Tasers buzzed, angry wasps, stinging and nipping at Vásquez as guards herded her through the halls. She was still painfully full, stomach having deflated only a small amount since her wordless statement earlier in the canteen.

Tear gas had cut her fun short, making the entire ordeal more annoying than it had needed to be. She felt like the climax of the event had been robbed, pulled out from under her. Fighting Trish and Jessica. A present tied up in a neat, little bow that she'd never had a chance to unwrap.

Trish was one of the few people outside of Lobos that Vásquez had any respect for. A strong fighter, who didn't take shit. Someone who had a scrap of honour in a world that lacked it. Fuck, they might have been friends if she wasn't in the Nation... The fact that she'd resorted to double teaming her had initially annoyed Vásquez, striking her as cowardly. Quickly, she accepted the fact and turned it into a plus. Two for the price of one, right? After all, who could really take her one on one now anyway?
Blinking rapidly, squinting, trying to stop the burning in her sore, red eyes, Vásquez carefully traced her steps through the corridor. An outstretched hand on one wall told her where she was. The path was a familiar one, one she'd taken so many times that she could do it blindfolded. Or blinded by tear gas.

Isolation. Or as some called it, the hot box.

A tiny, concrete cube that drove people to madness. Heavy steel would lock behind you and you'd be stuck in a timeless, humid, oven of a void. At six foot one it had been cramped. Vásquez couldn't imagine how fucking annoying it would be at her current size.

An eye cracked open just in time for the latina to put a hand up and avoid headbutting the wall above the aforementioned steel door. Waves of heat spilled out from the room, already encouraging perspiration on her abs and chest. A groan left her as multiple tasers jabbed into her broad back. The groan swelled into a growl, Vásquez kicked backwards like a mare. She connected with someone, one of the tasers disappearing as a guard launched away, loudly clattering along the floor. The shouting grew more desperate, bringing a smile to the blind giant's face.

It was short lived though and she stooped down, doubling over, knowing that resistance would just cause more tasering. Her face and upper body entered the wall of suffocating humidity as her ass jammed in the frame. Riot shields crashed into her from behind, a bid to force her into the room faster. This position meant her legs pressed against her bloated stomach as she wriggled, making her queasy. Relief only came when she was fully forced in, able to straighten her body again. Well, not completely, but enough to breath. Once inside it became obvious just how much this would suck. The cell was mini-fucking-scule. That didn't stop the guard's slamming the door closed behind her, a heavy 'chunk, chunk' signifying the twin locks being slid closed over it.
Standing in the isolation cell was like being back with an old friend she hadn't seen in a while. However, she'd quite literally outgrown her old friend. By a lot. Vásquez felt like a sardine, flesh packed into a tin, locked down tight. She ran fingers over the rough texture of the ceiling that her head was pressed against. Against the walls. She felt how close it all was. How small the room was. How fucking big she was. She adored it.

She was so fucking big. Colossal. Gargantuan. Being back in this room, being able to draw comparisons to her six foot one self, it really ground home just how huge she'd gotten. All the space she'd had back then was a distant memory, consumed by her own bulk. It was a tear in space and time, framing her transformation. It was perfect.

Before, at six-one, she'd felt big, taller than basically any woman she'd met and tall enough that most guys even looked small. True, there had been some men that could make her feel less big. Week by week that had changed though. She hadn't tracked her size with numbers all that much, instead preferring to compare herself to other people. To guzzle down the reactions and expressions when she grew. To see the wonderment and fear. The shock and awe. Even the pure lust from one particular person. Seeing how fucking puny they became next to her, how puny the world was becoming around her...

It was intoxicating. She wanted more. More size and more power. She wanted to be unstoppable in the truest sense of the word. At nine foot three, she'd tasted that. So large that people just stopped and stared as she took what she wanted. So giant that when she stood in a room the ceiling looked low. Even the walls around her had to submit. She thought back to the observation room. How the ceiling had crumbled and cracked from a single punch.

The walls quaked suddenly, someone outside yelped. Fuck that felt good. This room wasn't as flimsy as the previous one but pounding a fist into the concrete was cathartic. Her fist ached dully.

Hazel eyes opened a slither. The tear gas was a pain in the ass, effects continuing to burn her blood shot, itchy eyes. For the first time she looked around at the tiny space and herself filling it. She saw how the gray wall had a fist sized dent in it. The smile faded as she looked further down.

"Aw, what the fuck." Vásquez whispered to herself, pulling on her vest, examining the blood stains. Was that her blood or someone else's? Or both...
Stretching the material, searching for more blood, she eyed the spatter. It was probably someone else's, she decided, sighing. Clothing options had shrunk (hah) while she'd grown. Maybe she should be more cautious getting into brawls. Letting the vest drop from her fingers, she noted how it stuck to her moist skin. Sweat was already collecting in droplets, rolling along copper, the narrow space holding heat more efficiently than anywhere else in the prison.

Vásquez did a 180, barely able to turn, needing to shimmy around in two half turn motions. Leaning against the back wall, she attempted to sit. She'd done it a hundred times before, but the experience was different this time. Her toes pressed against the walls on either side of the steel door, knees coming up to frame her face and press into her gut and tits. Great.

The shorts felt like they were on the cusp of exploding clean off, her hips straining the material, too wide in this position. Each hem of the short legs dug into her girthy thighs. Testing the fabric, she slowly flexed. The stitches creaked out a warning with hardly any flex at all, and she stopped. Then her eyes were drawn higher, along the caramel highway of her leg.

"What the fuck?" Her voice filled the space. Delicately she used thumb and forefinger to pick pieces of beige plastic from her leg, just above the knee. Someone had stabbed her with a fork. "A fucking fork?" She laughed, dropping each of the four prongs into her other, awaiting palm. They looked so small in her hand, tiny, off white lines in the pinkish, wrinkled landscape. Blood had only just been drawn by the plastic, the rest of the fork being snapped away. No doubt, her leg was already slowly healing. This G37 stuff was a trip.

She'd noticed it after the fight with the Aryans in the bathroom. The bruises and cuts faded quickly, repaired at a frightening pace. It wasn't just size she was gaining from the serum. It all further fed into that sensation of being an untouchable juggernaut.

Using her thumb she rubbed the tiny prongs along the calloused, hard skin near her fingers. Lifting weights still left it's mark even if she did heal more rapidly. Turning her hand over, the splinters of plastic fell to the ground. Or more accurately, onto her stomach, rolling down along her crotch and then somewhere onto the ground she couldn't see. She was way too big for this room.

A quiet thud was emitted by her head hitting the wall. Vásquez stared at the ceiling, a hand resting on her gurgling stomach. It had been hilarious eating all that food in front of those tiny jue putas. They'd made such pathetic expressions. All too afraid to move. She closed her eyes and pictured them one by one. If Maria hadn't laughed how many more trays could she have gotten through? Would those K13 bitches have woken up by themselves?

Eyes closed was so much better. The sting, a quiet throb instead of a burn. Muffled shouting outside threatened to throw her train of thought off. Isolation was, understandably, busy today. Trish sassing the guards was very audible. So was her angry scream when someone tasered her. Pffft, serves her right for trying that shit.

Vásquez tuned it out, reclaiming the rails for that train of thought. Drowning out the sounds of a scuffle outside, thoughts returned to Maria. Things had been off with her recently. Nothing obvious but, a minor difference. Almost indistinguishable. She could tell though.
Ever since the whole bathroom thing Maria had been giving more orders. Usually, she'd ask her right hand, but now she was demanding. A different tone. Subtly different words. It didn't change how the large latina acted at all but she picked up on it. Of course, she'd still do whatever Maria asked. The older woman was the blueprint for badass.

The sole female general in the Lobos. A fucking legend back home. She'd taken charge of the capital city, ruling that shit with an iron fist. Cracking down on the other gangs, driving them to extinction, she paved the way. Her past was stained in blood. An ocean of it. Looking at Maria from a distance, seeing the crows feet around her eyes and stress lines on her tan skin, you could be deceived into thinking she was just another middle aged latina. That was wrong. If she was looking at you, interacting with you... You'd realise she'd happily carve your eyes out if you got in her way. It was just an aura about her.

Maria was already dominating the city when Vásquez had entered the gang. Once brought to the woman's attention, she saw her potential immediately. Maria became an older sister, guiding and helping her through everything that had come afterwards. She was the sole reason Vásquez was here. When Maria was locked away her second in command had gone straight to the US, confessing to a handful of murders. Taking a plea deal to avoid the death sentence, she followed her boss straight into prison.

The titan gathered her thoughts, struggling to pinpoint just what she had done to piss off the older woman. There was no way this was all because of blondie. Maria was crazy, driven to use and manipulate people, all for power. Being bent out of shape like this over blondie? No way. She knew Vásquez was loyal, didn't she? Nah, no, something else must be -

Smith's voice cut through steel like a knife through butter. Vásquez's eyes snapped open. That slimy, little prick was outside, talking to the guards. She ran a hand over her much more svelte abs. Most of lunch had been digested away in the nuclear reactor called her stomach.

Vásquez stared at the metal block that passed for a door in front of her. It opened outwards. Architects were forced to make it that way, the tiny space too small for the door to open inwards.
Yeah, fuck it. She could do it. She wanted out. Now. This room was way too fucking small, and although it might have been able to hold her before... Well, let's see if it could handle her now.

Planting her soles against the warm metal, Vásquez prepared for a show. She gave a few short breaths and then pushed. The hem of the shorts burst, spliting up her legs as they engorged, overwhelmed by the surge. But it wasn't just her legs pushing. It was everything. Her entire body. She'd even leveraged her arms up, palms to the back wall.

At first nothing happened. However, the pressure on the door grew... And grew.... And grew. Vásquez tapped into every well of strength in her body.
The metal gave an ominous sound. Smith and the guard outside stopped talking, both shifting their attention to the isolation cell.

The door bulged in the middle, nuts and bolts wailing in pain and the two locks stretched along the door horizontally, buckled and bent. There was that awe Vásquez loved to see.

A grunt echoed out, the inmate somehow pushing even harder. Her laughter, escaping the hotbox, triggered a dormant PTSD in Smith and suddenly he knew exactly what was going on. "OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!" Smith screamed at the guard. The slack jawed guard was still too slow to piece together what was happening. It was just too unbelievable. Yet, he forced himself to obediently jump into action.

Smith's head throbbed, veins emerging on it's smooth red surface. Her breaking out was, for some reason, worse than him being coerced into opening the door. The guard struggled to pull the mishapen oblongs of steel across the door to unlock it. The force pushing outwards pinned the metal together, making it impossible. Smith hurried over, desperately pulling with him, but it was pointless. Light started seeping through the gaps around the metal door, steel bending in ways that shouldn't be possible, moving further away from the frame it should have sat in. Smith screamed for the latina to stop, on the verge of begging. He told her they were opening the door. He told her she could stop.

Pressure relented and both men fell forwards, the door creaking back into shape slightly. It took a moment to unhinge the locks, their new shape not lending to a smooth sliding movement. The deformed door swung open, fire escaping from inside. A smug, sweaty giantess filled their vision. She shot a smile to Smith. His stomach fell as he realised that even sat like this, she was eye level with him. "About time." She said, reaching up to curl her fingers around the top of the door frame.
She hauled herself forwards, rising up and out of the room, forcing the two men back. "Gym time." She stated from above a canopy of tit that only half hid her lofty expression.

Smith looked distraught. Shoulders sagging, a broken man coincided. "Come on.  Let's go."