Despair into Tomorrow DX
A Makoto Naegi to Junko Enoshima TF/TG
Summary: In the middle of a lull in the Tragedy, the late Junko Enoshima abruptly comes back with a brand-new scheme: a broadcast able to warp not just people's brainwaves, but the chemical makeup of their bodies, transforming them into a clone of herself.
And unfortunately for Makoto Naegi, he's stuck right at ground zero.
Heaven help us all…
Notes: This is a fully-compiled and updated version of my five-part TF/TG caption series Despair into Tomorrow, posted from October 31, 2020 and December 27, 2021. It can be seen in my AO3 collection changes come from all around, you see (works/17749142) and on my DeviantART account (where I go by FieryExplosion).
This is best read with 'Show Creator's Style' on while on Archive of Our Own (works/42923085), which adds formatting to several illustrations and colored text to show Makoto's corruption.
This one-shot is set an indeterminate amount of time after the end of Danganronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc. Naturally, major endgame spoilers for that game are featured.
Warnings: This one-shot contains Male-to-Female TF/TG, Mental Changes, Identity Death, Moral Degradation, Murder, Hypnosis, Nudity, Sexual Content, Masturbation, Out-of-Character Junko, and Mature Descriptions. Reader discretion is advised.
The schemes of Junko Enoshima ran deep indeed.
Even after she met her end at the climax of the first Killing Game, no one could be too sure of just what kind of tricks had been left up her sleeve; of the hidden dangers still waiting in the wings, able to set off at a moment's notice. The Future Foundation had dedicated half its efforts to finding and combatting these latent threats, but Junko's analytic mind meant that they had to contend with a lot—
—and God knows the Remnants of Despair loved to add to that list.
That was why Makoto Naegi was in this city today.
The Future Foundation had caught wind of a potential Despair weapon within the perimeter, and had sent him in to do some recon prior to a full operation—disguised as a simple PR visit, of course. So far, though, he had had no luck in finding any clues. That wasn't all too surprising, given how good at hiding some of the Despairs could be, but it still wasn't a good thing.
At the end of his third day, Makoto sat on the bed of his rented apartment and sighed.
"Another day spent without any kind of lead," he lamented. "Ugh… I really wish Ms. Yukizome had at least a little more information to give me before sending me off like this."
He frowned deeply. "She was pretty insistent on it being me doing this, too; she even personally convinced Munakata and paid for this apartment herself. She didn't even let me bring Kyoko or anybody else—"
—which definitely sucked, since he had been planning on 'hanging out' with the Detective (and more) for a while beforehand. Neither of them had made it a secret.
"I don't know why," he continued, "but… it feels like she's expecting something."
He looked suspiciously at his Future Foundation-issued tablet, as if it had any sort of answer for him.
"What could it be, though…?"
Right as he was about to dismiss it and go to sleep, however…
…he heard a buzz of electricity come from the disused TV in his room.
All across Japan, television screens were lighting up with a burst of static. People flocked to them in interest—only to scream as a very familiar face came onto each and every one of them.
"What's up, everyone?" Junko's visage greeted them, a sadistic grin as usual stretching up to her cheeks. With one arm, she was carrying a doll of her infamous mascot Monokuma; with the other, she was pointing a finger into the air.
"If you all are seeing this… boo-hoo. I'm dead. Hope won, despair lost, yadda yadda yadda. That's what you all thought, I bet. Well, I'm sorry to say that that couldn't be any fuckin' further from the truth! I've still got a lot of plans for all of you people, and I'm not about to let my death stop them from giving the world even more despair!
"'But why, Junko,' you may ask—'why are you still doing this to us?' See, the world's just so boring without somebody like me to liven things up. All the hope that you people love so much, it's just way too predictable! I can't stand to watch the world make its way back to that after all the despair I've inflicted… so that's why I'm playing this hand from beyond the grave!
"This broadcast has some special properties to it: anyone who's watching 'em or even close by will slowly start to turn into one of my personalities! Be it bitchy, despairingly intelligent, depressed or whatever—they'll be nothing more than another vessel for my lovely self! If they're lucky, they might even get one of my fabulous traits!
"Oh—and Makoto, if you're hearing this… I've got something special for you, too! You're the only one who withstood my despair, so I think it's only right that you get the full package! Hopelessly attractive… hopelessly genius… hopelessly athletic… hopelessly perfect… you're gonna be the next Junko Enoshima, and there isn't anything you or anyone else can do about it!
"Say your prayers, Future Foundation… 'cause today, the entire world is falling to despair again! Puhuhuhuhuhu… PUHUHUHUHUHU!"
Screams of panic echoed from practically everyone in the nation, particularly as the effects of the broadcast began to take hold.
But of all the people being affected by the chaos… none were more horrified than Makoto, who was currently staring at his suddenly red and lengthening fingernails in something akin to dread.
"Oh no," he whispered. "Oh, no, no, no."
Within just a few hours, the population of Japan had gone mad.
Some people had turned into Junko-a-likes very quickly, and had subsequently began relishing in their newfound lust for despair. Others had panicked upon realizing what they were being condemned to, and were lashing out violently—and in some cases, murderously. Everyone everywhere had seemingly abandoned all their common sense, effectively turning into wild barbarians. It was like the Tragedy all over again.
The moment Makoto had confirmed he wasn't dreaming, he was quick to dash straight out of his apartment.
"I gotta get outta here," he muttered, sweat pouring down his head. "If I can just make it out of the city limits, Junko's broadcast won't be able to affect me." I hope…!
As he ran through the chaotic streets, the sound of Junko's voice echoed from high above. Tingles went up and down Makoto's skin, and his hands twitched with every decibel heard—underscoring his daintier fingers and his lightening skin.
Come on, come on…!
Eventually, he made his way to a crowded intersection, where Junko fanatics and Junko opponents alike rioted in equal fervor. Various cars and buses sat wrecked in the middle; if Makoto was lucky, he might be able to jump into one and flee into the night. I don't like doing stuff like that, but this is a matter of life and death!
Unfortunately, while he was still contemplating how he was going to go about doing that, the rioters took notice of him. As the so-called 'Ultimate Hope', Makoto's reputation had spread far and wide—and now, his recognizability had put him in grave danger.
"Hey, look!" someone said, "there's Makoto Naegi! The one who'll be the second Junko Enoshima!"
Instinctively, he froze.
Oh, shit…!
A brief stand-off occurred between the two parties.
Then, a bunch of the fanatics proceeded to jump him and essentially hold him hostage.
"H-Hey!" he cried, "Let—Let me go!"
But the Junko-a-likes would not be so easily disinclined. A tablet was dropped in front of him, screening Junko's broadcast like all the rest—and in seconds flat, his transformation became ever more pronounced.
His arms started slenderizing to the same extent as his hands, and his face followed in suit: his eyelashes grew, his nose shrunk in size, his lips sweetened up… and most notably, his eye color changed from a lime green to a stunning sapphire. In addition, his frame was caving in, too; now supporting more of an hourglass figure than anything resembling a typical male teenager.
No! I—I can't let these people hold me down! I don't want any of this sweet, intoxicating despair—
Wait, what did I just think!?
"Yes!" one of the crazies exclaimed. "Our Goddess of Despair is being reborn as we speak! But she must not come back looking like such a peasant… Come! Let us work to renew her beauty!"
As the stream continued to heavily affect Makoto, his new set of rabid fans took things even further. They started to add makeup to his face (Why do they even have that!?) and tied his rapidly-lengthening hair into twintails, some even taking a sniff of it as it shifted to a strawberry blonde hue (Eww, what!?).
Oh, and just as the icing on the cake, they also went and tore off his clothes.
He shrieked. "Wh-Wh-What the hell!? G-Gimme those back!"
By now, he was feeling absolutely exposed and mortified by what was happening—and coupled with everything Junko's video was doing to him, his mind was quickly reaching its breaking point. His frightened eyes (or excited, one could say) darted around until he detected a knife sitting in one of his captives' pockets. On instinct, he tore his hand away, grabbed the weapon—
—and plunged it straight into the guy's gut.
All went silent, and his would-be worshippers even let him go with gleeful smiles on their faces. Makoto, meanwhile, was practically frozen, a fixed smile resting on his now blood-splattered face. Unlike most sane people, though, he wasn't horrified or disgusted at his actions. No… he was pleased by it.
What's happening to me…? his thoughts rumbled. Wh-Why do I… like this…?
(What would… Kyoko say… if she saw me…?)
He couldn't see it, but his face was the spitting image of Junko Enoshima now.
And true to the Fashionista's words, it could only get worse from here.
Despite his own shock, Makoto wasted no time in making a run for it while everyone was incapacitated. None of the fanatics stopped him; they were too busy prostrating themselves over the murder of one of their own.
This is—This is way too much…! he thought, feeling overwhelmed by everything that was happening. I can't stay out looking like this—even though I'll have a spectacular bod soon—
His breath hitched. I—I have to find somewhere to hide. Anywhere!
He dashed off into the rest of the city, in the hopes that he'd find some place to get his bearings. Noise was blaring into his ears, almost deafening him to the devastation going on around him.
Just keep running, just keep running…! D-Don't look back, just keep running!
As he pushed his feet onward, as hard as he could go, his body continued to change to the tune of Junko's voice.
His arms and legs dramatically slenderized, causing him to start stumbling along the way. His texture grew smoother and smoother, his flesh more sensitive; his feet, too, adapted by shrinking ala his hands. His waist caved into an hourglass figure, leading the way for his chest and ass to take prominence.
And boy, did they become more prominent.
"Ahhhhhhhhh… Ahhhhhhhhh…!"
His voice went up several octaves as he borderline screamed in pleasure. He fell to his knees, drooling under the weight of his own despair.
They were so big, his new assets; nothing else he'd ever seen could compare. It was no secret that Junko had one of the larger busts of Class 78, sitting at a clean 90 cm—but it was one thing to see it from the sidelines, and another to have them hang from your own chest.
The same went for his bubble butt, too.
And given how exposed his entire body was at present, it was no surprise that the cool air brushing against them was doing horrible, horrible things to his senses. He wanted to squeeze them, tweak them, grope them—whatever it took to spread it further up and down his spine.
Th-This feeling… why does it—why does it feel so…!?
Behind him, the anti-despair extremists were approaching him fast, intent on taking the reincarnating Junko out—
"Death to the Ultimate Despair!"
"You will stain this Earth no longer!"
"DIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
—but Makoto's new instincts were quicker on the draw.
He drew his knife into their guts with frightening precision, dancing around them as if they were mere pawns on a chessboard. Their attacks were slower and clumsier by comparison; one tried to take a swing at him with their bat, only for him to effortlessly dodge and strike back with aplomb.
They never stood a chance.
Not with her developing brain.
He—or rather, she; being a male just felt so boring—giggled uncontrollably.
I don't… want any of this—but it feels so good—
No, I can't give in—and yet, why bother with hope, now that I'm like this…?
She shakily got up from the floor and dragged herself to a nearby hotel—a love hotel, specifically, but she honestly didn't care anymore. Whatever's right for someone as beautiful as me… Puhuhuhuhu…
Dazedly, she wandered up a few sets of stairs and stumbled into a random room. Her lack of clothes was still fairly distracting, but somewhat neutered by the numbness aching through her skin.
She collapsed onto the bed and rolled onto her back. Drearily lifting her head, she could see her erect cock sticking out like a sore thumb.
It was wrong. It was absolutely wrong.
It didn't suit a girl like her at all.
Idly, she moved her fingers to it and started pushing it back into her body, all while Monokuma's signature laugh played over the intercom. Thanks to her still-volatile genes, there was an identifiable effect: it shrank more and more with every thrust she gave it.
"Haah… Haah… Haaaaaagh…!"
Finally, she heard a wet 'SCHLORCH!' erupt—and there it was. Dotted by bits of white liquid, there was a fresh slit between her legs. She had just enough time to commit it to memory…
…right as her vision began to fade to black.
Mmm… Now this is more like it…
"Puhuhuhu…! It's about time you dropped in!"
Gray. An expanse of nothingness.
Makoto was sitting in a blank void—sitting in a chair as nude as she was born; sitting in front of Monokuma, her longtime nemesis(…?). Her budding Analyst skills told her she was lucidly dreaming, a state brought upon by the broadcast continuing on outside.
(Even in the sanctity of her dreams, she saw herself as Junko.
Somehow, that wasn't as surprising as it should've been.)
She panted. "Wha—Monokuma? What are you—?"
"Aw, silly Makoto… you know why I'm here!" he giggled. "You're almost her. It wouldn't be right if I didn't show up to finish the job!"
Music blared through the air, driving her further over the edge.
"Now, just sit back and relax. You won't have to worry 'bout yourself for much longer…"
"N-No…" Makoto breathed. "You can't—! This despair is delicious and all, enough to make me sick to my stomach—but it's too much! I—I don't wanna lose—"
Too late.
Monokuma whipped out a pendulum, swinging it left to right to left again. Immediately, Makoto's eyes were drawn toward it, and soon they were spinning around like a whirlpool.
Ah—Ahhhhhhhh~!
"You're not Makoto Naegi," the bear said. "Just look at you. Can you really ever say you were such a boring, inept loser?"
Boring…? Well, I suppose that a girl like me couldn't be… th-that…
"No… you're someone greater. You're the Ultimate Fashionista. You're the Ultimate Analyst. You're the catalyst for a world gone utterly mad."
Fashion… Analyzing… Not… luck? That—feels so right—even though it shouldn't—
Ah… Something's… slipping away…
"You don't care about anything—not your sister, not your friends, and certainly not about hope. In fact, the only thing you do cherish… is yourself."
Myself…? No, that's not true.
I—I care about a lot of things! Like curry, and trendy things, and Kom—
Kom—
…
No… I—
I can't… remember…?
A yawning chasm felt like it was opening inside her soul, taking everything deemed unnecessary with it into the dark. She felt herself forgetting her old life, more and more, with every second that passed. It was massive, endless—
—and corruptive beyond measure.
Her memories were disappearing.
Her familiar instincts were failing.
All that was left was what she was taking in.
I can't—stop—
I'm not—I, I love—
I love—K-Ky—Kiri—g—
"You love yourself. You love spreading despair, and you love what it does to you. It's the same feeling you get from your own body—from your full, luscious bust; your aching, dripping pussy…
"…don't you want to feel it now?"
"Ah—!"
Something clicked.
"Despair… I love… despair…"
Instinctively, M—Ma—who again?—she instinctively brought her hands to below her breasts, cupping them beneath her delicate hands. The moment she touched them, her mouth fell open in delight, and she began visibly vibrating.
"Ohhhh… OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Monokuma cheered.
"Yes, that's right! Submit to the despair! Give up on hope! Let it all come out of you!"
She caressed her breasts, squeezing and teasing them in waves, and the effects it had on her were obvious. Sweat came out of her pores and down her exposed body; around her clit, she had juice leaking out into a puddle.
Her breath came out in heavy spurts. A veritable goldmine of information was being opened to her. She could feel it. The motions of her digits sped up—and with it, the rocking of her body as it absorbed the ecstasy being generated from her perverse actions.
It was an exciting feeling – welcoming and familiar, all at once.
She stuck out her tongue.
"F-Fuck! This is—This is… everything…!"
That's right…
I don't need anyone.
I don't need luck. I don't need hope.
All I need is me.
Because I'm…
"You know it now, don't you?" Monokuma asked. "There's no one else you can be. You're the Ultimate Despair reborn: Junko Enoshima!"
"Junko Enoshima…" she repeated. "Junko Enoshima… Junko Enoshima!"
She let out a mighty scream; just saying the name sent a rush through her like no other. Leaning back in her chair, she dug her fingers into her vagina as well, working herself up to a fever pitch. A whirling darkness was infiltrating both her mind and her vision – despair in its purest form, consuming all that she had been and ever will be.
"YESSSSSSSSS! I am Junko… I am Junko! And I never wanna be ANYONE ELSEEEEEEEE~!"
Eventually, after releasing an equally epic climax…
…she completely blacked out.
…
…
…
…
…
"Ah—aghhhhhh…"
She came back to herself in that dinky hotel room.
Another breathy gasp escaped her lips, her mind quick to review everything that happened in the last 24 hours.
Is it… over? she thought. Am I…?
A glance downward told the entire story.
Two giant balloons greeted her back—as did the feeling of an empty space between her legs and a pair of wide hips ready to gyrate.
She ogled herself in silence, her brain doing the mental equivalent of a system update.
"…I'm her," she muttered. "I'm really… her."
She tried bringing forth memories from further back, to compare and contrast the her of now to the him of before—but no matter how hard she pushed, the details of that peasant seemed to slip her by. His appearance, his personality…
…they were all gone.
All she knew was…
I… I used to be someone else, she thought. Someone who… didn't have all of this.
…
…ha. How pathetic. He's not even worth remembering now.
Slowly, she got up and off the mattress. She pulled open a nearby drawer and grabbed one of the (her? signature?) black-and-white ties sitting inside, before dragging herself into the bathroom.
She stood in front of the mirror, and—by instinct—tied the accessory around her neck.
She stared at her reflection.
She stared, and stared, and stared and stared and stared and stared and stared.
And then…
A giggle started trickling out of her mouth.
"Puhuhuhuhu… Upupupupupu…"
Which soon erupted into…
"Puhuhu—BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
…full-blown maniacal laughter.
"Oh, look at me now!" she bellowed, a smile on her lips and a hand on her hip. "Everyone's worst nightmare is standing before me… and I'm just letting her continue on without a care.
"What would my fri—my old classmates think of me now…?" She smirked. "I bet most of them are rolling in their graves. Everything that they've done, that they've fought to overcome… I'm going to topple it all down—and I don't even give a single fuck anymore."
A low chuckle escaped her mouth.
"There's no compassion left inside me. There's no other purpose I'm meant for. Because my name…
"My name… is Junko Enoshima!
"Not Ryoko, not Mukuro, and definitely not some lame-ass 'Ultimate Hope'," she added—"just the despairingly delectable Junko! And like it or not, there's no going back from that!"
(And yet…)
She leaned in with both hands on the counter, flashing a wicked-looking grin at herself—
—only to falter when she noticed the tears dripping down her cheeks.
"Wha…? I'm… crying…?"
…
Her soul tinged with an echoing, aching sentimentality.
Perhaps not all of him was as gone as the original Junko had intended.
"I don't… How am I…?" she stammered, uncharacteristically. "I—I'm supposed to be nothing but a despair junkie now. So… why is it that… I still want to… be with them again…?"
Her former allies at the Future Foundation…
A certain green-haired girl, trapped in an apartment…
(…a purple-haired detective, diligently waiting for her back at base…)
She clutched her head with one hand, gritting her teeth as conflicting feelings warred within her.
"I—I need to—kill them—no, I have to k-keep them a—under my thumb, salivating in glorious despair—
"They—They'd never accept it—which is why it'll be so great to watch them break—b-because I—know—they're my friends, a-a-and—I—
"I—I don't w-want to—g-g-give them up…"
…to hope? To despair?
Quite frankly, even she didn't know.
But the one thing she did…?
…
…it was a distraction that she couldn't afford to have.
Just then, a ringtone echoed out from the main room.
She jolted out of her trance.
Slowly, she craned her head in the direction of the jingle.
It kept going and going, chiming on incessantly.
And all the while, it was playing this… strangely familiar melody.
She walked back out of the restroom and toward the source of the disturbance: an open laptop on one of the nearby tables, seemingly in the process of automatically booting up. She watched at the loading bar creeped up to 100%, little by little. And once the bar was entirely filled in with a blood pink palette…
…she was met with her own visage—the real Junko Enoshima, the one who had kicked off this mess, still holding that Monokuma doll.
"Hello there, 'Junko'! If you're seeing this video, then that means everything's done," she stated, rather smugly. "You and me, we're finally complete! It's too bad I couldn't be there to supervise the process myself… but I'm sure the whole thing was just as despairing as my own first descent into depravity! Puhuhuhuhu…!"
The new Junko smiled through gritted teeth.
The words may have been coming from her own face… but for some reason, she couldn't stand how condescending her original was being to her.
She wanted to kiss her and kill her at the same time; such was the contradiction at the core of her being.
"Hahahaha… oh, fuck you too, you bitch," she said.
"In any case, I'm sure you're just aching to try out what your new body's capable of," the first Junko continued. "And you probably want to greet all of your new followers, too; the ones who must've definitely given you a great time during your induction! I think they deserve a little reward for helping you get this far… wouldn't you say?"
…
The corner of Junko's lips twitched.
Yeah… I think that's a good idea.
"So! On this laptop, I've got a program that'll allow you to communicate with the entire city—and individual phones—just for this purpose. There's more I've got on this baby, of course… but I'll let you get into that on your own time."
She closed her eyes and held up a hand, closed into a V-sign. "Well, that's all for now! I won't keep you up for much longer. Get out there and make something of yourself! Start another killing game, make everyone fall to their knees—it doesn't matter what! You'll be a wonderful Junko Enoshima, either way!"
Just like that, the recorded message was over.
…the new Junko knew what she wanted to do.
There were so many emotions inside of her now; so much that she didn't quite know yet how to process again. Love, hate, desire, hopelessness—and all of it was mixing about as well as oil and water.
How much of it was from Junko Enoshima?
How much of it was from her crumbled old self?
What was supposed to be right—and what was supposed to feel wrong?
She wanted to forget it.
Forget the drama, forget her tainted hope—
—and just embrace the despair of her situation.
To be nothing more than a carefree, hedonistic Ultimate Fashionista…
That was her purpose now.
And it was way past time to start living up to it.
"Mm-hm-hm… Message received."
Grinning, she waltzed over to the closet and pulled out several articles of clothing: a white shirt, a black cardigan, an extremely short red miniskirt, a black-and-red lacy bra, and a pair of mid-sized black boots. Together, they formed her signature outfit—an iconic ensemble, perhaps for all the wrong reasons, but still hers nevertheless.
If she was going to introduce herself to the world, then she was doing it right.
"The people out there are screaming," she said aloud—"screaming for despair, screaming to taste my glorious presence all over again. And me… I can't be the Ultimate Despair if I don't at least try to understand what they need.
"Yes… this is who I am now—not a shadow of who I or anyone else wants to be. I'll make them understand: this is what she's made me…
"…and no one's ever gonna change me."
In the streets, in ruined homes, in various buildings with leftover electricity running, thousands upon thousands of despair-addled people loitered around, eagerly anticipating an announcement from their would-be leader.
It was a long and arduous wait. A good chunk of that time had been spent rioting—over the states of their minds and bodies, over where the former Ultimate Hope was; et cetera, et cetera. But now, they were all on the same page.
Fortunately for them, it wouldn't be long before the screens once more flashed with static.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your goddess has returned!" the girl of the hour sang, her face bright and smiling wide. It was a face that had plastered itself over the city just twenty-four short hours ago, though this one carried a slightly different cadence to it.
The cheers outside were outright deafening.
Men and women of all shapes and sizes – and dispositions as well – were gathered to witness this unfortunately historic event. Some of them were even sporting strawberry blonde hair or long red fingernails themselves.
"Man, you guys sure are excited to see me," she laughed. "I'm not surprised. Despair is an addicting feeling, especially for those of you who were recently indoctrinated. In a way, it's new for me, too. But that's why we're all here today: to take our first steps into a brave new era of despair!
"I've kept you all waiting long enough—so I'll stop mincing my words. I need to break in this new body of mine… and I'm looking for a lot of volunteers to get the job done."
A chorus of gasps rang out—and then, excited, worship-esque murmurings.
"That's right. I'm giving you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: the chance to gaze upon your queen in-person and fuck me silly! I know what shape your fantasies take, even without the little bit of me inside your hearts and souls."
Her smile grew more sinister. "You want it all, don't you? My hair, my lips, my skin…"
Then, almost tauntingly, she did several things in succession.
She pulled out her hairclips, letting her full mane fall to her back—
She unbuttoned both her cardigan and her shirt, allowing them to droop slightly from her body—
And finally…
She tugged down her bra… and revealed a fully succulent nipple to the world.
"…my huge, F-cup breasts…"
Drool started pouring down everyone's mouths, men and women alike.
"It'll be a win-win for all of us. Isn't that just grand?"
The fervor promptly turned into screams of delight, the idea of being able to 'do it' with their idol overpowering their feeble minds.
For better or worse, they had become entirely subservient to the will of the Ultimate Despair.
And she was more than happy to take advantage of that little fact.
"I'll be hanging around the love hotel on this street here," she continued, putting up a map of her general location up for everyone to witness. "I won't allow all of you in at once—even a girl like me needs her rest, y'know—but aside from that? Anyone's fair game.
"So, what are you waiting for? Come on in, however many at a time – and I'll blow all your remaining hopes out in the best way possible. I better see you all nice and juicy by the time you arrive…"
Nothing more needed to be said. The second she finished speaking, the idling crowd turned into a full-blown stampede. Every single person had but a singular goal in mind: to get to the new Junko Enoshima's location, at any cost.
And from there…
Junko's mouth hung open in delight.
Oh, God—yes, yes, yesssssssssss!
Liquid joy was pouring out of every orifice she had, between the gaps being filled up by all the cocks she was taking in.
A virtual armada of people were baying for her cum, gender be damned—and she herself was just as eager to let it spill out onto them. She had started mostly clothed; lacking only her underwear and barreling right on top of some poor schmuck… but as time wore on, the rest of her attire was torn off as well, bringing her right back around to being naked.
Not like she minded, of course.
She was being ravaged all over: her mouth and pussy were accepting every boner they could find; her breasts and ass were being clapped and squeezed to no tomorrow. Her energy reserves were just as unceasing as her amount of available acolytes—she had experienced several climaxes already, and still had room for plenty more.
And the best part was, she knew exactly how to tease her targets to get the best possible reaction from them, courtesy of her Analyst skills. Their interests, their fetishes, their weak points—every facet of their inferior selves was being streamed into her mind as fast as a souped-up gaming PC could process (for all the people who cared about that kind of thing, anyway).
"Come on," she panted—"is this really… all you have… to offer? You really don't… want me to… get bored here…! Show me what your despair's worth!"
Slaves to her that they were, they acquiesced as best as they could.
They weren't the only ones who had heeded this command. Other bodies were strewn about all around the room; the remains of those who had tasted her glorious might and ended up completely drained.
By the time Junko was done, it was likely that there wouldn't much more left but a sea of borderline corpses.
But so long as they could fulfill her needs, it didn't matter to her in the slightest.
Mmmmmmm… This feels so great. All these randos violating me, stuffing me full of their filth…?
It fills me up with such sweet despair.
And I…
I can't get enough of it.
Finally, her teasing fingers and thrusting ass proved to be too much for her current batch to handle, and—after expelling more volleys of semen from their tips… they proceeded to pass out from ecstasy and exhaustion.
She grinned.
"Aw, is that all? How disappointing… but I suppose it's to be expected with peasants like you. Whatever—there's more of you where that came from! Puhuhuhuhuhuhuhu…!"
The floodgates were open, and there was no pushing them back down.
Junko's new life had begun with a glorious bang.
There was no need for her to look back anymore…
…
…but that didn't mean her old life was done with her yet.
Elsewhere in the country…
A cloaked figure stood in what was virtually the middle of nowhere, staring down at a device in their hands.
Beneath their hood, one could see a pensive expression on their face, and the faintest indications of a pair of headphones—
—but perhaps the most identifying thing about them was their lavender hair and similarly colored eyes.
"Oh, Makoto, I hope you got out in time…" Kyoko Kirigiri muttered, still looking remarkably like herself.
The world had gone mad—well, even more mad than usual after the so-called 'Junkoification' outbreak. If the Future Foundation had had a hard time maintaining order before, it was nothing compared to now. Every member was running themselves ragged with damage control, and that was if they hadn't succumbed to the auditory virus in the first place.
It was only thanks to sheer dumb luck that the survivors of Class 78 (sans Makoto) had been spared. It would be fitting, if Makoto hadn't been missing from their numbers.
And now, Kyoko was out here, committing the Luckster's last known coordinates from her tracking device to memory.
Perhaps this was a risk, going out when even the Future Foundation was struggling to cope with the disaster unfolding before them—
—but Kyoko wouldn't be able to live with herself if she didn't at least try to find him.
And after everything, we could all use a little more of his hope.
"Just hang on for me," she said to herself. "I'm coming to find you. That's a promise."
And so, the Detective marched on, into a future as uncertain as the red skies above…
I don't know why, but I just have a knack for transforming Makoto into Junko. No one else: not Hajime, not Shuichi; just Makoto. I could write this exact scenario a thousand times and never get tired of it. Doesn't hurt that there's no shortage of suitable art of her to use as inspiration, either.
In contrast to my previous major Makoto-to-Junko fic, A Chocolaty Punishment, this one focuses a little more on the psychological aspect of the transformation. It's not quite as in-depth as my usual fare, since I wrote this whole thing in relatively bite-sized chunks, but it still managed to reach a word count of over 5.5k – that's gotta account for something, right?
I didn't give too much thought to how the mechanics of the transformation worked, either; it was simply a vehicle for me to express what I wanted to express. Though to be fair, that's the case with a lot of these types of fics. I mean, we label these as 'TF/TG fics' for a reason.
For this upload, I made a few changes so it could flow better as a complete text. I threw in a short prologue scene to set the stage, plus a number of extra lines here and there to flesh out the bits that I sorta glossed over originally. Finally, I rewrote the last section entirely: Part 5 was mostly written as an obligatory epilogue since it was way overdue, and I didn't have the brain space for anything more substantial. It definitely deserved more than I could give it then, so I decided—eh, I might as well try.
Was it perhaps a tad unnecessary? Yes.
Do I regret it? Eh, not really.
Well, that's all for now! See you around!
