She'd grown quieter and distant. Initially, Jennifer thought it may have been bitterness due to her growth - she was still steadily inching bigger while Vásquez's growth had begun to plateau. Vásquez feeling her power slipping away as Jennifer caught up, seemed like a prime motivation for the mood. Then, in one of their brief interactions, she'd corrected her form, explaining in detail why doing it a certain way was important, helping to hone her efforts in making gains. So that idea went out the window.

Vásquez's lack of growth built more animosity between her and Smith, instead. They'd been at each other's throats over the course of their stay, passive aggressive comments or outright shouting at each other. Turns out even the military mettle of Mr. Smith could be ground away dealing with incarcerated women for long enough.

The way she treated Jennifer was different altogether. Not aggressive. Not even passive aggressive. Just short. The tables had been turned and now when Jennifer tried to start a conversation Vásquez was the one to end it with a short response.

Jennifer didn't understand, but was too scared to push and outright ask why. What really frazzled her? How this silent treatment was building a heavy ball of sorrow in her gut. She'd lie to herself that she was glad Vásquez was acting like this, but it was a hollow, weightless lie.

Using the gym and shadowing Vásquez had been one continued positive of staying close to her. She'd been making leaps in progress compared to the fruits of her late night workouts. A vein had emerged along her bicep, her abs had swollen into little bundles, making a six pack and, her butt and legs had both gotten juicier. She loved it. She felt stronger, brimming with a new confidence. Jennifer bet if she punted Scar in the chest now she'd send her soaring.

Not only had the workouts built up her muscle, but her height had continued sneaking upwards delightfully. She'd checked the scales at the gym this morning and found she'd reached 5'10. Her weight was a staggering 189lbs, which, secretly turned her on juuuust a little.

She wasn't just above average anymore. She'd surpassed that marker. She was tall. Built like an athlete. On the cusp of being imposing, even. Every shower she explored new swells or deepened  lines. It was wonderful. Even her toes scrunched up in the too small plimsolls was something she looked forward to in the mornings. Today she'd had to go barefoot until Smith had brought her another pair after breakfast. When Jennifer had placed her sole on the old plimsoll it had disappeared from sight, her toes curling around the plastic edge.

"So she's all healed?" Mr. Smith asked Nurse Doe. Jane Doe. Every name was fake in his staff, apparently.

"Yes, sir. It's... Miraculous. I've never seen a stab wound heal so quickly. It's barely even scarred."

Vásquez looked unimpressed, sat on the edge of a bed that looked comically small, leant forward with her chin in her hand. It would have looked like 'the thinker' if her expression wasn't so obviously, dreadfully, stone cold bored.

"Can I go now?" She asked. "Back to gen pop?"

"You don't want your next dose?"  Smith asked. Vásquez perked up and Jennifer strained her ears harder from the doorway.

"This better not be a joke."

"You do-" Smith stopped himself from a ranting tirade. "No joke. In fact, I've got a surprise for you. You'll see later." He said with a fake grin plastered onto his face.

Unaffected by the feigned niceties, Vásquez ploughed on. "When? Now?"

"No, no. We'll administer the dose later today. Maybe after your reintroduction to the general population." She deflated. They let her out of the examination room and Jennifer appeared at her side.

"Hey, congratulations. For healing up a-and for your next dose." She smiled up at Vásquez. At breast height to the 7'9 woman, her neck ached a little less peering up at her. This was the closest she'd been in height to Vásquez since the trial started.

Deep, hazel eyes stared back at Jennifer. "You heard that?"

"Yeah, I... I listened in." The blonde sheepishly replied, worried she shouldn't have said anything.

"Thanks." They walked towards their cell, no indication that Vásquez would say any more in response.

"You sounded happy about getting another dose." Jennifer waited but no reply came. "Why are you so driven to get more?"

A deep sigh left the giant woman. "I used to be called bean pole for a reason. I struggled putting on weight. It wasn't easy. This makes it easier."

"Oh..." Mentally, this generated many more questions. 'Is she still insecure?' She wondered. It felt impossible but then she'd been wrong about Vásquez's emotional depth before.

"But, like, why do you want to grow so much?"

"Man, I don't get you. First you avoid talking to me and now you won't shut up." The reply had come suddenly, a vicious punch from no where.

Jennifer buttoned her lips, telling herself that she didn't want to cry and that the lump in her throat was just anger. Hollow lies again. Dirt she couldn't scrub off of her skin. Feelings she cursed herself for feeling. They walked quietly, footsteps echoing down the corridor as the guard led them back. They returned to their cell, the steel bars sliding shut behind them. Locked in with silence. Locked in with the feelings Jennifer didn't want to face.

She climbed into her bunk, preparing to face the wall, to try and distract herself from the storm of negativity pelting her. She'd done it hundreds of times in her regular cell. She'd think about what was going on outside of the prison. Outside of the hellish, barren wasteland around them. About family, and movies and Netflix. About burgers, ice cream, and milkshakes. Or pie in the diner on the corner of the block near her house.

All it served to do was make her more sad. Colourful, happy memories framed by the grey of her new life.

Vásquez started talking as abruptly as she'd shut down the earlier conversation. "I got beat like a fucking dog."

Jennifer sat up.

"For years. People used me to shoplift and pick pocket and beg on the streets. I didn't wanna do it. I told them to fuck 'emselves and got beat down. A lot. Big, fully grown ass men, beating on me, a fucking kid." She chewed her lip, sat against the wall, staring out of the cell. "I tried to work out and be strong, like a boxer or a wrestler. It didn't fucking work. Nothing did... Not until I stabbed the fuck out of one of them." Her forearms were on her knees, hands hanging limply, bunching and unbunching into fists, images playing in her mind. "Then the Lobos took me. That's when I started working out for real. Fighting for real. Eating right. I got strong. I turned myself into this bit by bit. I struggled every fucking day.  Working out until I couldn't move. Eating until I wanted to throw up. I got strong... I'll never not be strong again."

Jennifer was speechless, perched on her bunk. Selina had left some details out. "I'm... Sorry that stuff happened to you."

"Don't be. It made me who the fuck I am." The response was sharp, lashing out quickly.

Jennifer left her bunk, edging closer to Vásquez. She stood next to her and then sank onto her thicker butt. The latina didn't turn, she didn't look.

Jennifer put a hand on Vásquez's and the fist melted. "People shouldn't have to go through that. So yeah, I'm sorry."

Vásquez yanked her hand free, violently. "It happens. I don't want sympathy." Standing, she crossed the cell in a single stride. "Hey! When we going back to gen pop?" She bellowed through the bars. Jennifer drew her legs in, this rejection stinging deep enough that she couldn't deny it hurt. Then a ray of hope cascaded down. "When we go back, you can work out with me."

Green eyes travelled upwards to lock onto brown eyes. Looking her in the eyes, something clicked in Jennifer's head. Vásquez wasn't sad. She wasn't insecure. She didn't want sympathy. There was no room for any of that, no time to feel sorry for herself. Vásquez moving away wasn't her rejecting Jennifer, it was her rejecting the past. All she cared about was moving forwards. Thinking about working out all over again. "What do you mean?" Asked the blonde from below.

"In gen pop. In the yard. Use the weights. Don't stop working out because we can't use the gym. I'll deal with Maria."

"Okay." She said softly, her crushed feelings flourishing a little. She felt lost, not comprehending how to interpret the mix of responses from Vásquez, but took solace in the fact that she didn't outright hate her.

Shortly after that conversation, they were taken back to the regular wing of the prison. Trepidation rippled through Jennifer as she stepped back into medbay, down the corridors she'd been chased through. That washed away when they reached more populated areas. Jennifer could feel eyes on her, she could feel the shock and awe. No one had expected her to come back like this, this much meatier and bigger. She drank in their reactions, feeding off of them. She stood straighter, taller, chin held high.

Locked in with the giantess for so long, her perception of average size had been thrown off. Now in front of everyone, she felt big.

Even with the threat of Maria's wrath, this was the safest Jennifer had ever felt in the prison. She couldn't stop comparing herself to anyone she recognised. To the woman who had stolen her towel in the shower. To the one that had busted her lip for no reason. To the asshole that pushed in the canteen line.

Could she take any of them on? They weren't experienced fighters, just asshole bullies that threw their weight around. A weight that she could lift and toss aside now. The formerly pixie-ish woman was beaming. They got to her cell first. "Stay here. I'll go talk to Maria." Vásquez said, departing to broker a peace.

A gobsmacked Rachel greeted Jennifer. She jumped down from the top bunk. "Whoa." She said, tilting her head back to look Jennifer in the eye.

"Yep." Jennifer cockily answered. She brushed passed Rachel,  purposely knocking her gently as she climbed into her bunk. "Oh, sorry." She feigned, internally doing back flips. Fuck, making her stumble had been easy.

"Well.... Welcome back, Blondie." Rachel said, shrugging off the new dynamic as best she could. She hauled her heft back up the tiny ladder and out of view on the top bunk.

A visitor arrived at the cell about an hour later. Alvarez. "Hey, shrimp. Maria sent me. Her and Vásquez talked. Hits off." The 5'7 woman leaned against the doorway of the cell, arms crossed, chest puffed out, smirk affixed to face. She was being a  bitch on purpose. Puffing up her plumage and strutting around, just as Trish had done to her days ago. It was all a primitive display to remind Jennifer exactly who was on top in the violent heirachy of cell block B. That kick in the canteen did more damage to her pride than anything else, apparently.

Sliding out of her bunk, Jennifer approached Scar. The look on her face was priceless. As Jennifer grew closer, her new size setting in, Alvarez's features flitted through a whole host of emotions. Pride inflated Jennifer's chest when she recognised the flash of fear.

"Thanks." She smiled down at Scar. "Might want to think up a new nickname though, shrimp." She barged passed the smaller woman as she exited the cell. Jennifer knew she was playing a dangerous game but adored every second of it buzzing, full of excitement.

She made a beeline to the canteen, already hungry again. The blonde was gorging herself in the canteen when a guard came to retrieve her for the next dose. 'What was the point of sending me back and forth?' She asked herself, annoyed that she hadn't been able to eat her fill.

Any sense of frustration evaporated when she got to medbay and saw who she was paired with for this dose. "Trish!" She screamed, sprinting over and leaping into a hug. The guards moved to separate the women but Smith raised a hand to stop them.

"It's SO good to see you!" Squealed Trish, lifting Jennifer up and crushing her with an embrace that would have probably done some damage if she were still 5'2. "What happened while you were gone?" She let her down, holding her at arms length and scanning her up and down, worried.

"Vásquez and Smith had me on this side of the prison to keep me away from Maria." Jennifer explained, pointing to Smith with a nod. "But it's okay now, Maria and Vásquez talked."

"And what happened in there? Did that bitch do anything to you?" Trish asked, still looking for obvious signs of abuse.

"No, no I'm fine, I promise!" Jennifer smiled.

"Seriously? What did you do with her the whole time?"

Thoughts of that night surfaced. Jennifer pushed them down. "Mainly just work out. We got to use the staff gym here. Look!" Unzipping her overalls, she pulled them down to her waist, showing off her new size. The t-shirt underneath was stretched tightly over her body, sleeves gripping her biceps, torso poured into the fabric. Trish looked surprised but quickly took in the new, bulked up Jennifer.

"Wow." She chuckled. "You really worked out." A hunger formed in her gaze.

Smith cleared his throat. "Well, since you two actually follow my directions, we can try to open up the gym to you more often." The two women looked over to him as if they'd forgotten he was there.

"What about Vásquez?" Asked Trish darkly.

"She seems to make due with the yard resources. If she's more compliant in future, we will let her have some alloted time." His way of speaking had changed at the mention of Vásquez's name. Words enunciated with an edge, tighter.

That answer appeased Trish. "That sounds like a pretty good deal then." Jennifer, on the other hand, felt her stomach sink, guilt gripping it and wrenching it lower. No one seemed to notice, and Smith casually led the ladies to their next dose.

"Speaking of Vásquez, want a sneak preview of the surprise I've prepared for her?" Smith pointed through an open doorway like a TV host showing off the grand prize of a game.

Jennifer felt that wrenching even harder. "Is that...." Her heart rose in her throat, looking at the shape in the darkness.

"Yes it is!" He exclaimed, a tad too excitedly.

"W-why do you need that?" The blonde's instincts raised red flags, Smith's giddiness striking her as a sinister omen.

"Oh, don't worry! We couldn't find a bed big enough so that was the next best thing. It's not like we're planning on killing her."

What the fuck does that mean?! Why did he say it liked that? Trish and Jennifer shared their concern, non-verbally, with a glance to one another. Smith pressed on without further explanation and the guards shoved the two women forwards.

They continued through to the examination room and a familiar routine began. The ladies both stripped down. After her run in with the Lobos and spending a few days with Vásquez, Jennifer had come to a decision. Keeping the ID card on her person wasn't optimal. Instead, she'd made a slit in her mattress to hide the ID card. It wasn't terribly safe either, but meant she didn't need to worry about being caught with it when getting a dose.

The scales clanked as Jennifer weighed herself. She had to hold in a laugh when she read the red neon number. Her weight had inched up by another 5lbs over the course of lunch. Maybe she'd had enough after all.

The guinea pigs got half dressed and sat in their respective beds, nurses running through the various protocol. Jennifer kept arching her feet, stretching and trying to see if she could scrape the bottom of the mattress without shimmying down. Now that she was bigger and heavier, the thinness of the mattresses bothered her. Moving uncomfortably, she tried to ignore the fact that she could feel the bed frame underneath.

Restraints were strapped on and things swiftly went downhill. Instead of IV bags, a number of intimidatingly large, purple filled syringes were rolled out on a noisy trolley. Compared to the IV needles, these were massive.

"Um... What's this?" Trish asked, fidgeting.

"Hm? Oh, we wanted to try infusing the serum into your system via a new channel." Smith said from across the room.

Jennifer's phobia reared it's head, her heart pounding against her breast bone. The tip of a syringe caught the light and twinkled, evily at her. Sweat rolled down her neck. "I-I don't think I can do this." She muttered, focus cemented to the syringes.

"That's not an option." Smith's voice came, cold and surgical.

"No, no, I mean it. I... I don't know if I can." Struggling to get free, her new strength was treated. It wasn't enough. She couldn't break her bonds, the leather chaffing her wrists.

"Sir, maybe we should-"

"Continue with the dosage." Smith cut off the small nurse. There was a conflict on her face, visible even through her mask, but she trudged forwards. She held a metallic, triple needled, curved monster. To Jennifer it looked like the maw of a cyber demon.

"Hey." Came a soft, soothing voice, slicing through the mounting panic in a way it shouldn't have been able to. Jennifer ripped her eyes away from the metallic beast to see an outstretched hand. It was Trish. Even in the restraints, she'd angled herself and thrust out her palm.

Jennifer cranked her hand against her own cuff and just barely brushed the long fingers. She twisted and made another attempt that wasn't any more successful.

Jennifer's nurse, on the other side of the bed, gave a 'hmmphf' as she shoved the bed. Smith looked exasperated, folding his arms as he watched emotions overrule science. It took a few shoves from the tiny woman, but soon Jennifer could tangle just her fingertips into Trish's.

"Thank you." She said to the nurse who gave a shallow nod. With just a slight interlocking of fingertips, the anxiety was easing.  She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight as syringes dug into her flesh.

"It's - ugh - it's okay." Trish managed through he own triple stabbing. Jennifer cracked an eye open to see her grimacing. The plungers went down all together. Some mechanised trigger that pumped the whole load of G37 into the women at once.

This was different. Alien. The slow drip meant they couldn't feel the chemical slipping into their blood streams. Now they felt every millilitre. Fire in their blood. Napalm burning through the red, coursing deeper into their bodies.

A strangled gasp escaped Jennifer as she stiffened and creaked and flexed. Like a powerful wind bending the rigid branches of a tree against it's will, Jennifer bent, arching, new, bigger breasts rearing up in her vision.

It began immediately. The migrating of bone, tectonic plates beneath her skin, clic-cracking away as her body pushed outwards. Those same, larger tits swelled, stretching the t-shirt to near translucency. The cups of her bra crawled down her sensitive skin, nipples escaping their confines and standing at attention atop orbs propped up by pectoral. Her rib cage inflated, pulling the straps of her bra to their limit before the material dug into her. Her hips and ass plumped further, legs lengthening down the bed bit by bit.

This time there was a new sensation stealing her attention. The heat in her fingertips. The movement against her movement. Trish's growth was underway too. Their fingertips crackled with electricity as they weeded, interlocking.

Jennifer had never felt anything animate while growing, and having it be Trish heightened things even further.

Knuckles passed one another, cleaving through the air like two ships in the ocean, but closer. Nerves sang as skin moved against skin and fingers meshed together. Trish's fingers pushed into Jennifer's palm. Through the onslaught they twisted their hands, linking fingers and closing them together. Their hands, finally, fully clasped together.

The strength in the vice grip increased, both parties doing their best to endure. Jennifer felt Trish's fingers stretching in bursts, running along the top of her hand. Her own were doing the exact same, one hand throbbing bigger and then the other, until, finally the government concocted growth fuel ran empty for one woman.

Jennifer's digits continued their stuttered swelling for a few heartbeats more before her pale fingers settled to a final size.

The two women let out a collective exhale. "Fu-fuck, that was intense." Trish wheezed.

"Yeah. Um, thanks for this." Jennifer said, wriggling her wrist and tugging gently on Trish's hand. Trish didn't give a verbal reply, just a smile that made Jennifer's euphoric, hormone driven haze soar higher.

Nurses bustled and gradually the two women let go of one another. The blonde looked down at the connected hands as the embrace ended. Excitement dialled higher as she mentally compared her memories to the new reality. Trish's hand was still bigger, of course, but the gap had closed more. Jennifer was raring to stand up.

Vertigo wobbled her for a moment as she stood quickly. Face to face with Trish, she finally got her comparison. Both women's clothes were worse for wear but mostly intact. She stared directly into Trish's lips, stretched into a smile. Jennifer's own grin was easy to translate.

"Catching up even more, huh?" Trish teased.

"You better keep getting your protein, or I don't think there's gonna be a gap for long." She winked back.

Her nurse, the one named nurse Jones, stepped between the two amazonians. They both cast their eyes down at a ghost of the past. Jennifer's old size. 5'2. Her head was below either woman's shoulders. Both women were head and shoulders above her. Jennifer wondered what it would feel like to look up at herself from the nurse's shoes. To be staring so far up at  someone who had been equal size a few injections ago. Jarring? Intimidating? Thrilling? Jones put a hand on the small of her back, "please go to the scales to be remeasured."

Jennifer planted a hand on her head, ruffling her hair and messing up her pony tail. "Yeah, yeah." She hip checked her, sending her stumbling. "Oh fuck, sorry!" She giggled, not having intended to be that forceful. The fact she could generate that much force by accident elicited a chuckle.

Too tight clothes were shed, stripping down, Jennifer was left in only her panties. She cast the other clothes aside, leaving them heaped into a bundle of popped stitches and ripped fabric.

Stepping onto the scales she stared at the numbers. It felt surreal. She'd broken 6 foot. She'd smashed her way into a height range that hardly any women were in. She nibbled her lip as she felt her crotch twitch and tingle. "Six foot two." She said to herself. She was a behemoth. She was elated.

Switching into new clothes, Jennifer glanced to Trish on the scales, noseily attempting to see her new measurements. A conversation nearby demanded her attention more, however.

"Sir, I don't think it's safe. There'll be too much strain on her heart."

"It wasn't a request, nurse Jones. Get it done."

"But-"

Smith's voice lowered into a malicious whisper, "if she dies. She dies. Get. It. Done." Nurse Jones' jaw sagged lower. After a pause she nodded and slinked away.

It took a moment to deduce what that was about. This must be about Vásquez and the surprise from earlier. Had he been lying about what they'd be using it for?

Jennifer felt sick, her jubilant mood tainted. The guilt from earlier returned. She needed to at least try. "Who might die?"

Trish was pulling on a t-shirt, alert to the conversation now. "None of your business, oh-two-two-nine." Smith said, switching back to inmate numbers. The ice under Jennifer was clearly thin here.

"What is she talking about?" Trish weighed in now, worried.

Smith had had his command questioned one too many times by one too many women. "You two don't get to ask questions! " He exploded, spittle flying. "But since you're so fucking curious, I'm talking about Vásquez. If Vásquez dies, she fucking dies."

There was hardly any reaction from Trish while Jennifer became irate. "You can't fucking do that!" She growled, stepping forwards.

"Jen, calm down." Trish was puzzled by the outburst, trying to quell her temper. "It's just Vásquez? Who gives a shit?"

Jennifer did. She hated that she did, but she fucking did. "No! Fuck that!" She thrust a finger towards the bald man, "you can't just kill one of us off in your bullshit, frankenstein experiments!" Her new size meant the nurses and guards were far more on edge. Nurses darted away, guards replaced them. "What, you gonna just sweep her under the fucking rug when you're do-" She'd stepped too close to Smith. A guard had swung his baton, hitting her in the base of her neck and bringing her to her knees.

"Fucking bitch!" Trish screamed, pushing the man hard enough for him to crash against the one way mirror on the other side of the room, cracking it.

A taser jammed into her back and the amazonian went rigid, volts running through her. A baton took her down. Then another blackened Jennifer's consciousness.

"What the fuck is this?" Those were the words that welcomed Jennifer to consiousness. Trish, furious and scared. It wasn't a good start.

It was hard to make out the shapes initially, but soon things became clearer. They were back in the medbay beds, locked down. It took a while for Jennifer to understand where exactly they were, the surroundings felt similar but unnaturally off. The cracked one way mirror was the give away. The cracks were reversed. They were adjacent to the room they recieved their doses in, looking through the mirror instead of at their reflections. The room had been altered, beds removed to make space for something else to take centre stage. The surprise.

Bolted into a rig, secured in the middle of the room sat a colossal electric chair. Like this it looked monolithic. Huge geometric lines, sat alone, ominously, in the middle of the room. Lit up by a beacon of lights, surrounded by darkness. A warped circus act for the entertainment of Smith. A gargantuan throne built to make offerings to a dark God. Basic, thick slabs of wrought iron, so dark that they looked craved from obsidian. It's inky blackness drank the light in. The thing had been shaped for a single, terrible purpose. Death.

Jennifer felt it's oppressive presence under her skin. "Whadda f-fuck is going on?" She slurred, still shaking off the effects of a cocktail of drugs to that had been put into her and Trish, maintaining their unconsiousness. There was, apparently, no one to answer.

"You okay?" Trish asked. Jennifer didn't get to answer, a voice ringing out from behind them. Not alone after all.

"Good morning, inmates." Both women strained to look at Smith. "You were both so very worried about Vásquez, I thought I'd give you the perfect view to see it all unfold." He said, strolling around the two beds and into view.

"You can't do this." Trish said. Smith pounded a fist to the wall.

"Wrong! I can do whatever I fucking want! You think the warden runs this pathetic shit hole? I do. That moron hasn't even noticed he isn't in charge anymore. He doesn't have the brainpower to see where the money for this place is coming from. It's from me. Us."

"Who?" Jennifer asked.

"Shut up!" He snarled. Jennifer bit her tongue. She wanted to scream and rave and swear, but she wanted information more. If this meglomanical asshole wanted a big speech, then let him have it. He might let something slip. "I've said it before. You don't get to ask questions. I'm in fucking charge. Not the warden. Not the guards. Me. And the sooner you bitches learn to heel, the better." He took a breath, pausing to gather himself. "So, yes, you get to see what happens to Vásquez. You get to watch what happens when people fuck me off. Congratulations." He clapped his hands together happily, the complete opposite of his facial expression.

Heading towards the door, he stopped in the threshold, "oh and for the record, I don't want her to die. I just don't care if she does. Our goal has always been the facilitation of science. And science demands sacrifice." The door slammed shut behind him.

"Well, he's more of a cunt than I'd thought." Trish spoke up. Jennifer was too angry to reply. "Hey, what's going on with you? Why did you lose your shit in there?"

It was a good question. In a million years, Jennifer would have never thought she'd lose her shit like that for Vásquez. Yet, for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel torn about her emotions. She didn't feel dirty. She'd done the right thing. "She saved my life. More than once." Her tone was sullen. "I'm just sick of never being able to do anything. Never being able to help."

"Sometimes you can't win." Trish said. "The system is rigged and you're fucked." She sounded like she was talking from experience. They sat there, deafeted, staring at the death machine in the other room.

After some time the door of the opposite room opened and Vásquez squeezed her way in, ducking under the doorway, followed by multiple guards and Smith. They must have measured her in another room as she had her vest in her hand, only wearing a sports bra and the red overalls. Jennifer immediately began screaming her throat raw.

It was pointless, the rooms had been completely sound proofed. Speakers came to static laced life, transmitting the conversation between Smith and Vásquez back to the observation room.

"Is that an electric chair?"

"Yes, it is."

"Cool!" Vásquez tossed her vest and voluntarily hopped into the chair, a wide grin on her face. "It's been a while since I've sat in a chair that isn't too small." She wriggled her ass in the wide, iron seat, taking in the spare space. Her reaction was more akin to someone being upgraded to first class rather than someone confronted with a tool of execution. She really did look small in the gigantic, black machine. Tiny even. Her fingers could just about reach the end of the arm rests.

Jennifer couldn't believe she'd willingly get into the chair, let alone be this excited. Someone had died in that chair, electrocuted until their soul left their body... And Vásquez was grinding her butt into it happily.

"We had to import the chair from Texas. It was custom made for an inmate's execution."

"He was a big boy."

"That he was. He was over 8 foot tall."

"After this dose he might seem a little more average." The latina smirked at Smith. She had a knack for getting under his skin.

"Perhaps, yes." Smith raised a hand and the guards started securing the straps, restraining Vásquez to the chair. The leather was bound tightly across her stomach, chest and shoulders, her arms, wrists, legs and, her ankles. Now Smith let the pin drop. "If you survive, anyway."

"Why wouldn't I survive?" Somehow, strapped into a chair and powerless, she was still unafraid.

"Well, the nurses have advised against what I have planned. They've said your heart simply won't be able to take it. You see, you missed three doses, didn't you?" Vásquez didn't answer, instead watching the man, a caged tiger staring at something she'd like to maul. "Well, I thought it would only be fair for you to receive all three doses at the same time. Triple the drug. Triple the pain." He said, brandishing one of the three pronged devices.

"Its about fucking time." No fear showed on Vásquez's face. Stone faced, she continued.  "I was worried you fuckers would short change me. So yeah, triple the whatever. Get on with it."

A vein throbbed in Smith's forehead, as his face tinted rose coloured. His theatrical, villainous reveal hadn't stuck the landing. Jennifer actually let out a chortle of a laugh at his expression. "What?" He asked, genuinely perplexed by the response, a muscle spasmed in his face as he tried to control himself.

"Fuck meeeee." Vásquez rolled her head back, clanging against the iron. "Are you deaf? I'm a big girl, I can handle it. So hurry up." The fact that she was oblivious to the very real life threatening events and still making demands did something to Smith. Weeks of dealing with Vásquez, other insolent women and, from his perspective, incompetent staff finally shattered his poker face. He looked livid, veins pulsing in his neck and head, eyes bulging and skin fully turning crimson. Jennifer was sure some blood vessel in his head had just burst, but he pushed on. "Good. Then let's get this started and see if your fucking heart explodes."

He dropped the syringes signaled for a new group of people to come forward. Three nurses appeared from the corner of the room. They attached a number of apparatus to Vásquez, dotted around the copper landscape above her sports bra. A machine started rhythmically beeping, recording her heart rate.

"Wait, what the fuck?" Trish said.

"What?" Jennifer asked, stirring from her depressed observations.

"Listen. That's her heartbeat."

"So?"

Trish began counting on her fingers, nodding her head in a separate, different rhythm. "Jen, her resting heart rate is like.... Below 30 per minute."

"Whoa. Is that even possible?"

"I've heard of it being low in athletes but holy shit..." Trish trailed off.

That gave Jennifer a glimmer of hope. Maybe she could handle it. Even so, when Jennifer recognised nurse Jones holding one of the triple syringe devices, she prayed the woman's morales would cause her to protest.

Her prayers were uncharacteristically answered as the nurse faltered, pausing her walk. Stiffly, she turned to Smith. The back of his hand smacked her across the face before she could even voice her opinion. She was sent onto her ass, mask knocked askew. Tears welled up in big blue eyes, looking up from the ground. "Leave. Now." Smith commanded, snatching the syringes from her. She stood ramrod straight. Ripping the mask fully off of her face, Jennifer could see her for the first time. She was younger than she'd guessed. Embarrassment mingled with rage on the youthful woman's face, a red mark on her right cheek. She strode out of the room wordlessly. "If you want something done right..." Smith mumbled to himself, approaching Vásquez with the two other nurses.

They had a brief countdown and then the needles sunk into copper, along her arms and the base of her back. A grunt of pain showed that Smith's technique left something to be desired compared to nurse Jones.

Purple liquid drained into the restrained woman. Needles were removed and everyone rapidly hurried away. From the way they frantically backed towards the wall, you wouldn't be amiss in thinking they'd just set a bomb to detonate.

The beeping spiked, picking up pace. Veins along Vásquez's biceps and shoulders glowed lilac for a few heartbeats. Hunching forwards against the restraints, Vásquez tightened her grip on the cool iron arms of the seat. Jennifer's stomach tied into knots.

The digital heartbeat continued blaring erratically faster and faster, the latina squirming, finally showing some signs of pain. Leather begun to creak against her skin. She was growing very slowly.

The infernal robotic noise was almost constant now as hair whipped through the air and Vásquez crashed backwards into iron, teeth grit. Spanish curses bled through her teeth as she fought against the restraints. Jennifer watched her abs solidify into diamonds, forearms balloon out, lats flaring into wings and shoulders rounding. Veins erupted, criss crossing over caramel skin.

Her eyes screwed shut, a pained wail escaping. Not a groan. Weaker, like a whimper. Her hips were expanding in the seat, ass spilling out to consume more space. The beeping was deafening but more weak chokes of pain could be heard over the speakers. Those noises coming out of Vásquez were wrong. Never had Jennifer heard something like that come out of the titan. Every other dose she'd made primal, angry noises. A familiar lump formed in Jennifer's throat. The one she'd told herself wasn't sadness. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the foreboding feeling that this was too much for anyone. She was watching superman bleed. Vásquez was going to die.

She just wanted the bleeping to stop. The fucking blasting, thunderous beeping. Whose heart could beat that fucking fast? The pain from one dose was unbearable. Your entire body was on fire. Your nerves, your blood, your bones all dipped into molten lava. Triple that? Jennifer couldn't even imagine it.

Vásquez's teeth gnashed back together, eyebrows arching into furious lines. Eyes opened. She stared straight at Jennifer, making the blonde recoil into the bed. No, she was staring at herself. At her reflection.

The same look from earlier today. The same as the bathroom where Jennifer had been held hostage. The unbearable foreboding dissolved immediately. She felt idiotic for questioning Vásquez. Defiance and determination were the foundation for who she was. It might as well have been seared into her DNA. Even if it was just as a symbolic 'fuck you' to Smith, she would refuse death.

Breasts rose and fell quickly around the leather strap, audible, jagged breaths making Vásquez sound like the enraged monster she truly was. The machine's chaotic, violent bleeping slowed to a constant, powerful thudding. Now, the growth changed gears. It barrelled through Vásquez faster, pumping ever more size and power into her. This much G37 meant the changes were  colossal, concentrated, quaking bursts of growth. Veins throbbed all over Vásquez like roads on a map. If Jennifer wasn't so happy to see Vásquez surviving the ordeal, it would have been terrifying to watch.

The too large seat was rapidly being consumed by more and more and more Vásquez. "Y-yesssss." She rumbled despite the large changes wracking excruciating pain through her. She shuddered and spasmed upwards in the chair, head rocketing up against the backrest, shoulders surging up and out from the top of the girthy strap. Breasts squished against the leather, billowing over both the top and the bottom as they gurgled heavier, pectoral throbbing into slabs beneath the surface. Her hips avalanched towards the edges of the seat, filling and over filling the space as overalls exploded along the seams. Fingers flexed straight, knuckles cracking as they abruptly lurched longer, wrapping around the previously unreachable edges of the armrests. Knees ascended, bending at angles that became more acute, limbs lengthening longer, passed the original tailored size the chair's restraints could contain. Red cracked open along the muscle and sinew of her legs unable to stop their advance outwards in every direction.

The armrests of the chair let out a screech, Vásquez's fingers ripping the metal skyward as they swelled around them, forearms bulging, webs of veins pulsing thicker.  "F-fuck, yes! More!" The beast roared, making the spectators jump. "MORE!" Came a throaty scream. Vásquez was willing the serum in her body to feed her more size. She'd been hungry for this. Hungry for her dose. Greedy for more size.

The first strap to give way was the one over her chest and shoulders. As Vásquez's back eclipsed the chair, she became too broad and thick to be contained by the leather. The material gave up before the buckle and the entire strap snapped, pinging across her body in a blink and revealing more flesh. The release of the strap meant a tsunami of breast and an ocean of strain was transferred to the sports bra which, like a domino falling, followed the example set by the leather. Elastic was devastated and the material burst under her arms. She ploughed outwards, each tremendous expansion forcing rips to maw wider and allow more of the latina bubbling through.

The forermly oppressive chair had lost it's aura. Vásquez was devouring it, dominating it with her raw growth. Now it was a conduit for her pain. She channeled it into the chair, flipping the orignal relationship between it and it's occupant.

The second strap to surrender was the one on Vásquez's left wrist. The buckle exploded open, unable to contest with the strength battling against it. The iron armrest was wrenched upwards, bending to a 90 degree. She was taking the massive chair apart. Tearing down the hulking structure piece by piece as she outgrew it further.

Vásquez growled, venting the searing ache the changes were causing. Ripping her right arm free, the straps along the wrist and bicep shredded as buckles turned into shrapnel. A fist crashed down on the right armrest, mashing the metal earthwards.

Hunched forwards again, still heaving with short, sharp breaths, Vásquez trembled larger,  knots of muscle rising. Each breath seemed to inflate her larger, back bigger and rounder. Even bent forwards she was blotting out the sight of the chair.

Below, the chair was being overwhelmed by different dimensions. Overalls transformed into tattered rags, as Vásquez's legs waged war with the metallic enemy. The armrests were forced wider. Forced to accommodate the woman between them. Forced to yield by her hips and ass. Her bare feet arched, plimsolls a memory on the floor. Calves flexed into heart shaped boulders, thighs ballooning. There was an odd tearing sound as the buckle on one leg sheared through the leather like butter as it was forced looser. The mirrored strap, on the other leg, split at the base, whipping up and then down as the mounting pressure finally took it's toll.

The terrifying growth mercifully came to an end. Vásquez's heart rate plummeted and the veins receded. The monumental, mammoth chair looked laughable now. Vásquez was far, far too big to sit in the debris comfortably. Only the misshapen armrests were visible when looking directly at the chair.

She leaned back in what was left of it, only restrained by four straps instead of ten. Then she started laughing. Deep, devilish laughter echoed through the speaker. Jennifer let out a soft laugh of disbelief. Turning to Trish, she saw the absolute dread on her face.