The emergency entrance to The Gym, Blue Boxer’s underground crime-fighting HQ, slammed open with a metallic clang as the inflated Blue Boxer waddled through the shadows, wheezing, red-faced, and clad in the ragged remains of his former uniform.
What was once a sleek, powerful silhouette was now a clumsy, bloated bulk. His torn tactical shirt hung like a bib over a massive round belly, and his blue boxing gloves dangled awkwardly at his sides, strapped over pudgy, sausage-like fingers. His combat pants were history—shredded along the seams and replaced. He tore away the shredded remnants of his uniform and snapped up an emergency towel, which barely knotted around his waist.
“HhHFF— where is he…?” Boxer puffed, dragging his bulk past training dummies and treadmills that now felt like cruel jokes. “Lumberjack! You here?!”
From the back of the locker room, a familiar gruff voice replied.
“Boxer? You sound like you’ve been hauling beer kegs all night.” Lumberjack stepped out from the steam, a butt naked mountain of hairy manhood, toweling off his thick, muscular arms. He was tall, dark haired, trim bearded, with a tree-trunk frame honed from years of crime-fighting and forest wrestling.
He saw his friend. And froze. “Whoa-ho-HO! What in the pine-sap-hell happened to you?!”
Blue Boxer groaned, slumping onto a nearby bench with an audible creak. His belly spread across his lap like a beanbag, sweat dripping from his forehead. “It’s not funny—hff—there’s this new guy—Sheriff Yee Haw—zapped me with some kind of… fat ray. Look at me! I’m a freakin’ human beach ball!”
Lumberjack bit his lip—but a chuckle escaped anyway. “Hah! You’re not kiddin’. You look like someone stuffed a waterbed into a boxing glove. What’s with the towel, man? You lose a wrestling match with a bakery?”
Boxer rolled his eyes. “Can we skip the roast? I need help. We’ve got to track this crook down and—”
He reached up, grabbed Lumberjack’s forearm, and hauled himself to his feet with a grunt.
Their palms clasped—and in that instant, a spark passed between them.
Lumberjack blinked. “Huh?”
ZAAAP.
A ripple of glowing blue energy surged up his arm. He gasped and staggered back, stumbling into a locker as the transformation took hold.
“Wh-what the—uhh—gghhrk!”
His abs twitched—then began to swell outward, one hard ridge at a time blurring under a thickening layer of fat. His hard chest softened, jiggled, then dropped heavily into sagging man-boobs. He stared down in horror as his middle ballooned, the definition vanishing in seconds as a great dome of a belly surged outward.
“Ggghh—UUURRRRP! What the HELL is happening!?”
His shoulders broadened and puffed, arms rounding out into thick, jiggling hams. His gym shorts strained—then tore clean down the side seams, exposing expanding thighs that slapped together as he stumbled forward, groaning. His hairy, fattened legs quivered under his new bulk. His beard fluffed out slightly, and his face filled with roundness—cheeks puffing, chin tripling.
Lumberjack groaned. His voice deepened into a tubby tone, “Boxer… you contagious lard balloon! You—ugh!—huff!—you just infected me!”
Blue Boxer blinked, shocked.
“You think I meant to?! You were the one teasing me two seconds ago, remember?!”
The now-fat Lumberjack stumbled to the bench and sat heavily beside him, their bellies slapping together with a meaty squish.
“Ggrrrhhh… You’re lucky I can’t chase you right now or I’d flatten you like a pancake.”
Boxer glanced sideways, smirking.
“I think we’d both bounce.”
They panted together in the locker room, two 300-pound heroes dripping sweat, red-faced, naked, and baffled.
Lumberjack groaned and leaned back.
“So lemme get this straight. There’s a fat cowboy out there with a magic gun that turns tough guys into walking butterballs?”
“Yep.”
“And you led him straight to me.”
“...Kinda.”
Lumberjack snorted, belly quaking.
“Well, hell. Looks like we’re gonna need bigger uniforms.”