Her huge ass bounced and jiggled down the empty corridor. A pale, obscene blue light illuminated the shapely shadows intermingling with those of exposed pipes. In her enlarged green hands lay a rifle of magnificent scope.
She pursed her lips as she walked on fetishy feet. A sliver of bone wrapped in plush flesh extended from her heels, but she was not wearing shoes. Her alien thighs turned outward as they stretched down, like a teardrop over her knees, without sacrificing any girth in her hips. It would be remiss to say that the black velvet attached to a wire-thin string held up only by the curve of her waist and lustrous fat even remotely covered her nether-regions. Two plump folds sat divided by the fabric, so large that they rose at least an inch above her perineum. Two pairs of grapefruit-sized lumps lay squished between her groin and carried by the teasing panties. A long, thin protrusion poked its way over blackness from inside the top of the two fleshy folds. It dipped from the weight of a ring pierced through the tip of it, but more so from the osmium weight linked to the ring, enclosed in crystal. Another large bulge, somewhat recessed behind the innermost lumps, had its redness exposed from the sides.
The panties, now tapered to a string, served only to draw a line over her fist-thick anus. Instead, her anus prolapsed half a foot around the string, covered in a scattered assortment of bumps visible both inside and outside. This time, a huge crystalline-enclosed weight dragged the end of the anus down.
Her whorish tits were just about the volume of her head and hair which curled up underneath her auditory flaps combined. Behind those flaps each was a hole leading to the malleable mass of her brain; if disturbed, the singularity it surrounded would always return it to its original shape. But below her ever-sweaty and bushy armpits, below the fat on her stomach that was just enough to not be unattractive, and around the fertile forest of hair above her clitoris and among her loins, her enormous ass continued to bounce and jiggle at every step, fidget, or even breeze. As did her whorish tits, of course.
Her robe consisted of her laughably thin black brassiere and panties as well as three transparent black strips that reached ground and then some, one on either side of her hips and the other over the front of her genitals, unsure of its purpose in life.
They revealed, among other things, the stretch marks that adorned her torso, hips, and legs and the impressive amount of cellulite that gathered on her ass and thighs - She was not a woman. She was a slut who towered above unspecial men.
Finally, her fat ass-bouncing and jiggling walk lead her to a door. Inside it yielded a cubical room. Seated at a desk and working away on a computer was a suit-clad man with a small CRT monitor for a head. A simple neutral expression was present on the screen.
"Good night Simon," she said.
"How are you, Gardevoir?" he replied, the screen flickering in a rudimentary speaking animation.
"I'm fine."
The silence endured until Simon spoke again.
"I have another job for you."
"Well of course! That's the only reason I'm here."
"Um," Simon started timidly, "Alphex and Betteler want you to assassinate somebody."
"Who?"
"The head of the Zinn Emporium, Charles Zinn."
"What do I get?"
"An extension on your 0.87SR, maybe permanent, and their ABm0.2M. That's their newest motorcycle."
"And that's permanent?"
"Y-es."
She looked at him with a mocking smile.
"That's the best thing you've ever said to me," she sighed, "What a reward. Maybe the loyalties are coming in now."
She admired her weapon: the Silenced Alphex and Betteler Mark 0.87 Sniper Rifle. Barely modified, except for the out-of-place drum magazine attached to the bottom.
"I start today?"
He nodded.
"Goodbye, Simon."
She turned out into the hallway, her massive asscheeks and tits wobbling against each other.