Deep, rolling laughter bounced off of the white tiles, creating a suffocating blanket of sound over everyone in the room. Nurses and guards stood gargoyle still, Vásquez, a towering gorgon sat in her lair, victims around her turned to stone. From a distance, her wavey, black hair could have been mistaken for coils of snakes, they jiggling around her shoulders as she cackled. Smith was stuck in marble too, staring at the beast he'd empowered, jaw tight. The hairs on the back of his neck stood perfectly straight, ice sweat dampening the vest under his shirt, making his skin slick. Earlier he'd said that he wasn't explicitly planned on killing the giant bitch. That was true, however, a part of him had hoped it might happen.

Of all the demented women in this prison, why did she have to respond so well to the serum? A brutish, selfish, demanding, rude, ignorant, bitch. From the moment he'd laid eyes on her file, he'd hated her. Interacting with her was infuriating. Beneath him. This whole fucking position was beneath him. A terrible assignment out in the middle of an arrid hellhole where life itself shouldn't have been possible. Shit food, shit people, shit weather, and, above all else, the injustice that it was him that had drawn the short straw. So yes, a part of him did want her to die.

He couldn't do anything as black and white as that though. She was far too valuable to the research, displaying results that no one in the original lab trial had even come close to. From the outset she'd been breaking records. Now she'd guzzled down a triple dose. The projections and mathematics indicated that Vásquez shouldn't have been able to handle it.

A triple dose was the last ditch attempt of putting her in her place. Death had been a stark possibility, at the very least undiluted torture. Unbearable pain leaving her a sputtering, convulsing, crying mess, begging for it to stop. He wanted to drag her lofty attitude back down to earth in his closed fist, shrink her bloated ego down to a more manageable size. But that hadn't happened at all.

It had backfired, the opposite taking place instead. He'd just propelled her into an even more unstoppable monster. To see her not just survive, but thrive on the purple substance was beyond disturbing. No one had been so attuned to G37, growing so much, practically willing the transformation faster. Her resonant laughter engulfed him, chilling him to his bones. It compounded everything, making  reality feel like a mirage. A bad fever dream. A nightmare.

Vásquez casually extended her legs, thighs expanding, taking only a few seconds to dismantle the two remaining restraints on her ankles. It took a few attempts to unbuckle the leather holding her slender waist to the chair due to how tight it was. The last strap over her left bicep was ruptured and split with little effort, and Vásquez was free to rise to her full, inhuman height.

Her head thudded hard against the nine foot ceiling. "Ugh!" She grumbled and let her short fuse burn away. It would be unbelievable to many but she'd actually been bottling up her anger in front of Smith for the past few weeks, worried that if she went too far she'd be taken out of the experiment. Now she felt untouchable. She was free to be herself. "Fucking ceiling!" A fist the size of a sledge hammer rocketed upwards into the smooth, white above her. The entire room quaked, plaster and dust showering down on everyone. Finger thick cracks radiated out from the epicenter of the caved in ground zero, reaching out to stop only a few feet from the walls. She smirked, blowing debris off of her knuckles. She hadn't even punched that hard...

Her smirk fell as she looked passed her unscathed knuckles, focus drawn to the mirror across from her. She hadn't seen her reflection in a mirror this large for over two weeks. Stood here, lights from various angles highlighting her body, she stared at herself. Seeing the whole image and not just tiny rectangles of it made the surreal changes click together.

She looked like a sculpture, a main attraction in a museum exhibition, a statue created to depict a member of a pantheon from a long dead artist. Muscle. Swells, bundles, cords, slabs all over her body, strength pouring off of her. She'd always been lean before, never particularly curvy, but the G37 had changed that. Every dose augmented the ground work she'd done. Years of forcing her appetite larger was bolstered by the serum, increasing how ravenous she could become, evolving her metabolism and changing her bone structure. More fat on her frame, dizzying curves had blossomed, balancing out the raw power. Together they made a spellbinding package. She liked it. Jennifer and Trish behind the glass watched Vásquez, the former in entranced fascination and the latter in stomach churning dread.

She bent at the waist, breasts hanging pendulously, bringing her face into view. She inspected herself. The rags hanging off of her, formerly clothes, were torn away, uncovering more golden skin, streaked with a pale dusting of plaster. She squeezed one breast, smiling wide and running her tongue over her canines, fingers sinking deep. Her expression softened back into contemplation and, gently, she grazed her fingers over the capped swell of muscle in her shoulder, cleaning away some of the white, chalky dust.

The sound of a car engine starting filled the room, demanding everyone's attention. Vásquez straightened up more slowly this time, avoiding the ceiling. Her contemplative expression was gone, replaced by her typical smugness. "I just ate lunch and I'm already starving again?" Playfully she smacked her abs. Looking to the petrified staff against the back room, she waited for a response. "I'm hungry." She said more flatly. No one moved. "I said I'm hungry." She was more forceful this time, expecting the tiny little nurses to scurry away and bring their number one subject some much needed nutrition. Another fuse was rapidly being singed to nothing as the forest of statues remained unmoving. It fizzled away completely.

"Hey, assholes!" She clapped her hands, conjuring thunder, stomping closer to the group. "I'm fucking talking to you!" That was enough to kick start fight or flight in most of the group. Nurses scattered and the over zealous guards that had been all too happy to attack Jennifer and Trish earlier went back to their regular programming. Hit first, ask questions never.

Vásquez wasn't being blindsided though, and even in a relatively cramped space for the giantess, she flitted backwards, batons slicing through the air where she'd been.

The guards fanned out, trying to surround her, as they'd been trained to do. She sprung forwards, back muscles dancing in the theatrical lighting, a fist coming down on one man, grounding him in a single blow. He didn't get up. He didn't move.

Batons rained down on her back and legs, guards taking the small window of her dropped guard for all they could. To Vásquez, it may well have been rain, splashing against her body in droplets.  

They backed away as she turned to face them, laughter again tumbling out of her. "Aw, I like it rougher than that, boys. Don't be scared to put your back into it." The taunt obviously touched a nerve. One switched to his taser, stabbing at Vásquez ferociously. She dodged deftly, slipping the motions and unfurling back up. It was almost the exact same motion she'd used against Hilda. But this time the fist that came up into the man's side was a battering ram. It forced him off the floor, blowing him up and back. He groaned, curling up on the ground, not realising the onslaught wasn't over. A foot came down like lightning, eliciting a nauseating crunch. The scream that came out him was loud and animalistic. He tried to push up against the foot but it was an impossible task. She was pressing all of her weight and more down onto him, foot diagonally pressing down on his chest, heel at his belt and toes nearly at his shoulder. Vásquez looked giddy, grin stretched across her face as her leg grew, flexing thicker and driving more force into the twig like bones below.

The man would have been snuffed out like a candle if she'd continued. Too preoccupied sadistically enjoying his pain, she missed the two other guards approaching.

They both barreled into her from behind, knocking her forwards, off of the prone man. Pressing their advantage, they continued their team work, one tasering Vásquez in her cobble stone obliques, just under a row of skulls, while the other hacked at her with his baton.

This tree couldn't be felled, no matter how much he hacked at her side and legs. The tasering had made her torso harden into steel but, after the pain of a triple dose, it didn't have the same mind numbing effect it used to. Or, more likely, the fact that Vásquez was 9'3, over 700lbs, and built sturdier than many buildings meant the taser's voltage could only slow her down.

She ignored the guard with the baton and, fighting against muscles that were trying to sieze up, she reached for the other man. Her fist swallowed the guard's, including the taser it contained. She slowly pulled his arm up. Taser's kiss left her skin and she was free. A bone shattering elbow swung up at the other guard, forcing his head to spin around and his body to fold like paper. That had been surgical. Business before the fun and games.

The last plaything was an animal trapped in a snare hand engulfed by the giantess. Frantically pulling, tugging and flailing, his punches and kicks richocheted off of the wall before him. Panic seeped into his very being as he sensed the swelling murderous intent coming off of the predator.

"N-no, please." He begged. The thin smile he recieved in response sent a shiver through him. Vásquez closed her hand. The sound of a dry branch splintering filled ears. He pulled and tugged harder, screaming, crying.

The vice closed harder, veins rising on her forearms as muscles swelled. The man fell to his knees. Smith looked ashen, watching his men be dismantled. "Enough!" He shouted, hoarsely, barely audible over the last guard.

Vásquez's head turned in his direction, eyes burning bright, face cast in shadow by the curtain of hair. She had to angle her head down, shoulders curved so she didn't press against the ceiling.

She closed her fist. The noises were no longer human. They rose an octone and then ceased, guard going limp, dangling from her hand, probably in shock. She let him drop.

The hulking mass lumbered forwards, each step subtly shaking the ground. She stood directly in front of Smith, lights behind her casting her shadow impossibly big, gobbling him and even the cowering nurses behind him up. He was face to face with a wall of breathing rocks, eyes level with her top few abs. "What now?" She asked, leaning forwards and forcing Smith to semi-limbo. Limbo. That's exactly what he was in now. Stuck between authority and powerlessness. "You gonna call your riot boys? Think they'd get here before I'm done with you?" She purred, booping his nose with the end of a digit much thicker than a roll of quarters.

Smith swallowed and cleared his throat. "I was actually thinking I'd send one of these nurses with you to the nearby canteen. We'll, get you fed and have some clothes sent to you.... If we can find some."

Vásquez raised her eyebrows,  tilting her head slightly. Ruby lips, tilting up just slightly, parted,  "good answer." She patted his bald head condescendingly,  like he was a puppy who had finally mastered peeing outside. "One of them needs to hurry up. Now." She pointed over his shoulder without looking, smouldering gaze affixed to Smith.

Smith stepped back, snapping around and pointed to a random nurses. "You. Go with her now. I'll send someone to relieve you as soon as I can."

The nurse eventually accepted her fate and ran by Vásquez, towards the exit. Only then was the stare broken. "Good." was all she said. Following the woman through the war torn room, she stopped at the tiny door. It was miniscule compared to her now, proving to be a slight issue. She had to bend over almost in half to get through, and when she did, her hips got jammed in the doorway, too wide for the frame. Her chuckling echoed down the halls, not needing to carry through the speaker for Jennifer and Trish to hear it. It took some wriggling but the latina freed herself, disappearing to fill her bottomless appetite.

No one spoke for a while, letting the events hang in the air.

"I can't believe you wanted to save that."  Spat a disgusted Trish, not even referring to Vásquez as a person anymore.  

"Look she's -"

The speaker crackled to life,  Smith speaking. "I need a medical team to room 189, repeat, medical unit to 189. Now. Over." He had a hand on his forehead. "Fuck. This turned into a mess." His voice carried a smidge of regret. "We're going to have to up our security for her next dose....  Maybe get in some cattle prods."

"Next dose, sir?" One of the nurses said, voice wobbling, worried by the proposition.

"Yeah, the boys back home will be having a field day." He nodded to the camera which must have been shut down at some point. "My hands are going to be tied. Shit, they might even ship Vásquez out of here for recruitment."

Trish and Jennifer looked at each other, amazed. In all the chaos Smith must have forgotten they were there listening in.

"Well, at least Jones will be happy that we have data on multiple doses." Another nurse spoke quietly. She sounded tearful. "Even if she didn't agree with how we got it."

"She doesn't have the stomach to follow through on her research.  We moved the entire thing here to appease her morality and she's still causing issues." Smith tutted. He looked to the fractured reflection of himself. His eyes widened then as his memory of the two inmates returned. He snapped his fingers at the nurses to cut any further conversation. "One of you go and release those two." He thrust a thumb at the mirror. "I'll get a guard to meet you in there. First, I need a paracetamol." He groaned, pushing his fingers into his eyes, tripping over a body on his way to the door.

"Boys back home?" Trish whispered.

"Cattle prods?" Jennifer returned fire.

"Fuck that, who the fuck are the boys back home!" The words jumbled into one, Trish's mouth trying to keep pace with her brain. Another piece to the puzzle.

Her excitement zoned Jennifer in too. "He said 'recruitment', so this is definetly military, right?"

"Yeah, and someone high up enough to scrub a murdering gang banger's record clean too."

"Fuck, do you think they're CIA?"

"CIA shit, testing drugs? Some MKU-" The latch on the door clicked, both women's heads whipping around. Neither could see who entered until they walked into view.

It was Jackson and one of the nurses. He tried to stay stern and calm but seeing the medical teams next door, already working on the other guards, made him pause. Walking over, he placed a hand on the cracked mirror. Brightly uniformed men and women were tending to the wounded, loading the injured into stretchers, administering CPR to the man who had been crushed underfoot. "What the fuck happened?" He breathed.

"Vásquez." Trish said. "Vásquez happened." Jackson turned to face her skin a sickly pallid off white. It was easy to understand why. The giant latina probably still held onto her grudge from a few weeks ago.

The women were returned to the general population. Quickly, they headed to the library. Together, not bothering to pretend their usual ruse, more interested in discussing what they'd just overheard.

In the library, Jennifer started talking first. "Why did they talk about nurse Jones like that?" She hadn't registered it upon first hearing her name, but after processing the conversation on their walk back, realised they'd glossed over a detail.

"That's the small nurse, right? They said it was her research. It was moved here because of her."

"Because of her morality... Fuck." Jennifer answered her own question before she even asked it. "Smith said science requires sacrifice. She didn't want random people dying for her research."

"So... They moved it here. Killing inmates. Worthless people. Us." Trish finished, pursing her lips in anger, injustice stoking up a rage in her.

"Well...  She still didn't want to give Vásquez the triple." Jennifer tried to defend the tiny nurse. Throughout their interactions Jennifer had felt compassion and empathy from the woman. There was no way she was fine with what was going on.

"Yeah, well, fuck her anyway. Fuck 'em all." Trish said, bitterly. Seeing her like this made Jennifer's heart hurt. The bubbly, happy Southern woman wearing a mask of anger. Beneath the mask was pain and sadness.  

Trish ran her finger along a row of textbooks, pulling out the volume on the American legal system, expression souring further. That textbook was the one she'd been reading for weeks. She'd read through any and all legal textbooks in the library, in a bid to better equip herself in getting out of here. Jennifer had tried to decode the legal babble, giving up and abandoning the jargon filled tome. Trish never did. "You know the evidence in my case was inadmissible?"

Jennifer looked from the hefty textbook to Trish. "No, I didn't." She hadn't known much besides the fact that it had been a drug bust.

"Yep, my 'legal counsel' conveniently forgot to mention they broke in before they got a warrant. It was all bullshit. Fuck, I didn't even want that shit in my house." Trish licked her bottom lip, pulling it in and digging her teeth into it. "Now I'm in some fucked up secret CIA shit that may or may not KILL me." She slammed the book back in, making the entire shelf rock back, teetering. Jennifer jumped forward to grab it, stopping it from crashing to the ground but not fast enough to stop some books sliding out from the other side.

Consoling words were  On the tip of her tongue when a sound made her ears twitch. Hurried, hushed footsteps. The walls had ears.

Jennifer took large, long strides around the bookshelves, rushing to see who had been eavesdropping, but wasn't fast enough. She glimpsed a swatch of orange through the safety glass on the double doors, missing the spy as they went around the corner.

Fuck. "We need to go." Darting back to Trish, who was still stewing in her past, Jennifer grabbed hold of her hand. "What're you doing!?" Trish asked as she was pulled towards the double doors.  

"Someone was here. They were spying on us." Jennifer explained.

"What? Who?!"

"I don't know, another inmate. We need to go. They might not have seen us, just heard us." She didn't have a clue who could be listening in, but the persistent feeling of being watched in the library began to make sense. "Maybe it was Lobos. O-or Nation? Or maybe Smith has spies in the inmates."

Trish stopped, easily grinding Jennifer to a halt. She hadn't thought of the latter. "They don't have to be mutually exclusive." She said, frowning. Could the red clad women really trust anyone?

But double agents eavsedropping was the least of their worries. Since Trish had been crowned a 'nuke', there had been a bullseye on her back. "I really don't give a shit if nation know I'm talkin' to you. But if Lobos or K13, find us here we're boxed in." Trish started moving again, hands still interlocked with Jennifer. To Jennifer it felt like she was holding the reins of some wild bronco, her shoulder almost ripped from the socket. They left the library together, parting ways and splitting up.

The blonde went straight back to her cell, a new wave of paranoia setting in. She gave a quick greeting to Rachel, who was candy crushing on her phone, and dove onto the mattress. Fumbling a hand into the slit, Jennifer struggled to remain nonchalant as she checked for the ID card. A relieved sigh escaped her when her fingers met the plastic nestled in the padding.

Reclining onto the bed, she eased into a more relaxed position, folding her hands behind her head and stretching. The dark plastic on her plimsolls clanged against the metallic frame, heel slipping off the edge of the bed. Jennifer leaned up to look down her long body. An impish grin returned, paranoia forgotten.

On the examination bed, before the growth, she'd tried to dangle her feet off the edge of the bed, arching and shimmying lower. The bunk was far narrower than that bed, cramped due to the bunk above, but the length was the same. Yet now, she didn't need to even try. Experimentally, she laid back down, head hitting the thin, firm pillow, body straight on the slab of rock mattress. She titled her head up, to see the wall was incredibly close, feet still just hanging over the edge of the bed. She was too big. She was officially too big for the bed.

The blonde squealed quietly. A red braid swung down before Rachel's chubby, freckled face followed. "You alright down there?"

Jennifer swung her legs out and dodged Rachel as she crawled out of the bottom bunk. "Everything's fine."

Ice blue eyes glinted with understanding at the sight of Jennifer standing straight. "Aw, fuck me you all had another dose?"

"Can you get down?" Rachel rolled her eyes, stuffing the phone under the pillow. She used the ladder, not vaulting over the edge as Jennifer's recent bunkmate had done.

The biker looked unimpressed at the new, improved, enlarged cell mate. Craning back even further than an hour ago she shook her hands jazzily, "woooow." She said. "Between you, Trish and Jessica Imma get a neck ache."

"How much do you weigh?"

"Uhhhh... A big ol' nun-ya-fuckin-business." Rachel replied, sensitively.

"Ugh, come on, Rachel, I'm probably heavier than you now anyway. It's just a number!"

"Why do you even want to kn-" Jennifer did a 180, crouching down in front of Rachel, red overalls pulled taunt around her ass. It was a reflex to stare at the curved globes for just a moment but it still made Rachel's already pinkish complexion more red.

"Hop on, I wanna do some squats."

"No way, I don't wa-"

"Rachel, either you get on or I'm picking you up while you try to run your fat ass away." The chunky woman was agape. The former midget, whom she'd bullied, could probably deliver on the threat at her current size. Begrudgingly, she closed her mouth and climbed on, internally cursing herself for her initial bitchiness towards the blonde.

The statuesque woman had to keep her face forwards, staring at the cracked tiles and the mould dotted grit. She was biting back a laugh, trying not to be too smugly satisfied directly to the redheads face.

Rachel's arms looped around her neck, then the cushioned softness of her curves pressed into Jennifer's back. Rachel was amazed by how firm and wide her cell mate's back had become. Traps like hand holds on a rock climbing wall flexed under her forearms. Jennifer cupped the woman's legs and jostled her upwards further, causing a tiny squeak. Rachel's whole body has been jumbled upwards along the back.

Straightening up made the muscles beneath the freckled woman flex in a wave from bottom to top. "See! You're not that heavy!" Jennifer giggled, dropping into the first squat a tad too enthusiastically. Rachel's grip tightened around her neck.

Rising and falling quickly, the chubby woman gripped harder and harder, terrified on the new rollercoaster experience. Muscles pumped fuller, thicker, as Jennifer eagerly churned the reps higher. She caught herself then and remembered what Vásquez had said. Form. Slower is better. Taking the advice on board, she straightened her back, stuck her butt further out and continued slowly. Now it began to burn, but, this was still easier than she'd thought it would be. "I was squatting like 120lbs yesterday. It feels about the same with you on my back."

Rachel scoffed. "Jen, I weigh much more than that." Her stomach jiggled against Jennifer's back as she gave a short laugh. "How long are you gonna keep this up?" That last part sounded more exasperated.

The blonde ignored the second sentence, focusing on the mystery contained in the first. "Much more?" She pressed. Looking down at the overalls stretched tight over her quads, she admired her own gains. She could do this all day. "I'll stop earlier if you tell me." She sang, negotiating while continuing to do reps.

She didn't need to see the woman perched on her back to feel thr resolve crumbling. Rachel really didn't like being lifted, especially by her cell mate who had been a foot shorter and much meeker less than a month ago. How long could she stay tight lipped?

Through the dark bars of the cell, a commotion could be heard. Bursts of shouting and wolf whistles. Both women were intrigued by the foreign sounds. Bending slightly, Jennifer tapped on Rachel's chunky thigh, "alright, I'll stop." Loosening her grip, the redhead slipped down and back to earth, thankful to be on solid ground.

"What's going on?" Rachel asked, strolling over to the bars, peering out. Jennifer did the same, gripping the metal and pressing her cheek against it's cool surface to look down the long corridor. She had a feeling she knew what was happening.

Vásquez had returned. Her fellow gang mates were whipped up into a frezny, all shouting, catcalling and joking with her. They were purposefully drawing people's attention to her. To her new, even more hope crushing size. Mental warfare. Perhaps it hadn't started that way but that was exactly what it was now. An infectious wave of excitement transferred cell to cell, making the Lobos wild.

Looking out across to other cells there was a mixture of reactions. Fear, dread and disbelief. However, the most worrying faces were the ones with a malicious resolve gradually brewing behind them, zebra striped by shadows. Angry eyes and determined faces, quietly watching through the bars. Jennifer couldn't imagine the intensity of that many eyes, that many faces, that much hate all coming down on one person. The air was growing heavier, pressure building before a storm. And in the eye of the storm was Vásquez, walking through the hall, hands bound by multiple zip ties, spaced out along her wrists and forearms.

The holding cells lined both walls of the narrow hall. Walking through the space between them was like a gangplank, flanked by eyes, on display for everyone. Every inmate had a clear view of her, even the ones on the second floor, watching through the metal grates of gangways. The ceiling rivalled that of the canteen, safety glass letting the setting sun's orange glow light the space. The high ceiling meant this hall was one of the small, and shrinking, number of places where Vásquez could stand comfortably. She was taking full advantage of it, walking with a military posture, straight, tall and displaying her transformation to the fullest. Equally unfazed by the joking and catcalling as she was with those watchering her with darker thoughts, she didn't smile or acknowledge friends. Instead, she was using an internal radar, picking up on those that were casting hatred down at her. She met their eyes one by one, unwavering as she did, memorising faces for later. She looked to be having equally mean thoughts, face betraying her mind.

Her mood starkly contrast the clothes she'd been given. She looked like an 80s fitness model. A humungous vest and pair of shorts, probably some custom outfit for an insanely obese inmate of the past, was all they'd found. There was a lot of skin on show. Shorts turned into tight daisy dukes, wrapped around her ass like a second skin, thighs forcing the hem into a life or death struggle with every movement.

The vest tented outwards by jutting slopes of perky breast. From the nipples down it hung loosely, a waterfall cascading off of her chest. It ended about six inches above her waistband, abs on half display. Arousal crept up on Jennifer, her heart rate steadily increasing. Thinking about it now, she reasoned that the cat calling probably started as light teasing from the inmates, due to the skimpy clothing, a sight not often seen here.

Vásquez passed Jennifer's cell and snapped her eyes to the blonde. Holding eye contact for a few heart beats that stretched on for days, then gone. When the look finally broke Vásquez returned to looking for prey. Rachel gave a wry laugh. "I take it that was for you?"

The returning giant had stayed almost completely emotionless as they stared at one another. But she could read Jennifer like a book. She could sense the yearning from the blonde to let her eyes wander over the temptions below. A lighting flash wink and a phantom of an upturned edge on her lips was all it took. That tiny gesture was, Jennifer was ashamed to say, enough for her knees to weaken. "Yeah, I guess so." She replied, still unsure of how to feel about Vásquez. Her thoughts were disturbed by her cell mate.

"Shit, I thought you were getting big. That... That's not a human size." Rachel leaned against the bars, peering down the other end of the hall, eyes following Vásquez. Both women did, until the jeering quieted and Vásquez was gone from sight. The static pressure didn't pass as swiftly, an unnatural silence forming.

Inmates settled back into their bunks, myriad thoughts coming forth as they all burnt time, waiting their next meal and some freedom. Minutes became hours and sounds returned outside. Rachel went back to her phone, a subdued buzzing signfied a message. "Oh fuck."

Jennifer propped herself up onto her elbows. "What?"

"K13...  They, um... They might be creating a truce with the Nation." Vásquez wading through the metaphorical river, down the middle of the cell block, had created ripples. Turns out the conversation Jennifer had overheard in the canteen was off the mark. The largest gang in the prison had just sided with the third largest, and by extension, with the Niners. The Lobos, and Vásquez, were now alone. Once again, things were changing in the prison, the fragile balance swinging to and thro. There would be a lot of violence soon.

The cells opened and inmates were called out to check attendance. Jennifer easily picked Vásquez, Trish and Jessica out of the line. They stood out, towering over most of their surrounding inmates. Selina was harder to pinpoint. Then again, knowing her, she could still be in her bunk, snoozing. These four women and herself were sending the prison into a free fall. Jennifer's stomach tightened as everyone was dismissed, allowed to move freely. She expected immediate chaos, a battlezone erupting in the hall. Gangs spilling into a riot, rivers of blood.

It didn't happen. Everything was.... Normal. Inmates, grouped by prisoner number, going to get food, others milled about doing duties or gossiping, playing cards, watching TV, calling people. It was an unexpected but welcome turn of events.

She noticed Vásquez heading to the canteen. Trish was talking to a group of Nation inmates, Jessica going over to join them. Jennifer defaulted to follow Vásquez, knowing she couldn't join the other group to chat, despite wanting to listen in. Besides, she still had a deep set worry that the new alliance might have some after shocks tonight.

Fluorescent lights replaced the sunlight in the canteen, sun finally having dipped below the horizon and temperatures cooling off. Guards lined the gangway above, pacing back and forth, footsteps part of the soundtrack in the bustling room. Vásquez opened the double doors, stooping low to access the space. She sauntered along the line of inmates waiting for food, dwarfing everyone. Awed faces turned upwards to look at the woman, like they were seeing some exotic animal in real life for the first time. It was truly amazing seeing her mingle with the regular sized women. On average they were level with her belly button, some just coming up to her hips.

She reached the front of the queue, cutting in and using her hip to bump away whoever had been next, sending them back a few feet. No one argued, having better sense than to start a fight with someone almost double their height.

Vásquez clicked her fingers, beckoning with a finger for food. She was presented with a huge pot of whatever was being served. Even with the gargantuan offering, the behemoth was displeased. Jennifer couldn't make out the entire conversation, but from what she could gather, Smith must have forgotten to up Vásquez's allotted calories,  leaving her with the same amount of food as before.

The pot was probably enough to feed two or three tables of women... Enough to feed a seven foot plus Vásquez, but not enough to satisfy her hunger now. However, she relented, taking the pot, evidently too hungry to argue. Maria awaited her, sat at their regular table. The tables in the canteen were long, low to the ground and foldable. They were great for seating large numbers of people with the frame connecting stools to the table itself. Great for seating average sized people, anyway.

Crouching down, Vásquez crammed her legs under the table, resting her weight across two stools. The entire structure was forced in two directions, the tabletop was pushed up by cannon ball knees, the stools and the steel connecting them were crushed down by a set of hips that could flatten a man. The whole table shook and  jolted, making those seated grasp at their trays and drinks, frightened they'd be thrown to the ground. Vásquez dropped her pot with a clang and straightened her legs, threading them through the gaps between those opposite. She was cartoonishly squished into the seat.

The blonde joined the back of the food line, not having the political sway or physical indimidation of Vásquez. Her eyes were glued to the table of wolves, waiting to see if things were going to escalate or not. The ravenous titan was a tornado of gluttony, using a serving spoon to ferry food into greedy mouth at ungodly speeds. The massive steel utensil held huge heaps of food, entire servings for regular mortals, but mouthfuls for the behemoth. In Vásquez's catcher mitt it looked small.

Body language on the table grew tense over the next minutes, shoulders rounding and vicious hand movements. The conversation was becoming heated while Vásquez  feasted. Emerald eyes flicked from one gang general to the other, trying to figure out what was being said. The gravity of the situation was really ground home when Vásquez's serving spoon stopped dead in the air, halfway on one of it's journeys to her mouth. Head turned to Maria, her food filled cheeks didn't detract from the fearsome look on her face. She was motionless staring at the leader, scanning her face, trying to gauge if she were joking. After gulping down the cheek bloating mouthful she started speaking. It must have been in Spanish and incredibly rapid as Jennifer couldn't make any sense lip reading.

More heated talking followed. The line for food shortened and the inmate behind Jennifer brought the fact to her attention, in a less than polite manner. She told her to 'move fucking forwards,' to be precise. She did, shuffling towards the serving window. By the time she looked back Vásquez was scraping the bottom of her pot, finishing off the meal. What had she missed in those seconds? How had the pot been devoured that quickly?!  

The rest of the gang at the table were still talking, still heated. The pot dropped to the table loudly, drawing attention from around the canteen and cutting the bickering on the table short. The inmates grabbed the table, trying to steady themselves and their food as the force of nature moved. The leviathan was untangling herself from the table. Maria and the other Lobos, still holding on for dear life, were chattering in a flurry to Vásquez.

She didn't respond. She extracted her legs from the steel, pulling one free at a time, jostling the table more. Once loose, she began walking, brandishing the serving spoon like a mace. Down the long path walled in by tables, she went, thighs and hips filling the space completely. Anyone in her way had to move, forced to dodge into the cracks and crevasses between tables, or be trampled.

Hushed whispers descended over the canteen, all eyes moving to the colossal woman making her way into K13 territory. A member of the gang stood, bravely trying to bar her entry to the area. But as the giant grew closer, the massive size difference killed all courage. It was a misguided attempt. A single hand consumed her face, shifting her out of the way like she was a child. Nothing more than a blade of grass before a tank, rolling through a field.

She walked straight through enemy territory, directly to their headquarters. The table with the most senior gang members. Gripping the napes of two sets of overalls, Vásquez unceremoniously hauled inmates out of their seats, hoisting them up and dragging them away. The gang leader put up a hand, stopping a riot from breaking out.

Like fish on hooks, the two inmates wriggled in her grasp, plimsolls and boots scuffing the linoleum floor. She cast them aside and replaced them on the table. As a repeat of earlier, she threaded her legs through the gaps, bending metal and shaking the whole thing. Somehow she cared even less this time and let her too large size dominate the space and furniture. The table creaked, seats under her ass buckling. In the middle of the K13 members, Vásquez had shoved people aside, shoulders pushing on neighbours and massive trunks muscling people opposite aside. She stretched out, getting comfortable.

"What do you want?" Came a question. Vásquez pulled the two displaced women's trays closer. Using her shovel of a spoon, she scooped up everything left on one tray, metal thudding against the hard plastic edges. The remnants of the meal disappeared, deposited into her maw. Everyone watched her jaw work up and down, machine like, pulverising an entire meal in one go. They watched the lump travel down her throat, one gulp. The woman who asked the question looked disgusted. First one tray, cleaned. Then she moved to do the the same with the second, clattering steel against plastic, getting every morsel of food onto her spoon and then ending it. It was a monstrous showing.

Two whole meals, enough to sustain grown women, gone. In seconds. Like snacks. Chewed up and devoured, just disappearing into this giant. Even her titanic spoon was a ridiculous sight, grinding home the size difference and the sheer quantity of food needed to fuel her.

Vásquez leaned forwards to one of the members and burped, abs contracting for a moment, metal of the gangway ringing. Jennifer swore she saw the gang members auburn hair flutter in the burp.  The woman looked repulsed, shell-shocked, fixed to her seat. Everyone watched in a trance as the beast reached across the table and took another tray. She stole a plastic cup too, draining the liquid like it was a shot.

She started her ritual again, collecting any and all food into a heap on her shovel. The people around her were frozen. This was the first time they'd been next to Vásquez in a long while. Watching the mountain of a woman eating created a chilling atmosphere. She was an apex predator. They were campers, confronted by a grizzle bear in the middle of camp. Watching and praying that she would eat their food without devouring the closest person too.

She carefully scraped every nook of the tray, getting as much of the food as possible, then up ended the spoon into the bottomless pit. Into her mouth to be crunched down and added to her swelling gut, more energy.

After the third tray, Vásquez pointed her spoon at the head of the gang, flicking sauce onto the table. "I heard you made a deal with Nation." Another stifled burp. "I was so sure you'd have more Latina pride than that, puta." She claimed another tray.

Jennifer watched Vásquez emptying the tray, a heat rising through her. That whole pot wasn't enough. That whole pot and now one, two, three, four! Four fucking meals wasn't enough. No, she was going to keep eating, stuffing herself full of more. More. More. More. Bringing the food up, lips opening, Jennifer was hypnotised. Those gorgeous, juicy lips. Fuck. Why was watching Vásquez eating a whole table of meals dry turning her on? Fuck sake, she knew the answer. Because all that food, all the meals she was denying others, was going into the woman to make her more. More food equals more her. Vásquez was starving a whole fucking gang, as revenge, to fuel her own greedy growth. It was despicable. Evil. Fucking hot.

"You're not one of us, pendeja." The leader spoke, finally.

Vásquez looked up from her fifth tray. She gulped the ball of food down, stomach visibly inching larger. "I didn't say Mexican did I, moron?" No answer came. She upped the pace, collected the final trays, pouring their contents out into one.  "You fucking bitches don't deserve food." She rumbled, amassing all the food in one place. Hunching over the mountain of meat and protein and carbs, she made it evaporate. Two spoonfuls and her cheeks were puffed out again. Three trays worth of food filling them. Three women's worth of nutrition.

It was almost stomach turning for the whispy women sat closeby. The sheer excess of it all. Sauce stained her mouth and lips, a tiny amount oozing out of the corner of her pouted lips. This animal's powerful, churning mastication decimated it all. The table screeched against the floor, Vásquez bent the frame as she shifted. Her gut was more distended than before, abdominal muscles stretched and bulging, forcing the hanging, tented fabric to turn up slightly, sat on the middle of her bloated abs. "You unloyal fucks don't deserve anything."

She went to the next table and the canteen continued watching. She didn't sit this time. She stooped low and snatched up a tray. Lifting it to her lips, tilting a corner to her open, cavernous mouth, she used the spoon to guide the food straight into her. She barely chewed this time, swallowing the slurry of flavours down. Then the next tray. And the next. And the next. Stunned silence. This horrid act of greed and gluttony taking place right there, no one doing anything to stop it,  like they were collectively watching a train derailing. Blue plastic trays were in a jumbled pile in the middle of the table. Vásquez moved towards the next table. You could hear a pin drop in there. You could actually hear Vásquez's stomach gurgling, overburdened.

She couldn't keep going, right? But she would, picking up another tray. Jennifer realised she was going to do this at every fucking table. Every tray. Every meal. She'd eat all of it just to spite the other gang. If one person would set out to do  something so insane, and fucking go through with it, it was her. There were zero doubts from the blondie. She'd fucking do it.

She didn't get the chance. A bark of laughter sliced through the massive hall, and heads swiveled to Maria whose eyes were bright with an excitement bordering hysteria. In an instant the weird hypnosis of the canteen was shattered.

The violence Jennifer had feared arrived in a landslide of bodies. K13 members swarmed over Vásquez like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. Lobos were hard on their heels pouring in from the sides in waves of orange. They crashed against the Nation, who hurried to the aid of their new allies. A maelstrom of chaos swept the canteen, pulling bodies in and pushing others against the walls. The chow line broke like flotsam as inmates turned against one another, gang allegiances trumping logic.

Red lights flashed and a claxon shrieked. Jennifer finally moved, pressing herself against the wall, trying to make herself small. Something too small to be identifiable sailed over her shoulder, trailing an arc of blood. Her heart blasted in her ears, almost as loud as the claxon.

A spearhead of Lobos drove into the heart of the hoard, inching towards their champion. In the boiling ocean of orange Jennifer picked out Vásquez. Three inmates clung to her back and arms trying, with equal futility, to bring her down. She clubbed at them, crumbling bodies like ragdolls almost as fast as they swarmed. The lobos gained ground, rallying to Vásquez as though she were a banner planted on a battlefield.

A K13 member emerged from the milling horde, hard eyes locked on Jennifer. The woman’s sharp smile made it clear she saw Jennifer as a trophy to show her friends when the dust had settled. An uppercut that would have sent Jennifer sprawling the month before breezed past her face, her body moving of it's own accord. Her fist swung in reply, a clumsy arc that clocked the woman in the face, sending her back into the orange sea.

Jennifer moved towards a gap in the melee but fingers ensnared her, grabbed at her ankle. A plimsoll came loose as she fell to the ground, air knocked out of her lungs. She kicked at the arm and face of whoever held her and was amazed when there was suddenly nothing holding her back. She crawled frantically for the doors, for sanctuary. They swung open before she reached them, metal handles hammering the walls. She almost cried out in happiness as she saw Trish ducking in. The beautiful, tall, amazonian, statuesque woman looked heroic, stood imposingly in the doorway. Bathed in flashes of red light, her skin was tinted sepia. Jessica followed behind her, mirroring her need to duck under the door. They looked amazed by the war raging in the hall. Huddles of people battling, inmates jumping off of tables, people stabbing each other with plastic cutlery, tearing, punching and kicking.

Trish couldn't hear Jennifer screaming for her. She and Jessica plunged into the chaos, immense valkyries swooping into battle. Jennifer's stomach fell into her single plimsoll, they were headed for Vásquez.

Inmates were pushed aside like chaff as the two amazon’s strode towards their target. But the wolves reached Vásquez before they did. The wall of K13 members began to crumble. With a vicious flick of her arm Vasquez sent one of her attackers soaring over the crowd.

Putting her lower body strength to use, Trish got low, coiling up like a snake and launched forwards. She tackled Vásquez, wrapping arms around her legs and squeezing, pushing back. Both women crashed into a wall of bodies, sending a half dozen to the ground. The latina looked shocked for a moment, unsure of what could generate that much force. She smiled when she understood. Jessica followed them both, vaulting Trish and throwing a hook at Vásquez.

The latina would have gone down but the bodies around her kept her upright. She spat blood at Jessica, pivoting. Swinging her weight around,  she forced Trish to the side. A backhanded fist whizzed through the air at Jessica. It was blocked but still made the woman wheel back, the impact unstoppable. A group of Lobos filled the gap, splitting Jessica from the other two women and letting Vásquez focus on her one attacker. She hooked her arms around Trish and dropped her weight down on the woman, splaying her legs out. Trish couldn't hold up the weight and went down, under Vásquez.

Jennifer had abandoned escape, pushing through the walls of inmates, trying to stop the clash between people she cared about.

Tear gas dropped from the sky, plumes of red smoke making pillars in the canteen. Adrenaline made everything slow. Cans languidly dropping through the air, punches crawling towards targets. When the canister hit the ground it felt deafening.

The fighting went on in the mists as riot guards arrived, beating a rhythm into their shields, a medieval rally to lift spirits. Jennifer had to be pulled from the smoke, sputtering, crimson eyes weeping. The fighting largely dispersed the tear gas burning people's eyes. In the centre the fight was still going.

Actual tears oozed out of Jennifer's inflamed, stinging tear ducts when Trish emerged, stumbling out, hacking coughs. She was apprehended by guards and shoved down.

Yelling within the smoke gave a sign that there was still scraps of fighting. A riot shield skidding across the floor and a black clad guard coming tumbling over a table were evidence. Vásquez was going strong, King Kong refusing to go down.

Eventually, even she would be restrained with the rest of the inmates.