A Silverwash Story
(Inflation, TF, Rubber)
Kijuuki had learned to dread RnR, the brief periods of time when he was supposed to stretch his avian legs and unwind off the ship induced a unique anxiety, all caused by the seemingly constant source of unease in his life, his captain.
“Say that again” The massive Colugonian growled at the upright Cochran. Alma usually took offship time as a cue to indulge herself. More often than not, that impulse resulted in her finding a seedy watering hole and starting a fight.
“I just said you were big.” The jumpsuited Cochran argued back. His earlier resolve was beginning to falter. Alma seemed to only be getting bigger the longer he looked at her. “Don’t have to go all psycho bi-”
Whatever followed was interrupted by a heavy hook to his beak, which bounced him off of his own barstool and left him sprawled on the floor. His two friends launched themselves at Alma, who roared with savage excitement as she elbowed another Cochran in the side of the head and kicked at his Colugonian friend who was attempting to bowl her over.
Kijuuki could only watch until a weary voice interrupted his gawking.
“Keej, it’s your deal.”
The Ibycai turned back to the game of Razzat that he was in the middle of playing with his crewmate, Emile. The small Ermin was halfway through his second cigarette and seemed to be actively ignoring the escalating melee that his captain had started.
“Right” Kijuuki apologized, sliding cards out to himself and The Honest Mistake’s pilot. His eye twitched slightly at the sound of someone’s skull colliding with a drink tray. “So...when do you think we should help her out?” “It’s just three” Emile scowled as he redrew half his hand. “Captain can take three drunken foundry workers.”
Alma roared as she bodily lifted a shouting Cochran over her head.
Kijuuki played an L-Shape card, causing the corresponding symbol to appear on the Razzat board between them. “She might be mad if we don’t back her up.”
Emile took a drag from his smoke before laying down a sideways Angle card. “Or she’ll be mad we spoiled the brawl. If Alma’s gonna be mad at us, I’d prefer the option with less likelihood of a broken nose.”
“Maybe we can buy her a drink afterwards...” Kijuuki had placed a Leap card, bypassing Emile’s attempt to intercept his path.
“Dammit” The Ermin swore. “Why do you always have one of-”
His complaints were cut off by the sudden presence of his captain’s sizable rear shoving him down the length of the booth. Emile yelped, trying to brace himself against Alma’s butt while Kijuuki ducked, spreading his wings to shelter the game board from her thrashing tail.
Alma shoved her opponent away from her, returning to her feet while an exasperated grunt from Emile drifting out behind her. The other, male Colugonian was bruised and openly bleeding from his face. He bared his teeth and lunged again.
One of his hands darted out suddenly, the glint of metal flashing by his side as he stopped short and stabbed at Alma’s wide gut. The blade he had produced from his pocket entered her belly, and Alma’s eyes widened in surprise. Her attacker’s hand had sunk into her soft stomach almost up to the knuckles. Both of them heard the muffled clink of metal snapping.
“Whut?” The miner growled.
Alma thrusted forward, her stomach rebounding and sending the man stumbling backwards, clutching the hilt of his broken blade. Alma growled and fell upon him, shouted expletives mingling with the impact of her fists.
“Alright Captain?” Emile called out from across the mostly vacated bar.
“No thanks to you two…” Alma grumbled as she rose to stand over the battered form of her opponent. Kijuuki elbowed Emile in the side.
Alma turned around, noting the long gash in the fabric of her shirt that the knife had left, exposing untouched, scaly skin underneath.
“Impressive” She mused, picking at her ruined clothing. “That worked better than I thought it would….Emile.” “Yeah Captain?”
“Once we’re back onboard, chart a course for The Assembly.” Alma’s snout cracked into a toothy grin. “I’ve got some feedback for the doctor...”
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The bony Ibycai poked Alma’s exposed gut with the tip of his stylus before returning to his notes, a small lens mounted over his left eye whirring with activity as it processed information.
“No discomfort?” “Sometimes I feel a bit gooey” Alma shrugged. She lay on the medical bed in her underwear and watched the multiscanner mounted above her sweep back and forth on it’s robotic arm, sending a line of blue across the mountainous scaly curves of her body. “But I’ve felt worse, and it’s worth it.”
The doctor nodded, turning away to examine a rotating model of a protein chain. “I must say, your voluntary field tests have proven very helpful. Your genetic chain seems very accustomed to mutation.”
Alma snorted. He didn’t know the half of it.
“With continued input like this, we may be able to bring this implant to market by last quarter.” He continued.
“It works fine for me, Doc.” Alma slapped her stomach. “But it might not work on folks without as much weight to throw around.”
“The compound primarily affects lipid cells in its current form, yes...” The doctor nodded. “...Mutating them into our unique bio-polymer and granting it a much greater tensile strength, the ability to absorb and redirect kinetic force, provide insulation from heat and energy-based damage…..”
Alma rolled her eyes and let Mikudo prattle. These R&D types loved to go on their rehearsed pitches about their projects, often forgetting if they were talking to a colleague, a test subject or a potential investor. Normally one rambling Ibycai was enough for Alma, but this relationship had been a sin of convenience. After a job had left her in possession of a freight load of chemical goop that she’d never heard of, but was apparently very rare, her search for a buyer had led her to Mikudo and The Assembly. They billed themselves as an independent think tank that put their efforts into fringe science, though Emile considered them no better than his isolationist brother. They didn’t have the cash to pay for the “nano-peptide” as Mikudo called it, but he had made an intriguing offer of access to their prototype systems and defensive augmentations.
It hadn’t been a difficult decision for Alma.
“....Though that should be solved by the time we finalize our Phase 2. It can affect tissues and proteins, not just lipid cells….”
“What?” Alma asked, suddenly returning to the conversation.
“Oh, Phase 2” Mikudo repeated. “We’ve got a working prototype, but it’s still a ways off….”
“How ‘working’?” Alma perked up.
“It does what it’s supposed to.” Mikudo shrugged, returning to a stool in one corner of the lab. “We’re just not sure what else it does.”
“How tough would it make me?” Alma started to play scenarios in her head.
Mikudo blew out a long whistle of air through his beak. “Functionally?....nearly indestructible. But there are vast factors that need to be-”
“Indestructible….” Alma smiled. “Doc, you just found your first field test.”
“What?” Mikudo was taken aback. “It’s barely out of Alpha. Who knows what kind of-”
“You need info, right?” The Colugonian had sat up, swatting away the scanner. “You get it from me. And if you give me the upgrade...I’ll give you the rest of the nanopepsi….stuff”
“Nanopeptide….” Mikudo breathed. “I...thought you gave us your stores…”
“After seeing how valuable you thought it was?” Alma barked happily. “That was one barrel. I’ve got five more.”
Mikudo’s eyes widened. That kind of motherlode was unheard of. If this pirate was telling the truth, there would be no limit to the number of projects which that proprietary compound could supply. It wasn’t as if there was any legal way for them to get their hands on it….and what was the risk to The Assembly if something went wrong? Certainly not much…
“Just so long as you understand the risks involved….” Mikudo nodded slowly, his own eyes starting to trail into the distance as he entertained notions. “And The Assembly can remain insulated….” “Yeah Yeah” Alma grinned. “We got a deal or not?”
Mikudo blinked, his gaze meeting Alma’s.
“I’ll prep the surgical suite”
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Alma scratched at her hair as the hot water from her shower poured over her. She reached behind herself to feel at the slight bump of scar tissue on her back that was already vanishing. That Ibycai had been discreet and painless. The way he explained it, the implant he had given her would incrementally release catalyst packets of the polymer into her system, gradually converting her body, increasing tissue density and reforging her bit by bit into the durable, polymer super-soldier she had been promised. An application on her PDA let her know how far along the process was. After a few days of observation and finally being released on to her ship, she was sitting at 14% of Phase 2.
Alma looked down at her body as she scrubbed the ridge on the back of her neck. She was already starting to feel it, a heaviness in her gut and a pliancy to her body that she hadn’t felt before. She brought a hand to her belly, rubbing at it’s wide circumference. It felt just the tiniest bit different. She was well used to the pebbly feel of her scales under her own fingers, but now, everything felt….smoother. Like a thin layer of plastic had coated her body. Water didn’t stick to her anymore, just gliding off like she was a nonstick pan. And she was almost certain that a part of her had….squeaked the other day. She remembered what Mikudo had said, almost clearer than when she had been actually listening to him. Of the permanency that any changes would have on her. Of how difficult or impossible it would be to revert them. She pinched at her skin.
Alma shook her head, running a hand through her hair. Whatever. She could deal with a little rubberiness. It’s worth it, she told herself.
It’s worth it.
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25% Conversion
*Crack Crack Crack*
The backpedalling Austician could only look on in horror as the bolts from his gun thudded into the body of the beefy Colugonian who was rumbling towards him. She was lightly armoured, but didn’t seem to need any of it, as the shots from his weapon fizzled and dissipated as soon as they struck her.
Alma grinned. The Austician dropped his blaster, which hit the floor just as her right hook met his face. She barely even felt the familiar shock of impact rattling up her arm.
“I think that’s the last one” Emile noted, stepping over the prone form of a Kark as he holstered his blaster. “Damn, Captain. What the hell did those doctors do to you?”
Alma flexed a shiny bicep and grinned. Worth it.
“Grab the rest of the isotopes.” She barked over her shoulder. “I wanna be clear before they get an alarm off.”
Kijuuki shoved the last of the small containers into his satchel, scrabbling to keep up with his crewmates as the trio made their way through the cavernous cargo hold towards the shipping port they had docked The Honest Mistake at. Emile charged ahead, just as there was movement at his right and suddenly there was a wiry Kark in an ill-fitting security uniform standing between Alma and her ship. Alma didn’t even slow down as she thundered towards him, a panicked shot going wide over her ear as she collided with him, her titanic gut leading the charge. She planted her feet and felt a more significant tremor of impact pass through her as the Kark was bowled across the room, skidding to a stop several meters away.
Kijiki didn’t even have time to gawk as he hustled onboard. Alma scoffed as she sidled through the bay doors and hammered the airlock shut, confident that Emile was already on his way to the bridge. She rattled up the steps out of the hold and made for her captain’s chair, eager to put space between them and the station they had just ripped off. Already the thrum of acceleration was beating within the ship as Alma leapt into her wide seat.
And was totally airborne a second later.
Alma crashed to the ground in a facedown heap, head reeling as she tried to come to terms with what just happened. She had completely rebounded out of her own chair, with enough force to put her snout underneath Emile’s pilot nest.
“Got the cargo stowed. Should still be fresh by the time we get it to-”
Kijuuki’s report died in his throat as he took in the prone form of his captain, her wide backside still jiggling slightly from the impact.
“Get on comms and jam their mayday…” Alma grumbled into the carpet.
“Right…” The Ibycai moved to his console. “Did, um….something happen to your chair?”
“No….” Alma brought a hand back to her own sizable butt, feeling it’s taut, smooth surface. “I...bounced.”
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33% Conversion
Alma grunted at the overstretched pile of clothing on the floor of her room as she stood, naked, in her quarters. Once again, she stepped into a simple pair of underwear and attempted to pull it up over her hindquarters. It made the journey easily enough, but as soon as she released the waistband, what was left of its elasticity caused it to snap away, retreating across the expanse of her ass until it was low enough to drop away, leaving her bare once more. Alma groped at her buttocks. They were firm, almost frictionless. Unyielding. There was nowhere for a piece of fabric to find purchase or resistance on her hips. She rubbed a similarly textured hand across the slick circumference of her belly. It felt like glass against glass, totally sheer.
Alma sighed. Either she was going to have to go commando from here on out, or start wearing suspenders on her skivvies.
The hefty Colugonian settled for a body glove, which had always felt a bit tight on her, but beat alternatives. The artificial fabric rubbed against her skin in an odd way as she zipped it up. Alma threw on a shirt and trudged out of her cabin, the lycra material of the bodysuit occasionally eliciting a squeak against her skin, like someone rubbing their thumb across a balloon.
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51% Conversion
Alma woke groggily, her alarm pinging softly on the shelf next to her bed. She had taken to sleeping in the buff, with only a sheet covering her body. The only clothing that felt comfortable on her body anymore was light, breezy garments, which were difficult to find in her size. She cracked her eyes open and made to shut off her alarm.
Her arm didn’t respond.
Her eyes flared wider as she glanced at her limb. She tried to move it, and again was met with the resistance. The muscles in her arm were twitching, trying to lift, but something was restraining her, as though braces had been woven into the tissue of her limbs. Panic started to eat at her thoughts as she struggled to move. Effort finally bore fruit as her arm stiffly swung upwards. She flexed until her elbow ground into motion, and she was able to slap at her alarm clock to silence it. This wasn’t a locking of the joints. It was deeper, more inherent than that. As if bending was forcing her body out of a neutral position that it was cast into. The more she moved her arm, the easier it was to manipulate, like warming up an old engine.
Her immediate paralysis resolved, Alma was faced with the prospect of moving out of bed with legs that didn’t fully work. She tried to kick and rock her way into a sitting position, but her stance was odd. She felt more sunken into her mattress than normal, like it had been converted into a hammock. Alma shifted again, bucking slightly as her torso started to respond to her commands. She finally shifted enough to get her arm underneath her and push herself out of bed, but failed to get her feet underneath her quickly enough to avoid tumbling onto her belly. Her stomach failed to flatten in response to her weight, retaining it’s round shape even as she settled on top of it. She feebly kicked, still tangled in her sheet as the door to her chamber hissed open.
“Captain, we’ve got a serious-” Emile’s voice cut off from the threshold.”Oh, sorry, I’ll…”
Alma struggled to scowl over her shoulder.
“Umm...Captain? You’re looking a little….warped.” The pilot continued. The crew of The Honest Mistake had become accustomed to deviations in their physiology, and had come to a mutual understanding to keep eachother abreast of changes. “Your butt, it’s...flat. Like flat as a board.”
Alma furrowed her brow. No wonder it had been so hard to move.
“No wait” Emile called, transfixed by the spectacle. “It’s starting to pop back...aaand there it goes. Back to normal. I’ll ah….I’ll be on the bridge.”
Alma heard his footsteps fade away as she struggled to her feet. Back to normal.
The pulse of panic in her gut had rescinded, but had not vanished. Normal. What the hell was that even supposed to be now?
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61% Conversion
Alma was pacing her room. It was all but a necessity nowadays. Too much inactivity could lead to her body “Settling”. Every bout of paralysis left her wondering if it was ever going to wear off, a grim reminder of what was dwelling under her skin. How far did she have left to go? What more could this do to her? Alma shook her head, trying to banish the omnipresent haze of anxiety that was chasing her thoughts. She’d made her choice, she’d find a way to adapt. She could live like this.
Because she didn’t have a choice.
Alma trundled towards her arms locker. Cleaning one of her guns usually calmed her down. The rubbery Colugonian’s thoughts were jarred by the sensation of her gut colliding with the edge of her desk, causing her to rebound several feet. Her tail thrashed to maintain balance as she skidded across the floor. Alma grimaced, believing for a second that her stomach was expanding again. It would not be a new experience to find herself inflating, but as she struggled to wrap her hands around her belly, she did not sense any expansion. Her midsection was stiff, dense and very round, but not growing. As she poked at her own gut, she began to acknowledge that the shape felt off. Stumbling towards a full- length mirror, Alma stripped off her bodysuit to observe her ever-congealing physiology. Her body was….tighter. Unnaturally curved and endowed with an artificial gleam. Her stomach hadn’t expanded, it had reshaped itself. The natural sag of weight and blubber that she was accustomed to had been warped into a round, symmetrical shape that defied gravitational pull. Waddling in a circle, Alma took in her new shape. She looked almost spherical from the chest down, with her thick thighs taking on a much smoother taper down to her feet. Her buttocks were similarly circular, squeaking against one another slightly with every step she took. Alma poked at her breasts. They were individually round and gravity-defying as the rest of her, looking artificial and tacked on, like a set of cheap enhancements on a club dancer.
Inside and out, she was being warped. Alma bit her lip with slightly softened teeth, remembered to jog in place. She was at war with her own anatomy, trapped in unfamiliar skin. What had she done to herself?
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78% Conversion
“They aren’t answering.” Kijuuki winced.
“Send them another hail” Alma grunted, her voice buzzing slightly. Kijuuki tried not to look directly at his captain as he re-entered the comm code that they had for The Assembly. The message Alma had for them was short and to the point, though Kijuuki had taken the liberty to edit out some of the more colourful language.
“They’re definitely receiving it, but there’s no reply.” the Ibycai explained.
“Snivelling little-” Alma yelped as she slid awkwardly in her chair, flailing to right herself and knocking over a stack of wrappers with a stiff, plasticy arm. She fidgeted awkwardly back into the chair which hummed beneath her and winced as the thudding, constant vibrations pervaded her almost homogenous body once more.
Tiring of the constant pacing, and fearing what would happen if she napped in an awkward position, Alma had opted to install a deluxe massage feature in her gunner seat, which she kept at full blast at all hours. The ceaseless hum and jiggling only served to remind her of how different she had become, right down to what was left of her bones, but it kept her in enough of a fluid state to avoid seizing up. Even with the buzzing motors that shook her eyes in her head, Alma could feel her own skin tugging at her form, encouraging her into a simpler pose, with her arms and legs stiffly held away from her nearly spherical body. Even her face was starting to grow stiff. Sometimes a held expression would remain there long after the thought had passed, or simply slide into a default, wide-eyed half-grin. Monitoring the position and capability of every muscle in her body was exhausting.
And the only people who could do anything about it were ghosting her.
“Not gonna answer me…” Alma grunted, her voice shaking along with the rest of her. Had they really just consigned her to her fate? A fate as, what, some round, inanimate ball of rubber? More and more Alma fantasized about what awaited her. The helplessness of it, the inevitability.
“Don’t wanna listen? I’ll make em’ listen….” Alma shook, mania at the thought of her impending state driving her actions. “Kijuuki! That Nannytopside we seized-”
“Nanopeptide…” Emile mumbled quietly to himself.
“Find us more….A lot more. I don’t care if we have to knock on the doors of Gravitas itself..”
Alma gritted her teeth, feeling them bonelessly squish in her mouth.
“I am FIXING this….”
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90% Conversion
Emile dove for cover behind a stack of crates as plasma shots thudded into his makeshift barricade. Whatever was inside the crate fizzled and reacted to the superheated projectiles, erupting and shaking the container with small explosions. The Ermin checked his weapon and returned a few potshots at the squad of black-suited private security that was already fanning out across the room.
This was lunacy. The pilot of The Honest Mistake had taken part in daring raids before, but an all out smash and grab on a corporate cruiser was audacious even by their wild standards. Emile tucked in his tail as he could feel his cover disintegrating behind him, wildly casting his eyes out and spotting Kijuuki sheltered up behind a pallet of hefty white canisters, frightened and desperate. For a moment, the small Ermin let genuine fear wrap around his gut.
Then he heard the thudding of hefty feet against the ground, and his captain barreled past him.
The strike force all turned their attention to the round, charging Colugonian as she broke past the defensive line. Fire was in her eyes as their plasma shots lit up her body, uselessly fizzling away. She pumped her stubby, tube-like legs, relying on pure momentum to take her directly into their ranks. The black-clad gunmen scattered like skittle pins, giving Kijuuki an opening to push his overladen hovercart further towards the exit, Emile in close pursuit. Alma roared, swinging wildly at another guard, sending him flying in one direction while her arm rebounded. The momentum twirled the gator in place until she tumbled down onto her spherical gut, only to bounce back on to her feet. She thundered to keep pace with her crew, acting as a living shield for the more consistent shots.
93% Conversion.
Alma was clad in nothing but the scraps of a body suit, her bare, smooth feet skidding across the ground with every step. Every shot left another sizzling hole in her fabric, but little more than a bit of ash on her skin. She was a stumbling, rolling, bouncing bulwark between the fire and her men.
97% Conversion
A blast broke the last of a shoulder strap, exposing Alma’s unnaturally buoyant chest. She growled and rammed her stiff belly into a cargo container another guard was using for cover, sending it and him flying backwards as she rebounded in the other direction, bouncing off of her unyielding butt and finding her feet again. She was meters away from the exit. Once they could get back on The Honest Mistake there might be a path. She wasn’t some wad of plastic. She wasn’t a failed experiment, she was Alma Ruiz, and she had an exit.
100% Conversion Achieved. Initiating Phase 3.
Alma faltered as something deep within her sphere of a gut blossomed. She tried to flail her arms as her center of gravity fell away from her, but they no longer responded. Her legs stiffened as she felt a new wave of syrupy, thick tissue flood into her thighs and beyond, right to her toes as they plumped up like little balloons. Alma bounced almost a foot into the air when her round, swelling stomach hit the floor. Emile and Kijuuki paused their mad dash to watch. Alma was utterly helpless as her body grew ever larger. The rubbery soup that had overtaken her internals reacted and expanded, until the orb of her belly dwarfed the rest of her. What was left of the gator was perched on top, the thick, blunted cone of her tail sticking out perpendicular to the ground, the summit of her body marked with blobbish limbs and a smooth head. Her face was pulled so taut and motionless that it may have been painted on, stuck in the last moment of wide-eyed shock she had managed to express before her change had overtaken her. The momentum that had gotten her this far now left her body rocking back and forth. Alma could barely feel the cool floor shifting underneath her wobbling bulk, or the sizzling thuds of plasma shots striking her side. She was packed to the brim, her vision swimming, her ears ringing, even the yells of her crew were barely audible. Emile and Kijuuki leapt to take shelter behind their massive orb of a captain, shielded from the renewed assault. All Alma could do was lie there, a thick ball of dense rubber. She could move her eyes just enough to glance at the shipping container of chemicals, so close to a way out.
Fuck. This better have been worth it.