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An answer to that rhetorical question would come in an unexpected burst of smoke that engulfed the unprepared mutant. Desmond yipped, slowly lowering the milk carton as he blinked in a blind daze to reorganize his thoughts. As the smoke cleared, he could tell immediately a lot of things were off. Most notably being the way his hips and thighs felt a lot more bloated, while at the same time gravity pulled at two increasing weights across his chest.

A commission done by the incredible, edible after she asked me to help fund her trip to MFF. The idea came from randomly farting around with my master,