts your wobbling, obese body from the ground. Your eyes go wide, thinking it's about to spear you on the hook, only for the cold of metal to slip up your back, and your clothes to be caught instead. EVEN YOUR EXEMPLARS INVOKE :: DISGUST YOUR EXPIRATION WILL PROVIDE :: VALUABLE DATA. You struggle, but your clothes--built to be extra durable, just to contain your copious, oft-expanding pudge--remain intact. There's nothing you can do as you feel a dark presence looming over you, a pointed appendage reaching down from the shadowy forest canopy, forcing its way down your throat. An unknown substance begins pumping into your cavernous belly, although you can't quite figure out if it's a liquid, gas, or something you've never swallowed before. Over the course of just a few seconds, you begin to look bloated and overfed. UPDATING CLASSIFICATION :: ORGANIC BEING UPDATING CLASSIFICAITON :: CONTAINER :: LOW DURABILITY You cry out, but your screams of terror are muffled by the shadowy limb blocking your throat. To your absolute horror, the awful android turns and leaves, abandoning you to your fate. THEORY :: DETONATING ALONE WILL RESULT IN ADDITIONAL FEAR TEST :: BEGIN Tears run down your fatty cheeks as your body begins to creak. You're almost perfectly spherical now, and can feel patches of particular discomfort where you will, presumably, rupture first. Unfortunately, this realm is far too cruel to offer you the certainty of how you're going to explode. Instead, a second pointed appendage reaches down, hovers by your sloshing middle for a moment, and then abruptly thrusts itself into your distended, fragile gut. <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You wait until the sounds of the pursuing, flesh-riddled exterminator can be heard at the doorway on the opposite side of the house, and then hurry out of another, far closer door. It seems you've put a little bit of distance between you and the wretched machine, although given your flabby, slow body, it's unlikely your newfound head start will last very long. Suddenly, you spot [[another structure->Exit In Sight]] through the fog!

You continue to wobble your way through the forest. Much to your embarrassment, you find that without the weight of the fleshy camera on your back to counterbalance your bulbous gut, it's actually //harder// to walk now. Once--//if//--you escape, maybe you'll try to lose a few pounds! ... Aw, who're you kidding... Suddenly, you spot a [[strange structure->Exit In Sight]] in the distance!

You stumble towards the structure in the distance, soon realising that it's a massive doorway. The trees around its radius seem to be distorted and bent in strange ways, as if this strange passageway appeared long after the forest did, and simply shifted the existing terrain. Your heart races; for some reason, you're fully convinced that if you can reach this strange doorway, you'll be safe! [[Hurry to the exit-> [[Wait a moment-> <<if $Singularity_RemovedCamera is true>>[[Hurry to the exit]]<<nobr>> <</nobr>><<else>>[[Hux Teleport]]<</if>>

As you wobble your way towards the doorway, you hear the hissing of pistons and squelching of flesh-entombed machinery right behind you! <<include "Good ending - Bloated by the fog">>

You hear a twig snap nearby, turning to find the gore-soaked android standing over you, scanners already whirring as it documents the look of terror on your face. FLIGHT IS :: HOPELESS MY LOCOMOTION FAR EXCEEDS YOUR OWN Heart racing, you manage to hobble away, although soon collapsing to your hands and knees in a nearby clearing. You turn and are relieved to find that the android is nowhere to be seen. --And then you hear a noise. You turn and find that the machine is towering over you again. MY EYES :: ARE DOORS Is he talking about the camera...? Your suspicions are soon confirmed when, before you can react, the android plucks the half-organic camera gripping your back and shoves the entire thing down your throat. You gag and struggle, but it's no use; you feel the device's weight soon hits the bottom of your stomach and anchors itself inside. Sweat rolls down your face as you panic, your terror at having the device in your stomach only second to the knowledge that other items can now be teleported straight to it. Detecting your worry with pinpoint, cruel precision, the android focuses on you, and you cry out as you feel something large and solid appear in your stomach. You pad at your middle, and through your pudge, you can make out the telltale shape of a gas cannister. The implications of what is about to happen to you are obvious. Within moments, more and more random items appear in your gut, pushing it out in random directions. You feel relief when it's liquid, and the android soon takes note, focusing on teleporting things that will cause you the maximum degree of discomfort. Before long, your gut's too heavy to lift. It feels like you've got the entire contents of a scrapyard in your gut. You drop to your knees, your belly lumpy, stretched thin and pushing out at funny angles. EXPRESSION :: SURPRISE :: DURABILITY ABOVE PROJECTED ESTIMATES Is it... //surprised// you haven't burst yet...? The android teleports another dozen or so objects, each more jagged than the last. Tears well up in your eyes as jagged edges poke out through your pudged and tight, stretched skin, until one such edge happens to push against the gas cannister with enough force to puncture it. Your stomach inflates like a balloon for half a second, your skin so stretched that you swear for the briefest of moments that you can peer straight through it. <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You're all alone as you stumble through <<nobr>> <<link "the woods">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("The woods"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - The woods").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>and quickly begin to feel tired as you search for help. No matter how much you turn and peer out into the inky darkness, you never spot anywhere that looks even remotely safe. It's as if the environment shifts and distorts whenever you turn your back to it, leaving you more and more disoriented, even when you stand perfectly still. You're eventually left just //listening// for something--someone--you can wobble towards, only to find that your rumbling, hungry gut won't stop groaning. If there's anyone out in these woods, they've almost certainly heard you by now. [[Hide->Hide in the woods]] [[Keep searching->Look for a way out]]

Overcome with fear and too timid to continue, you decide that your best option is to simply hide. //Someone's// got to come rescue you eventually, right? You eventually find a bush large enough to hide your rotund, wobbling body... sort of... and hunker down, planning to wait until help arrives. To your relief, it isn't long before you hear footsteps approaching. Against your better judgment, you poke your head out from your hiding spot. Unfortunately, what greets you is not a rescuer. Instead, you are met with a truly horrifying sight; a <<nobr>> <<link "bird man">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Carnifex"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Butcher").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>with a rufter-like hood over his face. In his right arm, he wields an awful, cleaver-like blade. It drips with a red substance, and a copper-like scent soon fills the air. What's worse... he's now leering down at you, head cocking to either side, examining his new 'prey'. [[Freeze->Caught by butcher]] [[Flee->Flee into the woods]]

Gripped with fear, you pick a random direction and run... or, at least, what's considered "running" by your very, //very// low standards. It's a mere few seconds, you're breathless, your heart thumping in your chest. You gasp for air, cursing your buttery physique, your excessive softness always slowing you, ruining your balance, and rendering you unbelievably vulnerable. Just as you're about to take an undeserved break, a root snags your foot, sending you tumbling and rolling, your spherical body aiding your movements at last, albeit involuntary ones. When you finally come to a stop, you're relieved to find yourself lying face down. Were you on your back, you doubt you'd be able to stand by yourself. You pick yourself up, exhausted, jiggling and bruised, and realise that you're now standing in front of a <<nobr>> <<link "decrepit little house">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("House"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - House").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>. With your unseen pursuers growing ever closer, you don't hesitate to [[push your way inside->Enter the house]].

As if your useless, blubbery rolls weighing you down weren't bad enough, you find yourself completely rooted in place by fear. All you can do is whine in terror as the bulbous Butcher lumbers towards you, leering down at your wobbling, obese gut with an increasingly filthy look on his face. He suddenly raises his cleaver overhead and, completely overcome with terror, you clamp your pudgy hands over your eyes, letting out a pathetic scream. Only for your scream to be muffled, and the taste of salty, fatty meat to fill your maw. It takes you a few confused moments to realise he's just forced an entire //slab// of dried meat past your lips, your cheeks bulging from its size--especially when a second one follows it. With no other choice, you chew and swallow, desperately trying to gulp down the food forced upon you without choking, knowing that if your pace slows for even a second, it's likely you'll suffocate. Your malicious attacker cocks his head from side to side in a distinctly bird-like fashion, as if eager to fully absorb every detail of your hopeless struggle. His pockets seem bottomless as he withdraws handful after handful of food, a quantity that, unfortunately for you, seems far beyond what even your gluttonous gut can manage. Little by little, your stomach pushes outward, gurgling, groaning and weighing you down. It isn't long before it's grown so bulbous and heavy that, even if you were able to push him away, you'd simply be pinned in place by your own half-tonne tummy. You feel both horrified and excited to be immobilised by the contents of your own belly, although you'd certainly never admit to the latter. The feeding continues. You've swallowed so many times that the muscles in your throat are exhausted, and he's taken to simply shoving down the land mouthful with the next, uncaring of whether or not you're able to breathe. Your stomach is beginning to creak, and massive, painful-looking stretch marks are beginning to snake down through your flesh. Only then, as the signs of your impending demise are too numerous to ignore, does he finally relent. You cough, gag and wheeze as the stream of meat finally ends, whimpering and mewling like the pathetic fatty you are. You //want// to rub and soothe your aching stomach, but you're afraid to move, lest even the smallest mistake cause your close-to-bursting middle to rupture. The crow, however, has no such qualms. A yelp escapes your lips as he abruptly drives his fist into your meat-blimped, fatty, ill-fated gut. Your attacker can only let out a satisfied 'Caw' as he realises what a fantastic punching bag you've become. Despite your ludicrous adipose protecting you from any real harm as he begins laying into your stomach, it still //hurts//, leaving painful-looking bruises across your pudge and, little by little, causing your body's last vestiges of structural integrity to fail. Half an hour later, he's still landing blows. Tears run down your cheeks, part from the pain, but mostly from the sheer embarrassment of being reduced to a living punching bag. The moment between his knuckles burying themselves in your taut balloon of a gut is fraught with creaking and other unhealthy sounds and, as he lands one final punch, you-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

Letting out a panicked squeal, you turn tail and flee, wobbling desperately through the forest, ignoring as branches tear holes in your ill-fitting clothes and leave you with the odd cut as well. For reasons unknown, the bird doesn't follow you, simply watching you with interest as you stumble away. His lack of urgency leaves you feeling incredibly uneasy; could he believe you're so fat and slow that it's only a matter of time before he catches you? As soon as you're out of sight, your pace slows. Your heart's racing, as it often does, and you're too out of breath to do little more than stumble and wheeze. Given that you won't be running any time soon, <<nobr>> <<link "stealth">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Stealth"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Stealth").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>> is probably your best option. [[Hurry->Noisy running]] [[Try to stay quiet->Quiet running]]

You decide there's no time to waste, hobbling and wobbling your way through the woods, desperate to reach safety. Unfortunately--and as expected--the sounds of your heavy footfalls, gurgling of your gut, and wheezing, unfit breaths soon draw attention. As you pass by the trunk of a particularly large tree, a hand reaches out. Before you know what's happening, there's a sweet taste on your lips, sponge filling your throat, and icing on your lips. You swallow reflexively, far before your brain realises what's just been done to you. Horrified, you watch as a slender rat steps from behind the tree, pulling another slice of cake from her satchel. You turn to run, but her slender arms wrap around you, one hand gripping your love handles and giving them a wobble, and the other forcing the second slice past your lips. Full of panic and adrenaline, you swing your fat arms as you struggle, managing to break free just long enough to tip and fall, rolling down a small hill. When you pick yourself up, you're equal parts relieved and afraid to discover the rat woman has disappeared, and you're now standing in front of a dilapidated old house. [[Enter the house]] [[Run into the woods->Caught by assassin]]

You slow your pace, making sure that each step is as careful as possible. Although you still can't see where you're stepping, given that your wobbling, excessive gut blocks your view of your own lower body, your increased care does prevent you from losing your balance quite as much as usual. Before long, you arrive outside a half-destroyed old house. [[Take shelter->Enter the house]] [[Remain outdoors->Stay in the woods]]

Hobbling through the woods, you are horrified when the Butcher reveals himself again. The heavyset bird takes a few moments to sharpen his cleaver as he approaches you, eyeing you with vicious intent. With each step towards you, his full, heavy gut wobbles and churns, albeit nowhere as noisily as your own. <<if $HasWeapon>>[[Raise your sword->Attack the butcher]]<<else>>==Attack the butcher==<</if>> [[Try to run->Butcher bullying]]

You grip and pull at your own pudge until you manage to force your corpulent body through the doorway, ending up inside the ruined old house. Inside, the house's interior is adorned with old, torn banners and faded trinkets. You think you can make out a few lines of Italian alongside the regalia, but you can't be sure. On a far wall, there's a small armoury of <<nobr>> <<link "weapons">> <<script>> Dialog.setup("Weapons"); Dialog.wiki(Story.get("Examine - Weapons").processText()); Dialog.open(); <</script>> <</link>>  <</nobr>>, ranging from daggers to swords to massive halberds. There's also a rusty-looking, cage-like prison cell, with something shiny inside. For reasons you can't quite explain, you feel deeply compelled to [[climb inside the cage->Caught by jailer]] and find out what's inside. [[Grab a weapon]]

Despite the potential shelter offered by the house nearby, you instead panic and wobble your way deeper into the woods. The terrain is //rough//, especially for someone of your weight who struggles to stay upright in even the most fatass-friendly places. Your body, drenched in sweat, jiggles as you stumble through the woods, becoming increasingly disoriented, until you're red in the face and breathless... which, admittedly doesn't take very long. To make matters worse, the fearsome rodent pursuing you suddenly steps out from behind a nearby tree, a mischievous grin on her face. Were you really so fat and slow that she managed to get ahead of you so easily...? She smiles and offers you the same slice of cake as before, but when you hesitate, she simply pushes it past your lips and massages your throat until you swallow. As the strange, sweet-tasting treat hits your stomach, though, you're surprised when she steps back. You cry out in surprise, immediately straining as you try to escape again... but barely make it 5 steps for collapsing to the ground. You're... fat. Well, you already knew //that//. But... you're //fatter//. Fatter than even a few moments ago. When you grab at your doughy lovehandles, you're both horrified and a little aroused to find they've grown, already plumpening up to the point they're too big for your chubby hands to grip properly, the excess pudge spilling over your paws instead. What's worse, the new pudge that bubbles beneath your skin has already rendered you so obese that your already overworked muscles simply cannot keep up. You can only watch as your attacker circles you, kneeling by your fattening face. "A fattening poison," She squeaks. "Comical, but quite deadly, I assure you. Usually it takes a few minutes before my prey are immobilised by their own pudge, but... well... you were basically there already, weren't you?" You whine as your body continues to soften, watched by the Assassin until you're utterly amorphous, your ridiculous adipose spilling out in all directions until it becomes difficult to tell you're even a person. It's all wobbling, pillowy lard, your limbs and tail buried and useless. So massive and homogenous is your encumbering physique that, when she takes her eyes off of you for a moment, she loses track of your face. It's only after clambering atop the ocean of blubber you've become and spotting your huffing, pleading visage amongst it all, that she's able to continue her cruelty. You whine as she forces the neck of a bottle to your lips, forcing you to gulp down its strange contents. In an instant, you feel pressure building inside your stomach. A series of short, pathetic burps escape your lips, but are far from enough to displace the gas building in your rapidly expanding belly. Your warm, soft rolls, which have spread across most of the forest like a vast, fatty sea, begin to solidify beneath your skin as your stomach swells beneath your fat. You catch sight of the Assassin, now perched in a distant tree, watching your plight through a spyglass. It seems she's got front-row seats to your fate, and she doesn't have to wait long, either. You hear a snap, and then the prolonged hiss of escaping air, the tone creeping higher and higher, until, suddenly-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You clamber inside the jail cell, your wobbling, pudgy hips briefly getting stuck on either side of its entryway. Once you're inside, you struggle to bend down and pick up the shiny object, which, much to your dismay, appears to be little more than a polished piece of metal. Far more worrying, though, is the message you find carved into its underside. <b>GOT YOU!</b> Before you can turn your obese body towards the exit, you hear the door to what is now //your// cell slam shut, followed by the sounds of countless bolts and locks snapping into place. A moment later, you're face to face with your jailer, a lithe, spiky-looking chameleon. She twirls her keys with a grin on her face, admitting that she's been in the room with you for quite a while now, just waiting to see if you'd be stupid enough to fall for such an obvious trap. As you struggle, her long, forked tongue flicks in between the bars of your cage, sampling a taste of your pillowy, sweat-drenched pudge. You watch, horrified, as a smile creeps across the reptile's face. "Ah, the taste of //fear//," She huffs. "What a useless thing you are. You deserve to be punished..." She reaches to her side, pulling a pair of hoses from just out of view. The cage is so small-or rather, you're just so much of an obese lardass--that you can't avoid her as the true debauchery of her intentions becomes clear. The end of either hose she's brought is bulbous in shape, meaning that once she's shoved the first one behind your teeth and the second, much to your embarrassment, beneath your tail, there's nothing you can do to dislodge them. No matter how much you struggle, wobble or cry, there's simply nothing you can do. Pressurised, sickly sweet fluid begins pumping into your belly from both ends, leaving you to whimper and paw helplessly at the hose in your mouth, your fatty, undextrous hands failing to remove it. Each attempt to save yourself only grows clumsier and more desperate as your groaning belly pushes outward, sloshing louder and heavier, until you're pinned in place by the rusted metal bars which surround you. As your bloating pudge begins to spill past the confines of your cage, scarlet fills your cheeks. To make matters worse, your jailer soon produces a measuring device, recording just how far your flesh is poking between the bars. "You're more durable than most," She smiles. "I suppose that makes sense. A doughball like you must overeat all the time; your stomach's probably nice and stretchy, like a balloon..." She smirks, pressing a digit to your pudge, which has already begun to solidify beneath your skin, compacted by the litres of fluid rushing into your belly each minute. "... But every balloon pops eventually," She continues. "Be a good sport and hold out as long as you can, alright? I want to see how big you can get before you //go//." The reality of your rapidly approaching fate muddles your thoughts. Your confines keep getting more cramped, tighter and increasingly uncomfortable. You begin to experience a new fear as you find yourself wondering how much //relief// you'll feel when you finally hit your limit, and your body finally gives out. Inch by creaking inch, your flesh continues to push out between the metal. Your captor, infatuated with just how big you've gotten, begins to comment on things you'd rather not think about. ... How your existing stretch marks from being so overweight have deepened into immense, painful-looking valleys, betraying the places you're most likely to rupture first. ... How your once soft, jiggling pudge feels hard to the touch now, your excessive subcutaneous fat pinned ever firmer to the inside of your stretching skin. ... How she can see by the look on your face that you're beginning to //enjoy// it. You want to contest that, trying to shake your head at the very least, only to find that even the fat of your neck has grown so solid from the pressure within that you can't move at all. Not long after, you reach your limit. You hear a rumbling deep within yourself, a chorus of sharp bangs and snaps, and understand them immediately as a final swan song for your failing insides. A wave of relief and shameful elation washes over you as you-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

You reach up and lift a short sword from the wall. It's far heavier than it looked, and immediately begins to upset your already tenuous balance. It probably won't offer much protection, especially when wielded by such a helpless butterball, but it does make you feel a little bit better.<<nobr>> <<set $HasWeapon to true>> <</nobr>> Now that you have a weapon, you feel a little more prepared to [[head back outside->Stay in the woods]]

Enraged by your bravado, the Butcher rushes towards you, cleaver raised overhead. In a panic, you swipe your sword in front of yourself, trying to dissuade the debauched corvid from coming any closer, rather than actually attacking him. To your bemusement and relief, the fat bird is so preoccupied with his attempts to carve you up that he fails to notice the root snaking across the ground in front of him. His talon catches on it, and he immediately tips forward, his own excessive weight causing him to smash into the ground with significant force. He's left sprawled out, dazed if not outright unconscious, and you turn your attention back to escaping. And, as luck would have it, you spot what appears to be an [[exit->Rush for the exit]] nearby!

You turn and attempt to flee, but make it no more than twenty paces before catching your paw on a rock, your already //abysmal// balance immediately ruined and falling onto your fat stomach. Before you can right yourself, you feel the Butcher's sharp talon slam down into the pudge of your back, as if the weight of your immense gut wasn't already sufficient to pin you down. "Pathetic, wobbling thing..." Your attacker grimaces. "For your insolence, your execution shall be an unmerciful one indeed." He steps to your side as you whine and beg, delivering a brutal kick to your side. Were you not such an obese, jiggling ball of lard, the impact probably would've broken a rib or two, but instead it just sends you tumbling onto your back. You can only plead and whimper as the crowd steps over you, pulling a massive chunk of mutton from one of the pouches on his belt and forcing it past your lips. You are afforded no time to chew before another follows it, and another, and another... The handful shoved down your throat displaces the one ahead of it; a debauched sequence of meals which you already know are soon to spell your doom. Tears form in your eyes. You're no stranger to eating a truly excessive amount of food--you'd have to, to be as fat as you are. It wouldn't surprise you if a few local places back home were actually all-you-can-eat, but remove their signs whenever they see your doughy disaster of a body huffing and panting its way down the street. But for all your gluttony, the quantity of food filling your stomach is overwhelming you. It's not a question of your hunger, but of simple physics. You struggle as the pressure in your stomach begins to //hurt//, but your captor is undeterred. He laughs as tears roll down your fattening cheeks, reaching for even more food to stuff you with. At times, it appears he plucks the next meal straight from the fog itself, as if reality itself is an active participant in your rapidly approaching demise. Your stomach's so full now that the rest of your body feels numb, as if your brain lacks the processing power to interpret anything but the sensations of your ballooning gut. You've been forced to gulp down so many meals that the specifics of each one no longer register to you. Was the last mouthful meat? Pastry? Icing? You truly have no idea; you simply feel their weight, their //mass//, each one another step towards oblivion. You'd never admit it, but you think this might be the first time in years you've felt genuinely full. Nausea accompanies the sensation of being so utterly stuffed, too, your body screaming at you and invoking every mechanism it can in a desperate attempt to stop you from being such a gluttonous pig, not knowing that such a choice is far outside of your control. Soon enough, you reach your biological limit. Your belly is so blimped full of food that you're immobilised beneath it; it's even gotten hard to breathe, and you're genuinely worried you might suffocate beneath it. Your skin is stretched to such a ludicrous degree that the firmness has returned to your physique after years of neglect, and the only breaks to the groaning, wobbling curvature of your soon-to-burst belly come from the food items within, pushing up against the failing dam walls of your stomach. Suddenly, the Butcher steps back, admiring his handiwork. "So..." He chuckles. "Ready for dessert?" At the mere //suggestion// of dessert, your stomach churns and your insides clench. You're so overfed, it's as if your entire body reacts, attempting to pull away from the mere concept of even a single additional mouthful of food. Perhaps in some strange attempt to protect you, your insides suddenly give out. You are afforded only the briefest of moments to contemplate your mortality--and the fact that it has ended as a result of the food you so desperately crave... before you-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

Hurrying to the exit, ignoring the wobbling of your pudge, aching of your joints and drumming of your heart, fresh waves of terror wash over you as a final adversary reveals themselves. Standing just to the side of the exit archway is a veritable giant, clad in such bulky armour that it's impossible to tell what species he is. His subordinates--the Butcher, Assassin Jailer--surround you, but refrain from cutting you down. That honour, it seems, is reserved for the Knight alone. He draws his sword and wordlessly challenges you to a duel. Given your, what medical professionals have described as 'Embarrassing levels of obesity'; A body that wobbles like jello and deprives you of even the most basic levels of finesse, speed or stamina, it is abundantly clear that you're going to lose in a straight-up fight. Still, to run means turning your back to this terrifying foe, and you're almost certain they can outpace you--given that just about //anybody// who isn't immobile can perform such a feat. <<if $HasWeapon>>[[Throw your sword->Throw your weapon]]<<else>>==Throw your sword==<</if>> [[Stand and fight->Duel the Knight]]

Full of adrenaline and knowing you're too heavy to successfully escape, you attempt to duel the imposing Knight, wobbling forward with your sword raised, letting out perhaps the most unthreatening 'warcry' of all time. Although you aimed your strike at his helmet, you're simply too short to reach. The tip of your weapon clatters against his breastplate, bouncing harmlessly off of his armour. Despite your best efforts, there was almost no force behind your attack; you're not even sure you did anything beyond hurt your own hand. You step back, fat still wobbling from the impact, and stifle a nervous laugh. You're //fucked//, aren't you...? The Knight lets out a dejected sigh, stepping forward. He moves so quickly that you don't even see his sword, simply becoming aware of an aching in your wrist and the fact that your weapon is now embedded in a tree nearby. It's a miracle his strike didn't take your hand with it, and you suspect this will be the last mercy you receive. You stumble backwards, clutching your wrist, begging and pleading. You're so gripped with horror that you even begin to openly demean yourself, asking if there's any 'honour' to be found in slaying such a 'pathetic little doughball'. "There is no honour to be found here," The Knight confirms. "Simply indulgence." Although you can't see beneath his helmet, with those last words you know that he's smiling. Without a word, he nods to his subordinates, and they surround you. They grip your love handles, jiggle your stomach, pinch at the pudge of your neck and even slap your colossal behind. Yelps and whimpers flow from your lips like a river; you've never been more aware of your excessive pudge than right now, as you're accosted, knowing that this is simply a precursor to your demise. His terrible Butcher steps forward first, pinning you to a nearby tree before reaching into one of his satchels, pulling out handfuls of mutton and fatty meats, immediately forcing handful after handful down your throat. You do your best to swallow, lest you suffocate, and it isn't long before your gut's grown so immense and gravid that it pins you down. Unable to move, you can only watch as the second of the Knight's minions, his Jailer, takes over. She forces a hose into your maw, laughing as you helplessly try to slap it away. Litres of ultra-high-calorie fluid are soon gushing straight down into your stomach, practically drowning you and filling you up until your stomach's taut and creaking, like a big, fat water balloon that's inevitably about to burst. The final of the Knight's minions, his cunning Assassin, is last. To your surprise, she pulls the hose from your mouth and forces the neck of a strange bottle into your muzzle instead, staring down at you with murderous intent until you, consumed with fear and far too huge to struggle, gulp down its contents. To your surprise, the pressure in your gut actually subsides a little bit, your flesh pushing out in all directions as your skin becomes noticeably stretchier, albeit growing thin almost to the point of transparency, regardless of its increased elasticity. Your relief is short-lived, however, as the Knight approaches you. That potion the Assassin forced you to drink did not fail, as you had hoped it would; instead, you realise that it was simply to give your failing body a few extra minutes and allow their boss to deal the final blow. To your abject horror, his greatsword now spears the largest slab of meat you've ever seen--excluding when you look in the mirror each morning, of course. You whine, beg and cry as he presses the colossal slab of meat to your muzzle. "Swallow, or die," He growls with vicious intent. "What will you be? A glutton of true legend, or a useless, fatty thing, falling short of even their own hunger?" You do your best to swallow... You really do... Gagging and struggling as the meat hurts your jaw, but it's simply no use--and you suspect he knows that. The punctured meat serves as a sort of detonator for your creaking body as it abruptly slams down your straining gullet, the tip of his sword piercing your stomach and spelling your demise. A muffled whimper escapes you as you-- <<link "<h1>POP!</h1>" "Wake up at a campfire">><</link>>

Panicking, you throw your sword at the Knight and hobble, panicking towards the exit. Your pursuer lets out a furious yell, //beyond// insulted that you disrespected the duel. He attempts to rush you, blade in hand, but you get immensely lucky. The Knight's subordinates all attempted to retrieve your sword, inadvertently getting in their master's way, giving you just enough time to wobble your fat body through the exit. When you turn back, heart racing, expecting cold steel to pierce your flabby flesh, you instead find your attacker glaring at you from afar. He points his sword towards you, seemingly a declaration that--one day--he'll carve you into tiny pieces. ... But not today. [[Escape->Good ending - Bloated by the fog]]

The bird man stands almost twice your size, leering down at you. As best you can tell from his jet black feathers, he's a crow or a raven of some kind. A dirty apron is draped haphazardly over his unusually pronounced, pot-bellied gut. He's gripping a massive, threatening, cleaver-like blade. It takes you a few moments to notice the straps, bags and satchels he's wearing. There are dozens, and each one appears to be overflowing with food. Suddenly, his fatty middle begins to make more sense. It seems he has some kind of obsession with food, something you can certainly relate to, but from the way he's staring at you with obvious lust in his eyes, you can already tell that he intends to make sure you eat everything he's brought... even if you refuse.

An old, old house, built from brick, wood, and with what little remains of a thatch roof. You haven't seen one like it before, at least, not outside of historical documentaries. Despite its humble appearance and state of obvious disrepair, you may still find shelter within... if only for a little while.

These woods are unnaturally, deathly silent. No matter how hard you try, you fail to hear a single bird song, insect or animal moving through the brush. There's a ghostly wind from time to time, but even that feels //wrong//. In the space where ambient sound should exist, anxiety soon turns to terror, particularly when you realise that if you make some kind of blunder, it will almost certainly be heard. Suddenly, there's a scream in the distance; could it be one of the others from around the fire? You take a single, lumbering step towards the source of the noise, and then there's a terrifying //POP!// Everything falls silent again, and for reasons you can't quite understand, you feel even more alone.

By slowing your movements and taking greater care with each footstep, you're far less likely to trip or make excessive noise. Given that it seems you're being hunted, that's probably a very good idea. Although... that all hinges on how well your unwieldy, obese body behaves. It's not unlikely that you'll lose your balance or make some other embarrassing mistake, regardless of how hard you try.

There's an entire armoury here, ranging from small knives all the way up to massive spears and halberds. Many are chipped or otherwise damaged, betraying that they've been used frequently. The vast majority of weapons are too heavy for you to wield; you can tell just by looking at them. Many others look as if they require incredible finesse, which is undoubtedly beyond someone of your size. That being said, a few of the smaller swords look suitable enough... although you doubt you'll be able to swing them more than a few times without tiring yourself out.

<<nobr>> <<if $CookingShow_Steps[0] isnot "1">><<goto "Mess up the recipe">> <<elseif $CookingShow_Steps.length > 1 and $CookingShow_Steps[1] isnot "2">><<goto "Mess up the recipe">> <<elseif $CookingShow_Steps.length > 2 and $CookingShow_Steps[2] isnot "3">><<goto "Mess up the recipe">> <<elseif $CookingShow_Steps.length > 3 and $CookingShow_Steps[3] isnot "4">><<goto "Mess up the recipe">> <<elseif $CookingShow_Steps.length > 4 and $CookingShow_Steps[4] isnot "5">><<goto "Mess up the recipe">> <<elseif $CookingShow_Steps.length > 5 and $CookingShow_Steps[5] isnot "6">><<goto "Mess up the recipe">> <<elseif $CookingShow_Steps.length >= 6>><<goto "Complete recipe">><</if>>   <</nobr>>

<<nobr>> <<set $CookingShow_Mistakes to 0>> <<set $CookingShow_Steps to []>> <<set $Singularity_RemovedCamera to false>> <<set $HasWeapon to false>> <</nobr>>