What Happened to You?

Chapter 1 - Saved by the Belle

START WEIGHT: 130 POUNDS

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YOU'RE MINDING YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

In a city like Blackwater, Oregon, though, sometimes that's all it takes.

Not that it's particularly wise of you to walk home alone from work at night, but you would think the city would have the decency to leave you well enough alone. After all, you're just an average nobody. If you were worth the trouble of harassing, you'd have more than four bucks in your bank account, and you'd be walking faster, more upright, more alert, because you'd have been able to feed yourself at any point in the day, except you wouldn't be walking, because you'd have saved up enough for that secondhand Chevy you'd seen in the parking lot of your run-down building with a for-sale-by-owner sign in the window.

It's not your fault you're feeling faint. It's not your fault you were born and raised in the impoverished west side of town, and even though there are plenty of safer routes you could have walked than St. Philip Parkway where it runs parallel to the Blackwater River, right past the city's only methadone clinic, what happens next isn't your fault, either.

CRACK! Something cool and metallic smacks you straight upside the jaw. You grunt and stumble backwards in pain. Through your tears, you catch a glimpse of your assailant. He's wearing a dark hoodie and sunglasses, with a bandana tied over the lower half of his face. He's holding a gun. "Hand over your wallet, you piece of shit!"

You shakily fish it out of your back pocket and toss it onto the pavement. What little you have to your name definitely isn't worth your life.

CRACK! He hits you again and you collapse, face-forward, barely breaking your fall with your hands. You'll be feeling the impact in your bony elbows for days, if you have that long: the next sound you hear is the cocking of the gun.

"I-If it's alright with you, Mr. Mugger, I'd appreciate it if I were allowed to escape with my life and limb. I won't involve the authorities, I swear!" you attempt to bargain, ever articulate even in your weakened state, but he's not in a mood to leave loose ends and witnesses.

He fires a shot and the bullet embeds itself in the pavement with an explosive BANG, missing your left ear by inches.

Back when you were little, there was a saying in the city: 'If ever you find yourself in trouble, pray for the strike of lightning.' That was how you'd know Voltage, the local superhero patrolling the streets, was on her way to save you. Nowadays, you're told to pray for the screech of tires that heralds the arrival of Bombshell in her fast car, or the blinding blue blast of light from Big Tech's laser cannon.

Neither of those things happen.

And yet…

You don't die.

After a while, you catch your breath and painstakingly clamber your way up to your hands and knees. Your assailant lies on the ground at your side, convulsing and groaning in obvious agony. You look up.

Over you stands the most beautiful woman you've ever seen.

Well, the upper half of her face is concealed by a simple black domino mask. But her body…

She's just your type. She stands at about five and a half feet and–and this is just your ballpark guess–but she must weigh in at three bucks and change, her weight distributed elegantly between protruding breasts, hefty hips, and a soft stomach that strains the lilac-colored laces holding together the black leather corset that struggles to contain her tubby torso. Her upper arms and thighs appear round and pillowy beneath a mesh of black fishnet. A triumphant, plump-lipped, white-toothed, purple-lipsticked smile pushes her chubby cheeks outward, and her long, dark, curly hair cascades in the slight breeze, only minutely flattened by the ambient humidity.

"You need a hand, darling?" she asks, reaching down.

You grasp her manicured hand and heave your way to your feet.

"That's it, baby. Easy does it," she croons. "Oh! I'm Crucifix, by the way. Blackwater City's resident Princess of Pain!"

You mumble your name in reply.

It's a damn shame you've never heard of her.

"I'm new," she explains. Her fingerless-gloved fingers lift your chin so your eyes meet hers. She gasps. "What happened to you?"

"Well, I almost got shot in the head."

"I know that. I just meant…you're so thin! Did somebody starve you?"

You mutter under your breath that you could be doing better financially.

"Oh! Well, I've got a couple bucks…" She tucks a stray curl behind her ear and scuffs the heel of one booted foot against the ground.

Off to the side, your assailant has gone into shock.

"I could foot dinner!" she insists. "We can go to Fitzgerald's!"

Also known as: the swankiest steakhouse in town.

"Or, if you don't want to wait that long, we can hit up the nearest WackDonald's. There's food at my place, too."

You're so hungry, your practically concave stomach aches from the hollowness.

How can you resist the rotund rogue?

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To accompany her to Fitzgerald's, proceed to Chapter 2

To accompany her to WackDonald's, proceed to Chapter 3

To follow her home, proceed to Chapter 4