Game 3Game 3 Outline| Game 3 |
Game 3 Outline |
You gasp for air, trying to process what's happened. Why are you fat? Only yesterday you were a normal-sized person, and now you've gained at least 300 pounds overnight! Your tattered shirt and pants hang loosely over your huge, jiggling frame, evidence of your sudden gain. You look down at yourself, and discover that your gut takes up most of your view - your feet and legs are all but gone. You dig your chubby hands into the sides of your belly, and they sink several inches into the heavy layers of flab now encasing your body. You look back to the mirror, and grimace at the sight of your reflection - what was once a fit, young man, is now an overweight, hairy slob. You pinch yourself just to make sure you're not still dreaming, but the result is the same as before - this is reality. You sigh heavily and head back to the bedroom, in search of clothes that'll fit you.
As expected, all of your normal clothing doesn't even get close to covering your colossal body - most of your shirts can't get past your breasts. After scrounging through wardrobes, boxes and drawers, you manage to find some clothes that belonged to your uncle, which still only just fit you. Along with the clothes, there are several photos of the man who used to own them - he's easily recognisable by his size compared to the other people present in the photos. You smile and put the pictures back, then slowly make your way downstairs. You have trouble navigating through the once-spacy corridors and rooms, due to your size. You're definitely larger than your uncle ever was. After several minutes of slowly walking through the house, you find yourself at the kitchen. Your now-large stomach growls with hunger, and you decide to fix yourself a snack - maybe just a few sandwiches or something.
Several hours later, you've cleared out the entire pantry and fridge, and find yourself still hungry. The clothes are now even tighter than they were before, and several buttons have popped off the shirt. As you heave yourself out of your chair, the rest of the buttons burst off and your gut flows free, forcing your singlet up several inches. You find that you don't really care - the shirt was uncomfortable anyway. You check the time: 9:56. Huh, your favourite show starts in a few minutes. You begin lumbering towards the TV, but then the doorbell rings. Who'd want to visit you during the weekend?
Written by an anonymous author
(This page has not yet been checked by the maintainers of this site.)