The relationship between the stock market and the asset market was anything but straightforward., and anyone claiming to understand it fully was usually selling something. Typically, when one did well, so did the other, since investors had more money to spend on their ideal appearance. But when one market showed signs of volatility, the other became seen as a stable store of wealth, with trillions of dollars rapidly shifting from one to the other.

After the tariff announcement, investors watched the markets with bated breath. When markets closed on Friday, the S&P 500 was down 3.6% and the asset market was up by the same. 3.6%. Not great, not terrible. Perhaps this was all just an overreaction, and things could recover in a week or two.

Then, on the Sunday evening, Warren Buffett was photographed wheeling his freshly-acquired breasts down the Nebraska sidewalk in, not one, but two wheelbarrows, having liquidated billions of Berkshire Hathaway for physical assets.

The markets promptly shit the bed.

On Monday, the Bureau De Change on Wall Street opened to scenes of pure chaos, as traders fought to shed corporate stock, like rats fleeing a sinking yacht, and transfer them into any and every asset they could get their hands on. The roars of Buy and Sell orders could barely be heard over the sound of bursting seams, as business suits were torn open by biceps filling with a hundred units of Strength or hips ripened by a thousand units of Fertility.

One elderly investor clutched his chest mid-trade and keeled over, his frail body unable to sustain the sheer quantity of Cock purchased in a moment of panic. His sixteen-metre penis continued to grow, the flesh coils unraveling around the traders' ankles while paramedics dragged him out.

"What's the yield on Male Pattern Baldness futures? No, short it. Short the whole thing."

"European markets close in twelve minutes - somebody get me a price on Blonde!"

"Do not let Asia corner the Libido market again!"

"Abs! I need Abs, people!"

Around the globe, millions of individuals were jacked into the system, taking advantage of the market surge to flip body parts for a fortune, which were zapped down wires to Wall Street. As they were bought and sold in unprecedented amounts, the issue had become where to store them.

John strained around the engorging swell of his chest for the phone. He'd been wise enough to stock his portfolio with Constitution before filling it with Breast and Buttock assets, but even still his heart pounded desperately to maintain blood flow to his ballooning tits and ass. He resembled less a man now, more a living Venus figurine - his tiny male head perched atop a shapeless, quivering mound of supple flesh. His vast ass swallowed his chair completely.

"Peter, thank God. Is your mother home? I need to offload some assets quick," John craned his neck to keep talking as his rising breast-flesh bulged over his bottom lip. "She's not? Shit! Okay, send me your account details... Yes, right now! You've been living off Daddy's credit card for long enough - it's about time you pull your own weight. I need you to be three European women until the markets calm down."