The penultimate installment in  mrgoat's commission! Possum stoner gets huge via video game-possessing demon.

Characters ©  mrgoat
Story © c'est moi

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Rooster flopped down with a heavy groan, collapsing on his couch. No one has ever had the ambition of being a dishwasher, and Rooster was no different. The restaurant he worked at was popular, busy, and the food was lathered in rich sauces and spices, which meant cleaning the dishes was no small effort. His boss was certainly nice enough, but still, the possum’s only solace from his mind-numbing occupation was playing video games with his friends; a couple named Chester and Cyrus, a goat named Boxer, and Molly, a large German shepherd. However, his friends seemed oddly absent as of late. Cyrus and Chester simply sent a text alluding to not being able to find enough pizza, Molly was complaining about, what she had termed, an “allergic reaction,” and Boxer was out of town. Rooster felt bored already, but then, he remembered he had one more solace to take refuge in; a small plastic bag he kept hidden behind the couch filled with “medicinal herbs.”

One hour and a frankly irresponsible amount of Rooster’s “medicinal herbs,” and the possum was practically comatose. His lanky frame was sprawled out on the couch, and he was absent mindedly staring at strands of his long, brown hair, musing about how he can have both hair and fur at the same time. His television and X-box were on, idle animations playing on the console’s main menu, but as Rooster was engrossed with his own fingers at the moment, he didn’t realize the small, purple sprite moving around his screen, rustling through his folders. Rooster was brought out of his reverie with a single beep on the screen; a window had popped up, informing him there was a new download waiting for him.

“Akami no Haobi-Daoken? Some free Japanese shit? Right on, man…” He mumbled, accepting the download and then slumping back on to his couch. Weaving in and out of consciousness, it took him a couple of minutes to react to the electronic ping that told him the game was downloaded.

But then he noticed there was a purple, demonic reptile knocking on his TV screen. Rooster stared at the creature, blinking his bleary eyes, and then snatched up his “medicinal herbs.”

“Did I take the wrong shit?” he mumbled, peering down at the bag.

“You didn’t! Hi, I’m Baelian!” the purple reptile waved from the screen in a chipper voice.

“Uh…” Rooster cocked his head. “Are you like… my conscience or guardian angel or something like that shit?”

Baelian blinked. “No…? But I would like to play a game! And you look like someone who likes to play games, right?”

“Yeah, little purple man, I’m totally down!” Rooster grinned, his eyes slowly losing focus on Baelian.
“Great! Wonderful…” Baelian snaked his way around the X-box menu, shuffling through the possum’s game collection. “How about… Ah! You like Call of Duty?”

“Yeah, man, cool.”

“Battlefront?”

“Yeah!”

“Medal of Honor?”

“Duh, purple dude.”

Baelian smiled, “Then I think I have something that’ll be just perfect for you…”

The screen went to black, and then loaded a new menu- on a war-torn field with a German tank flipped on its side, the words “Battle of the Bulge” were written out in huge, cast iron letters, with tattered American, British, and German flags. In the corner, Baelian popped his scaly head.

“Here! A hyper-realistic re-creation of one of the biggest battles in World War II… with even better maps than the latest Call of Duty game. The best graphics and combat on the market! Ready to play?” Baelian asked.

“Yeah, dude, sounds righteous.” Rooster mumbled, still more than a little high.

And a good thing he was, too, or otherwise, the possum may have suddenly asked why it looked and felt that he was actually at the Battle of the Bulge, dressed in an American infantry uniform he was clearly too small for and carrying a rifle and bayonet. But, Baelian was there to reassure him it was just the effect of how good the graphics were and how immersive the game was. “It’s like you’re really there!” “Woah dude, totally.”

The possum hadn’t taken two steps, however, before he heard a heavy German accent shout “ACHTUNG!” and then his field of vision was smeared with what appeared to be strawberry jam trying to pass for blood.

“Oh no!” Baelian cried, trying his hardest to look surprised. “You’ve been shot! Quick, grab an MRE!”

The reptile pointed to a package wrapped in brown paper that was floating an inch or so off the ground and slowly turning, the words “U.S. Army Rations D” stamped on it. Rooster staggered over it, and he heard a small ringing sound as he walked over it.

“Is this… chocolate, purple dude?” Rooster asked. He could swear he could taste it.

“Uhm… sure! But it’s not enough- you still need more! Quick, there’s another one!” Baelian pointed to another brown package, “But watch out for enemy soldiers!”

“Uh… yeah, dude, right.” Rooster dropped down on to the ground, and crawled his way to the MRE. “Mm, purple dude, should I be tasting this stuff? Or am I just like… so high?” Rooster chuckled; the MRE had to be macaroni and cheese. Had to be.

“Never mind that, you’re about to be-” “ACTHUNG!” And there was another shot. The red jam was back, splattered all over Rooster’s field of vision again. “Oh no!” Baelian held up his arms in shock, “You’ve been shot again! Quick, find another MRE!”

Rooster crawled his way to another one; when he reached it, he was definitely tasting something. Apple pie?

“Dude, I dunno, this game is a trip… maybe I should set it down ‘til I’m like… not high?” Rooster said.

“There’s no time! You don’t want the Germans to win, do you?”

The possum mustered up his courage, frowning, “What? No way, dude. They’re like… super lame.” He rolled his narrow shoulders, and crawled his way through the battlefield to the next MRE.

“Dude, that’s totally chocolate.”

“Keep going! You need more!” Baelian urged.

Rooster didn’t notice that his once too-big uniform was filling out; his belly, stuffed with rations, was stretching the tan cloth taut, and his bulging middle was dragging against the ground as he crawled. Only, Baelian wasn’t pointing out the MRE’s anymore; in fact, Rooster hadn’t even been shot for about fifteen minutes, now.

Baelian cocked his head, watching Rooster shuffle after another MRE. “You do know you haven’t been shot for a while, right?” The reptilian creature was watching the possum with a bemused look; none of the others had been so… eager as him. He barely needed any prodding.

“Dude, like… do you know how much stuff I smoked? Like… I’ve got munchies for ages, dude.” Rooster said, collecting another MRE. “Man, the chocolate ones are like… the best. I could eat them forever.”

“Good to know…” Baelian noted, watching the possum go after more food. This was new territory for him; most of the time, he had to prod people up to the very end, but Rooster… Rooster seemed perfectly content to just eat, no games or distractions needed.

The reptile quietly followed the possum for what seemed like hours; when this was over, a mere few seconds would’ve passed in the real world, but the effects… the effects might be going further than Baelian intended. He lost track of the possum after some time, and confused him, for the briefest moment, for a German tank.

“Alright, so… think you’ve had enough? You’re at full health… don’t you want to save them for later?”

Rooster groaned as he dragged his over-fed belly, now spilling out of his uniform, across the ground, thickened arms and legs digging and wobbling as he reached out for another MRE. “Duuuude… but like… I’m still hungry, man!”

“I… Uh…” Baelian was actually rendered speechless as he watched the ever-expanding possum wobble after another MRE. Perhaps it was time to call it quits.

“So! Congratulations!” Baelian snapped his fingers, and a huge, over-decorated graphic reading “VICTORY!” flashed in front of Rooster, “You won!”

Rooster grunted, and shuffled his way past the Victory graphic, grabbing out with pudgy fingers to grab at another MRE.

“Uh… did you hear me?”

“Duuuude, like… later, I’m still hungry.”

Baelian frowned, “No, the game’s over. We’re done.”

The possum actually whined, “But I’ve got the munchies still, man!”

“Don’t worry, you can have a snack later, but right now…” Baelian snapped his fingers, and the digital world began to dissolve… only, Rooster wasn’t going anywhere.

“What.”

The purple reptile stared as the dimensions of Rooster’s television screen appeared, and promptly squeezed around his augmented frame.

Rooster struggled, still trying to grasp for one last MRE. “Duuuuude, I’m stuck!”

Baelian watched the thick folds of fat wobble as Rooster struggled, and then pushed up against his heaving flank, over-sized blubber pushing down on him as he tried shoving the possum through. With one mighty heave no one would expect from the diminutive Baelian, a solid half-ton of possum lard fell down on to the floor of Rooster’s living room with a resounding “Whump!”

Rooster shook his head, cheeks wobbling as he did. What just happened? He rubbed his head, blinking at his television screen, the X-box menu’s idle animations still playing on it.

“Dude… that was one crazy high.” He mumbled. The possum’s legs kicked uselessly at the air, and his sausage fingers groped blindly at the floor; he had to lean his extreme girth to the side, but only just slightly, to grab a bag of potato chips. The possum’s clothes were long gone; it didn’t matter. When one’s belly swallows up the entire lap, forcing his thunder-thigh legs apart where he sat, modesty is no longer a concern. As he fidgeted, his belly sloshed and jiggled, a great, massive, gelatinous dome of flesh. No part of his formerly lanky frame had been spared; his fat face rested on multiple chins, thick rolls of fat which themselves rested on a soft, sagging chest literally the size and shape of pillows. The folds in his back, trailing down to over-huge love handles, shifted with the slightest moment. Rooster, his mind still fried from the evening’s event so far, saw absolutely nothing wrong with this; all that was really important to him was that he still felt hungry. Trying to stand up got him nothing beyond his armchair-sized rump wobbling from trying to move his legs into an upright position, but it was fine- for now, at least. He grabbed at his phone, lodged in one of his fat folds, and ordered Chinese.

“Dude, just, like… bring me one of everything. And there’s a key under the mat… I’m not gonna be able to come to the door, man.”