Chapter 1.1
Listen to this chapter - just press play:
Crime Brulee had been the last to arrive, and was the only one in her villainous regalia seated at the boardroom table in the meeting room in the VA’s secret lair under a disreputable casino called the Worldwide. Kurt and Moira were dressed up nice–Kurt being known in some circles as Codename Polygraph, the most effective interrogator in Blackwater City and possibly the world. He was also the fattest person you’d likely ever meet. According to his medical records, he used to be height-weight proportionate, but that had changed after several rounds of human experimentation at the hands of the Division. If Connie’d had her way, her friends in the VA would be content to believe that she’d led the operation to rescue him for the utility of his power set (sensitivity to spoken dishonesty, along with the ability to, ahem…secrete truth serum, but only whilst experiencing a prolonged caloric surplus)...that, and for the sheer thrill of stealing government property. But he and everyone else knew that she’d have never been able to forgive herself if she just left him there in stasis, hooked up to monitors and a feeding tube, after she learned of his plight.
Besides the weight, he could have been just some guy, though.
As for his wife, Moira? You might have encountered her as the shadow-slinging Nightfall during one of her many aggravated robberies. Moira was irate about having had their lunch plans interrupted, but Connie had heard Kurt mutter something earlier about being grateful they’d at least gotten to finish up at church. She was a little pudgy herself, but nobody you’d stop and gawk at.
“Hacksaw” Pete, the team’s medic and getaway driver, and his girlfriend Heidi, otherwise known as the indomitable and indestructible Dumptruck, were still in pajamas, which, honestly, thought Connie, hinted at a fulfilling use of their day. Pete was a little stocky, but nobody you’d stop and gawk at.
Heidi, on the other hand…
Her super-strength and super-durability were fueled by a superhuman appetite, her Genetically Deviant body using fat for mobility the way most people’s bodies utilized muscle. As a result, she was always snacking, when she wasn’t gorging, and the space she sprawled across could give Kurt a run for his money. The VA had won her in an auction; it was this whole thing.
Then there was Renata, who was still recognizable as her crooked alter-ego Freakshow by virtue of her stark white hair and transparent skin, but she didn’t look like she’d gotten into anything particularly mischievous all day, dressed up in a sundress with her bikini straps showing. She was plump and round, and definitely someone you’d stop to gawk at, but the VA took in all types.
Connie, unlike her coterie, had rushed over here from across the city, having been in the middle of terrorizing wealthy bankers on the resplendent east side of town. When Frank had called war council and she got the ping on her pager, she had dropped everything, including the wealthy fortysomething guy she’d taken into midair as a hostage, to convene.
“Yeah,” said Frank, handing Connie his pilfered prize. She turned it over in her hands: a thin, plastic prism loaded with sharp, fat, pointed darts, all filled with a glowing green liquid. “I didn’t have the truck, so I couldn’t just take out the stash, and in the end, I couldn’t get out undetected, so I had to make a quick dash. But I overheard some things.”
“What things?”
“Like about how they’re meant to be used by the military, to create a mobility crisis in foreign armies. Not to mention a uniform crisis. Still, I couldn’t help thinking how bad it would be if they distributed a weapon like this to local law enforcement. It could really cripple the criminal underworld, you know?”
Connie nodded. “Great work,” she said, rising up on tiptoe to kiss his soft, warm lips. With one hand, she reached up to ruffle his dark, messy hair even messier, while her other slipped up his coat to give his fleshy side a squeeze. Pete wolf-whistled. “Oh, pipe down, Pete. You’ve always known I was some sorta way.”
‘Some sorta way’ meaning she was into big guys. Should it have been any surprise the VA lineup looked like it did? (Ironically, she was the thinnest person in the room, her personality being the biggest thing about her, though nearly trounced by her untamed, shoulder-length mane of raven curls.)
“Moira, you’re on this one,” commanded Connie. “Hack the Division, find out what you can. We’ll all reconvene in an hour, got it?”
After their brief recess, the VA sat at attention so that Connie could explain her plan. “Alright, bandits and baddies, thanks to Nightfall, we now have the location of the ammunition stash within the Division Northwest HQ. The weapon is currently in limited production until an antidote can be developed in case of friendly fire, at which time it’ll be rolled out in full capacity. Our job is to seize the supply before that can happen. Last time we went in, we did it with guns blazing…you remember, bud, don’t you?” she said, with a pointed, but sympathetic, glance in Kurt’s direction. “We set off every alarm bell, activated every drone, and made an overwhelming mess. This time, we’re going to be making a stealthy entrance. We get in, destroy the ammo onsite, and get out. I’ll take these,” she snatched the magazine Frank had pilfered off the table, “and toss them in the river on the way there. Pete, bring a truck in case we find anything else worth stealing, but that’ll be secondary to the mission. Renata, Heidi? Create a diversion on the east side of town, as close to the Embassy as you can get. I want as much manpower as possible removed from Division HQ. Frank, I need you to track down the scientists who worked on this project and…kindly…persuade them never to return to their work. Kurt, watch the base…”
“Thank you, Lord,” he muttered under his breath.
“Tweet–” Scanning the room, Connie’s eyes fell on a pair of vacant chairs. “Guys, where’s Tweety?”
“Shooting Star has just succeeded in breaking Whirlpool out of county jail,” said Moira. “They’ll be laying low at one of the safehouses of the Contini Mafia, at least until the manhunt quiets down.”
Well…that certainly made Connie’s job a lot harder.
“Why is it literally always Violet?” she sighed. “Alright then, let’s see, let’s see…Nightfall. You’re with me on the infiltration.”
“Heard,” Moira affirmed, “but shouldn’t we hang onto one dart? Maybe two? To send to Leo for analysis?”
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” snapped Connie. “Sure, Leo’s been useful to us in the past, but a serum that makes you gain weight instantly is the last thing we need to put in the hands of a crazy cyborg with more money than God, who’s obsessed with fat women. Can you imagine? He’d have a field day.”
“Well…maybe we can analyze it ourselves? Just to see what the Division is capable of? Don’t they have some diagnostic equipment at the office of the VA Washington?”
Beside Moira, Kurt was squirming in his seat. Connie thought she had noticed his demeanor change when Moira first mentioned saving some of the ammo, but figured she could have imagined it. Now, though, his discomfort was unmistakable. “Nightfall, could you see me out in the hall?”
With the case of stolen ammo still in hand, she strode out of the boardroom with Moira close behind. When the door fell shut after Moira, Connie turned abruptly on her heel under the humming fluorescent light of the hallway to face her. “Mind telling me what’s the big idea, yanking on poor Choir Boy’s brainstem like that?” she asked. “You know as well as I do that he can tell when you’re bullshitting.”
Moira scuffed a foot against the linoleum floor. “It’s just that you’ve been taking me on this whole load of missions ever since my daughter went to Panama with Kurt’s parents–”
“Because you’re the best at what you do!” Connie reminded her. “You steal more money per heist than anyone else in the building! Everyone else in the building combined, if we’re not counting me!”
“It’s just that all this running around the city has been, yanno, taking…well, taking quite a bit out of me.” A forced and sheepish, almost pained half-smile spread across Moira’s round face. Connie’s eyes widened.
“I see. So you want the jab…for yourself.”
Moira exhaled. “Look, you remember how I was when I was first captured and recruited by the VA.” Back then, she’d been a slip of a thing, a buck and change soaking wet and obsessed with other people’s opinions. Nowadays? She’d probably never be thin again, but now that she mentioned it, Connie could see that she’d slimmed a little as of late. Not enough to make anyone who saw her think she was skinny, but there was room in the waistband of her floral skirt where there wasn’t before. “I wasn’t healthy, Cons. And I still remember what it felt like, back then, to see the number on the scale go down and count that as an accomplishment…and how it felt to hold myself in a position of superiority over all the fat people I was secretly into, or envious of, in some dark corner of my mind. Looking back, none of it was nice, but I read in an article I found on Mybrid about how a prolonged caloric deficit can actually warp your dopamine pathways. Come to think of it, that’s probably why I was always such a high-strung lunatic while I worked for the Div–”
“Moira! Moira, slow down,” Connie cut her off. “So, let me get this straight. You think that if you shoot yourself up with the government’s make-you-fat juice, it’ll inoculate you from getting back on your skinny-bitch bullshit?”
“That’s the idea,” said Moira, fiddling with the hem of one sleeve.
Connie scoffed. “That’s the most nuts-ass thing I’ve ever heard! But…I guess supporting bodily autonomy means letting you do it. You can have ONE dart.” As Moira reached for the magazine in Connie’s hand, Connie swiped it out of her reach. “And not until AFTER we finish the mission.”
“What? Why?” whined Moira. “I mean, shouldn’t my costume fit me like it’s supposed to?”
“Did Choir Boy ever tell you how I infiltrated the lab to bust him outta there?”
Moira winced. “Please don’t say through the vents.”
***
Sebastien Kane had been working at the US Division of Heroics ever since he graduated with a 4.0 GPA from the Rivington Hero School. Gifted with the superhuman ability to knock an enemy unconscious with one scratch of any of the obsidian-black, claw-like talons protruding from each of his fingers in the place of a normal nail, he would have made a formidable foe to any thieving thug on the streets of Blackwater City. Unfortunately, since hiring him on, the Division had kept him stationed within the walls of its Northwest headquarters, serving security duty.
He had seen little action over the course of his career, even after the Division stopped replacing the broken drones that used to patrol the halls. After he collected his supper from the tray line in the employee cafeteria before the start of his night shift, he scanned the rows of dining tables for his supervisor, hoping to make his usual appeal.
A minute or two passed before he found her, and then, he made a beeline for the table where she sat alone, setting down his tray, his cheeseless caesar salad identical to her own.
Special Agent Cornelia Hastings was at the end of her own shift, but preferred to take supper on the premises. From what he’d gleaned, in bits and pieces, she wasn’t actually that fond of her husband at home, just his money, and even then, she’d forego spending it on groceries if it meant getting out of spending the evening with him. “Care for any company?” asked Sebastien.
“Be my guest,” she invited him, and though she never looked up from the screen of her PDA, it did kind of make him feel like a big man when she permitted him to sit, even if she always did. In addition to her duties at the Division, she was also a professor at Rivington, and had taught his Combat Theory class in his senior year. Back then, he’d been so nervous to approach her during office hours. She always had this air of authority about her that he found both intimidating and alluring. He might have developed a trashy little teacher crush on her, if not for the blonde bombshell who always sat next to him in class. And yeah, Cornelia was still technically in charge of him, but the gap between their stations had narrowed since his graduation.
“Did you put in a good word for me? With the Director?” he asked.
At last, she set her phone on the table, screen down, and met his eyes. “Oh, Agent Kane…you know I would have if I thought anything would come of it, but the Division can’t afford to part with its security staff right now. Between organized crime reaching record peaks and all of these lawsuits we have to deal with, it’s much more affordable to keep you at your post than to, say, bring the drone program back, or update the alarms. Besides, I’ve been instructed specifically to focus my attention on the heroic career of Scarlet Flame. I know it’s not fair, but she’s marketable. America loves a beautiful woman.”
She would know, of course, about the love that came with being a beautiful woman. Slender, angular, and elegant, with gem-green eyes and sleek raven hair that never strayed from her tight, neat bun, Cornelia looked so perfect that at times, she barely looked real.
He plowed halfheartedly through his salad. He wished he had something more satisfying in front of him, but the last thing he wanted to do was make a pig of himself in front of the woman who could make or break his career.
“When the time is right,” she said, “I’ll see about getting you onto the streets where you belong. It certainly wouldn’t hurt if you caught an intruder one of these days. Until then…try and be grateful,” she advised him. “The Director certainly didn’t have to give either of us work today.”
***
Connie led the way out in front through the labyrinth of vents leading to the room where their prize was stored, with Moira crawling on elbows and knees behind her. What should have been cool metal beneath her arms felt warm through the loose long sleeves of her costume in the glow of the ball of flame that hovered before Connie, lighting their way.
“We couldn’t have just tunneled our way under the Division and up?” asked Moira, flattening herself onto her belly as the passageway grew narrower. “We are all the way downstairs, after all.”
“No time,” said Connie. “Even if we borrowed some of the fanciest tech from Leo, there’s no guarantee we’d have a tunnel built in time to stop the release of the weapon. It’s not a bad idea, but let’s get that done when we don’t have urgent shit to do.”
Just as Connie reached the slats of the vent cover that would drop them into their target destination, Moira’s eyes widened, her mouth forming an ‘o’ of horror. True, the recent marathon of heists she’d been on had managed to carve a noticeable amount of weight off of her curvaceous frame, but she still had no business shimmying her way down narrow spaces, and about eight feet behind Connie, the vent pinched tight around her soft stomach and fleshy hips.
“Moira, what’s the hold-up?”
Moira squirmed in her prison. “I’m stuck!”
“It’s just a few feet further, just suck your belly in!”
She tried, and even managed to pull said belly maybe a half inch off of the galvanized steel, but that wasn’t her only problem. “My ass is stuck too; how am I supposed to suck that in?!” she asked, helplessly kicking her feet.
“Alright, hang on,” said Connie, turning around. “I’m gonna come try and un-stuck you.” Crawling back up the passageway, she grabbed Moira by both outstretched hands and pulled, and pulled, but bless her heart, she did not have super strength. All their combined struggle managed to do was make the vent creak, until a SNAP from behind Moira told her a fastening had come loose.
It seemed the way out was going to be down…
***
Sebastien had spent all of dinner mentally preparing himself for another boring shift guarding a door. The surprise made his skin clam up like he’d been thrown into an ice bath when a shower of dust heralded the crash of a section of vent through the drywall of the ceiling in the hallway right in front of the door he’d been posted in front of to guard.
Upon impact with the floor, the vent burst open, and the two intruders within coughed on the descending cloud of debris.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad,” said the first of them. Brushing the dust off her cream-colored catsuit and shaking it out of her jet-black hair, Crime Brulee rose to her feet, followed by her tubby blonde tag-along, Nightfall, dressed all in black. Sebastien had read about her in the papers, but grainy press photos flattered her. In person, her bulges bulged and her rolls rolled much more obviously.
He had a weapon clipped to his belt; Hastings hadn’t told him what it fired, but in case of a security breach, he had been instructed to unload the entire magazine into the target and then wait for reinforcements to take the fallen trespasser away. He hadn’t been briefed on the prescribed course of action if faced with multiple opponents. Nevertheless, without her here to tell him what to do, he was more than capable of improvising. After all, he would have to in the future, if this ended up being the lucky break that launched him into a real heroic career. He took aim at Nightfall and depressed the trigger, figuring as the bigger target, she’d be easier to hit.
6 chapters, created 1 month
, updated 1 month
0
0
550
Subscribe 
