chapter 4.1

No more taking on weird shit alone, Eddie had made her promise before she left the house that evening. Any signs of big-time supervillainy, and she was to call for backup without hesitation.

Maybe it was for the best if Bombshell kept strictly to hostage situations on her solo patrols. Sure, getting into biomanipulator bossfights and taking on threats to national security looked great on television, but she hadn't adopted her superhero persona for personal glory and bravado. She'd done it to save lives.

Besides, the hard stuff was...well, hard. If she were being honest with herself, she'd be happy if she never ran into another Chimera or Ted Greene again. Regular guys with guns threatening innocent civilians--that, she could handle, no sweat. When it came to fighting the evil mecha-lords and blood-sucking ghouls from the nth dimension, she was second fiddle to Big Tech and that was something she was going to have to learn to be okay with. Bombshell, though? She'd always been the defender of the little guy--in a manner of speaking--and she was just as needed in that role as ever.

She was standing on the roof of a ten story office building--back in the day, she used to cap the rooftop heights at three stories so she could still see ground level--but now that she had a zoom-in feature in her visor, the extra height gave her extra range--scanning Blackwater's streets for any sign of a stick-up or mugging, when a loud CLANK startled her from behind. Turning around, she quickly found the source of the disturbance: a grappling hook, clinging to the ledge of the roof. She approached it and tugged on the cable--oof! Whatever was on the other end was heavy. Concentrating, she adjusted her muscle tone to give herself the strength to hoist up the load, hand over hand.

There was a scream of surprise from below. Then, a robust, curly-haired woman, masked and dressed in a black corset held together with purple ribbon laces, leather pants, and thigh-high steel-toed boots came sailing onto the rooftop, the two globes of her jiggling ass breaking her fall as she hit the concrete. Bombshell cocked her head and studied her catch. Around the woman's neck was a leather collar from which dangled a stainless steel 'C'. "State your business," said Bombshell.

"B, it's me!" The woman removed her mask and smiled up at her through her discomfort.

"Martika?"

&qu ot;You bet! But we're in the field, so call me Crucifix."

"Why Crucifix?"

"You'll see," said Martika, putting her mask back on. Well, Crucifix. "That is, if you'll have me along."

"What?"

" ;Girls night! Like we talked about!"

"I meant we could get nails together! Or go rollerblading or something!" exclaimed Bombshell. "How the hell d'you even find me?"

"Well, gee, you wear a bright orange racecar driver getup. You aren't hard to spot."

"So you saw me up here and decided, what, you'd scale the damn building?"

"Well, how did you get up here?"

"Picked the lock downstairs. Cut the alarm. Used the stairs like a normal person!"

"You mean that door has been unlocked this whole time?" asked Crucifix, pointing down with one pudgy pointer finger.

"Would it have killed you to check?"

"See, this is why you were always the smart one, Queen B," said Martika. "So, are we doing this, or not?"

"Look, Mar--Crucifix. The guys I go after are usually armed. I can make myself bulletproof. But if you get hurt on my watch--"

"I can have 'em knocked off their feet before they can fire a shot," Martika assured her.

"Are you sure? You ever even done this be--"

She was cut off by the ringing of her emergency hotline. Transferring the call to her interface, she opened, "This is Bombshell, what is your emergency?"

"Bombshell, please, you have to help me!" replied a woman in a hoarse whisper. "There's a guy from my work who's been stalking me--"

"Ma'am, tell me what's happening now."

"He just broke into my house!"

"Address?"

&q uot;649 Sundry Lane, just--"

The woman screamed. Then, silence.

Time was of the essence.

Bombshell let herself back in the building and made straight for the stairs. "What are you doing?" Martika asked, breathing labored as she struggled to keep up. "The elevator will be faster!"

"Will it?" said Bombshell, parkouring over the guardrail to launch herself onto the next landing.

"Well...you can make yourself good at that! I'm taking the elevator," called Martika from behind.

Bombshell beat her downstairs and was waiting in the Fatmobile for a whole two minutes. Once the passenger door was closed, she sped off down the street into a sharp left turn around the corner, all while Martika struggled to get comfortable in the too-tight seat. "B, what are you doing? I don't have my--YOU don't have YOUR seatbelt on yet!"

"Makes it easier to get out of the car once we get there."

"And if you like big boys, why'd you buy such a stupidly small whip?"

"Actually, she was a gift, and this is just what I drive on SOLO patrol!"

Bombshell swerved onto the feeder road, weaving in and out of traffic, just as Martika finally snapped her seatbelt shut. "Does your boyfriend know you drive like this?"

"This," Bombshell smirked, "is me going easy on you." Then: "Compose: Got a partner along for the ride today. Let's see how this goes. Send Tweet."

"And now you're TWEETING?! AT THE WHEEL?!"

"Relax, wouldja?"

At last, they pulled up in front of the house. Nine minutes. Dammit. Well, better late than never. Besides, GPS would have said it would take 25. "Look, Martika, if you got cold feet, you can stay in the car and we'll forget tonight ever happened," said Bombshell, already out of the car and headed in.

"Not a chance, girl."

The door had been kicked in--well, that took care of entry. Bombshell turned on her camera and started the live stream just as she stepped into the dining room, where a skinny blonde woman was secured to a chair by the wrists and ankles with rope and torn strips of fabric. She was gagged, and the leering intruder standing over her had started cutting off her dress with a pair of kitchen scissors.

Oh, hell no! One of these real McNasties.

Bombshell gripped him by both shoulders and threw him to his back, away from the victim so she could fatten him up without the risk of crushing her.

That's when Martika caught up.

The stalker may have been down, but there was still enough context in the room for her to know what had almost just happened.

And she.

Was.

Livid.

"Oh, you piece of total dog shit!" She ran over to the assailant and kicked him in the ribs, eliciting a grunt of pain, but that was nothing compared to what happened next.

As Martika stood over him, the man began to convulse and scream on the floor in sheer agony. It was a sight to behold, watching him writhe; his would-be victim and even Oriana flinched before Crucifix reassured her, "Don't worry, B. I can't actually physically harm him. He just won't feel too good right now."

As he caterwauled on, Crucifix grabbed him by the collar and dragged him towards the door. "Let's take this fight outside, you perv."

While she was taking the would-be predator out into the yard, Bombshell whipped out the folding knife she carried for these situations and cut the woman out of her bonds. "Thank you, Bombshell!" she sobbed once the gag was removed.

"It's okay. You're safe now." Oriana gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "And this creep ain't gonna be hurting you or nobody else ever again."

"B!" cried Crucifix, "Meet me out here!"

Out in the front lawn, Crucifix was still at work torturing the home invader. "Ready to do your thing?"

"Hell yeah, C!"

Crucifix let up, only for Oriana to focus her biomanipulation on the target at hand…

By now, it was all too familiar.

His body swelled and expanded with adipose, straining the seams of his clothes until they split: first, the closure of his shirt gave way to the gelatinous mountain of his belly, but the inseam of his pants was soon to follow as his thighs expanded and crowded together. In seconds, he was pinned flat on his back by hundreds of pounds of extra fat, all while Bombshell closely monitored his vitals on her screen.

757 pounds was the final figure. Yeah, he was going nowhere fast. And yet…

"More," insisted Crucifix, a sadistic smile plastered across her face.

So Bombshell forced another couple hundred pounds onto the man's already immobilized frame, watching as his gut surged outward in all directions.

"More," Crucifix implored her.

1109...1215...

But even Bombshell drew a line somewhere, and this was where she decided, this oughta do it.

"More!" Crucifix begged.

"No! I'll crush his lungs," said Bombshell. "Let's just go."

They got into the car and sped off. "Dial Go Fork Yourself," Bombshell commanded into her interface. The call was answered after two rings.

"Go Fork Yourself Forklift, Machine and Truck Rental, LLC. This is Vinny Contini, owner and operator. How can we fork you today?"

"Vinny! It's Bombshell," she said. "I've got another one for ya. 649 Sundry Lane. I'll let the cops know I've already given you the heads up. By the way, how's Louie?"

"Fugghet about 'im. Don't you remember what he tried to do to you?"

"Look, Vinny, I know you and him got your difference--"

"Kid dragged the family name through the dirt, disgraced this shop--"

"You're his father," Bombshell implored. "He acted out, but his feelings were hurt, and honestly, I'm not blameless. He and I have already apologized to each other. He's served his sentence. But he's still hurting. He needs his father more than anything right now. Just...consider giving him his job back?"

"Sorry, sweetheart, but there are some lines you don't cross, and he did."

"I know it's none of my business. Family is important to me. I'll let it go...for tonight. But you haven't heard the last from me, Vinny."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah."

"Say hi to Zella for me," she said before hanging up.

Then, "Dial the BCPD."

"Blackwater City Police."

"This is Bombshell. I just apprehended a home invader and attempted rapist. 649 Sundry Lane--"

"Oh, Christ, not this again."

"Relax. I left him outside this time, and I've already called the forklift company. All you have to do is to collect the statement from the victim."

"Well, gee...that was actually pretty nice of you, Bombshell."

"It wasn't my idea."

After she hung up, Martika said, "Sorry if I got a little carried away back there. You know I've always had a thing for that extreme stuff in this kink, and if I'm gonna see someone get that big, they might as well deserve it right? I mean, Jesus, what a skeeve! And the media actually have the nerve to call you a pervert? You're the best thing that's ever happened to Big Tech. He's finally living his dream! He's shy...but cute. I like him for you. By the by...what do the numbers in your little notebook look like these days?"

"Aw, c'mon, Martika, that's too personal." She had always thought that if she ever did get into a feedist relationship, she'd be the loudest of exhibitionists, Tweeting constantly about the numbers, the progress...but with Eddie, that wasn't the vibe. What they had was more tender, more emotional, more private, meant to be enjoyed and explored in a world of their own.

"C'mon! You at least gotta tell me how big his cock is. Just give me a number between three and fourteen!" Martika pleaded.

Oriana deliberated for a minute before deciding on her answer: "Bitch, I can control biology. Or did you forget?"

Martika squealed and shoved Oriana so hard the car swerved.

Quickly adjusting the wheel, Oriana laughed and careened back onto the feeder road, weaving in and out of traffic into the falling dusk.

***

Meanwhile, back at Mission Control…

It was a quiet night in for Eddie as he sat in front of his laptop, waiting for Oriana's live stream to start. Any minute now…

She'd promised to keep him in the loop and call for help if she had a run-in with anything that wasn't, strictly-speaking, small-time crime. Stick ups, assaults, heists with no more than three gunmen. And he trusted her. Really, he did. He just wanted to see with his own eyes that she was okay.

Finally, she posted a Tweet, but before he could read it and find out whether it was to build hype or call for distress, his cellphone rang.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Hey man, it's Dante. Come to the bar with me."

"I don't drink."

"I know, it's great! You can be DD on the way back, and I can get as hammered as I want."

"How did you even get my number?"

"From your long term memory, at dinner at the penthouse. C'mon, Ori's patrolling, isn't she? What else do you have to do?"

Eddie blinked. "Can you read minds over the phone?"

"No, but she did just Tweet it."

Good, so the Tweet was nothing to be concerned about.

"Look, man, when's the last time you hung out with the guys at a bar?"

"You already know the answer to that, don't you?"

"See, and I think that's part of the problem."

Eddie sighed.

Maybe he should go meet Dante.

If he was going to spend all night worrying himself sick, he might as well have some background noise.

The bar would have live news coverage playing, right?

Besides, there were other questions he had for his girlfriend's ex-lover.

"You know what? Let's go to the bar, on one condition."

"That being?"

"You actually let me speak this time."

"Bet! See you in thirty."