Thank you to Planologer for the idea of a feminizing gynite refinery disaster. Hopefully it turned out alright. Apologies for it taking so long.

Slight retcon from Part 1 - figured it would be more fun if the disaster occurred during the day to give the victims chance to panic 🙂

Next Part:

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His father turned the small jar of skin softener over in his hands and winced at the price tag.

“Eighty bucks for this? Can you believe it?” he muttered. “I could scoop the runoff from that refinery outside town into a jar and it’d probably do the same thing.”

“I reckon Mom would notice,” Jason said.

Dad snorted. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He sighed and dropped the jar into the basket.

They were halfway toward the registers when the mall speakers crackled. Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas wobbled even more than usual, slowed, then cut out with a metallic whine. The lights strung along the balconies flickered. People stopped mid-purchase, looking around in the sudden echoing quiet.

“Guess someone forgot to pay their electricity bill,” dad joked.

He was staring at the giant Christmas tree in the atrium. A shower of fake snow drifted from its branches. The baubles were rocking.

The festive atmosphere had turned chilly.

“You know,” Dad said quietly, “we can finish the list later. Let’s go.”

Outside, snow was settling over everything - thick grey flakes. People stood in the street, staring upwards. But not at the snow. Above the rooftops, a tower of pink fire stretched into the sky. A second explosion bloomed at its base, throwing up a mushroom cloud that dwarfed the first. Radiant heat flashed over their faces and then the aftershock thudded through the concrete beneath their feet.

"That's the refinery," dad croaked. "Car. Go."

As they screeched out of the parking lot, a wall of thick white fog was rolling down the street towards them. Every man in the town of Gumption that wanted to remain a man had the same idea - get the hell out, and the roads were chaos. Dad mounted the curb, mowing down an inflatable Santa Claus in the panic to escape. The overpass on-ramp was snarled. They swerved away from it. The mist rolled over the screams and panicked honking behind them, silencing it instantly.

Outside the town, the backroads were clearer, but the growing white blanket made it hard to see where the road ended. "Can't get ahead of it," dad gasped, swerving around an abandoned car, the mist close behind. "Wish I had the snow tyres."

Jason looked down at the grey snow, unmelted on his Christmas sweater. He dabbed at one flake, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger. It smeared. The nails on his thumb and index finger began to lengthen. A prickling heat spread beneath his collar. His nipples were pushing against the wool. The friction made him gasp. He tugged the sweater up, staring in horror at his swelling chest.

"It's not snow. It's ash. We're covered in it."

Dad turned, his eyes widening, his foot pausing on the accelerator. Then the mist rolled over the car, and everything outside turned ray. Dad swore and slammed on the brakes. The tires skidded uselessly on the blanketed road.