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“This is some sort of sick prank, isn't it; show me where the cameras are so I can smile for the audience. Ha ha, good one! You got me!” Plastering on an over-exaggerated, sarcastic grin, you look around the barren room, empty except for a table, three chairs, and a light suspended above you. You try to keep your cool, but inside you still feel the dread from when they brought you here. You were waiting at the bus stop, on your way home from work, when you were lured into helping a stranger. Next thing you know you’re being blindfolded, gagged, and forced into a vehicle. The eyes of your captors lock onto you; your grin fades.“This isn’t a prank,” the sharp-faced woman sitting across from you replies succinctly. “I can understand that this situation is abnormal, and we wouldn’t have looked for someone like you unless we had no other ideas for handling this.”“Your… unique set of skills are of interest to us,” the muscled man sitting beside her adds, looking you up and down.“I have no idea what you mean by that,” you respond, “I’m a CPA. My skills consist of handling peoples’ finances and helping them file taxes. These are not unique skills, and certainly not worth shoving me into a car and bringing me here.”“Yes,” the woman interjects, “but that is not your only job, now is it?” Your blood runs cold. You hadn’t told anyone about your second job, and you had taken steps to keep people from learning your identity. By day, you were a typical accountant, but by night you made fetish content, specifically feedist fetish content. You would stuff yourself on camera for eager admirers, eating copious amounts of heavily fattening food, which in turn created a lot more of you for them to view. Over the past three years, you had nearly doubled your starting weight.“How did you-”“We have our ways of tracking people and digging up information,” the man cuts you off, staring at your belly “and we can clearly see that you do have the skills we’re looking for.”“Why would the police need someone like me?” You unconsciously put a hand on your rounded middle.“We’re not the police,” he replies, “we are more of an underground resistance movement, hence the secrecy. We fight against corruption and try to bring people to justice, even if it’s not through the judicial system.”“Even if I could help, why should I?”“We know you care about what happens to this city,” the woman responds, “and beyond that, there will be a substantial reward for your participation.” She hands you a card, on which is written an amount of money large enough to live off of for the rest of your life. “You will receive ten percent in advance upon agreeing to help us, and the rest once your work is done.”Your eyes go wide, “And if I were to take the ten percent and go on the run?”“You? Run?” she says, both of them chuckling at the mere idea of that happening. “We know too much about you to let you get that far, and, let’s face it, you’re easy to spot in a crowd.”“Okay. I still think this is crazy, but I’ll hear you out. Could you at least give me some more details about the situation?”“Of course,” the man grabs a file, laying out various documents and pictures in front of you. “You may or may not have heard of the three politicians that have been found dead this past year,” he shows you three pictures, “Evelyn Meyers, Hugo Gutierrez, and Joseph Lambert. All three were planning to run for various seats in the upcoming election, and all three were looking for funding for their campaigns. The one donor that they all sought out was Alain Giffard.”“Alain Giffard?” You recognized that name; everyone in the city would recognize that name. He was one of the wealthiest people in the city. Known for his generous philanthropy, Giffard’s name was on universities, museums, hospitals, and even a street. A notoriously big eater, he was often seen dining at the finest restaurants with all sorts of notable figures. Giffard looked as rich as his diet, with tailored suits that fit his ample waistline perfectly.“Giffard has mostly stayed out of politics, though he had been thought to be more progressive, which is likely why our victims thought he might be willing to help with their campaigns. Each of the victims went out for a few meals with Giffard, then were invited to his home for dinner, after which they were found dead in various alleyways. You would think that the police would be able to put two and two together, but no; the victims were found months apart from each other, and were assumed to be unconnected-”“Or,” the woman interrupts, “the connection was purposely hidden from the public. It doesn’t look good for the other party if their competition is getting picked off one by one.”“True,” the man continued, “As well, Meyers in particular was publicly critical of the police, so that could have influenced a lack of interest in investigating her death. However, the connections do not stop here. The autopsies of all three victims showed the same cause of death.” He pushes a paper in front of you.You start to read, and as you do you get a sinking feeling in your stomach. The three victims’ abdomens were bloated and stretched to a large degree, but other than that, they appeared relatively uninjured. The cause of death for all three was listed as death due to rupture of the stomach. “Oh my god…” you whisper, feel nauseous and on edge.Both of them look at you for a moment as you process everything. The woman then speaks, “We believe Giffard is luring progressive politicians in with his wealth and charm in order to eliminate them. Even if the police were on our side, the method of murder is such that it would be extremely hard to prove in court. Giffard, with his money and positive public persona, would never be found guilty.”“Wait, wait. You want me to kill Alain Giffard?” You take a deep breath, exhaling deeply. “This is fucking insane, you know that right? You want me, an obese accountant, to kill one of the richest and most well known men in the city? I’m not an assassin! Hell, I can barely walk down the street without breaking a sweat.”“You’re right, you’re not an assassin, nor in good enough shape to become one,” the man responds, looking over your body once more, “however, you are someone with an incredible stomach capacity, given how much you eat for your admirers. We’ve watched you put away large amounts of food in a single sitting. You could easily out-eat Giffard, and that’s saying something.”“We don’t want you to kill Giffard. We’d like to you to be bait for him,” the woman says, “you would pose as a leftist planning to run for city treasurer, and go to Giffard to ask for campaign funding. He’ll wine and dine you, then later ask you to join him for dinner at his home. You would attend, tipping us off beforehand, and members of our group would come in to finish the job.”“You make it sound so simple.” You shake your head, looking down at your fattened body, imagining what such meals would do to your already massive body.“We know it’s risky, and a lot to ask of one person, but we really need your help. None of us want a corrupt billionaire to have full control over the city, and none of us want to see any more people fall victim to him. And since no one else seems to want to stop him, it’s up to us.”Both of them look at you as your mind goes into overdrive, weighing the risks and benefits of agreeing to help. Giffard is simultaneously a beloved philanthropist and a serial killer plotting to run the city from behind the curtain. The risk to your own safety is extremely high. At the same time, a part of you knows what you are capable of, and knows that if there is anyone in the city that could survive Giffard’s meals, it’s you. And the reward money didn’t hurt either.“I can’t believe I’m actually considering this,” you say, rubbing your forehead. Your heart beats even faster than normal, nervous but also excited.“We’ll do everything we can to keep you safe. Please, help us.” The woman looks at you. Although she has remained stoic throughout your meeting, you see a desperate look in her eyes. Something in your, rather large, gut is pushing you to accept this role.“Alright,” you nod, “I’ll do it.” You didn’t know if you had just made the greatest or most disastrous decision of your life, but you knew that your life as you knew it was about to change.