Chapter 1 - Her Own Fault

“Ne t'arrête pas!” Amélie Lacroix had shouted for the past half an hour. The agents of Talon had heard this from the purple-skinned sniper for the past hour. They didn’t know French, but context was easy enough to put it together: Don’t Stop.

Australia was a wasteland, but it was also under control of someone who wouldn’t let a single rescue crew in - she had to be disavowed. If she made it back, so be it. The mission was supposed to be discreet and quick. Level the playing field and get out. She was the perfect sniper, Widowmaker, but this failure was on her. She was supposed to kill the pig. She missed.

The radioactive wasteland that was Australia made such weird quirks in biology. It also created such strange little tricks of the light. A glimmer here, a sudden sunray there. She had the fat fuck in her sights. Codename: Roadhog, real name Mako. There was talk of the beast going legit. His little friend? They could deal with - a strange immunity to explosive didn’t make him immune to bullets, but… Roadhog? He was something else. Extraordinary regenerative properties, skin as tough as rhino hide. He could take a beating. This needed to be done fast. A bullet in the skull should do it. 

They sent her over. Special attire to deal with the radiation - no sultry outfits. This was restrictive - more restrictive than her normal outfit. The zipper went to her neck and the helmet had its own oxygen cleanser. She’d like to blame it on that, but at the moment? She doesn’t care. She didn’t even choose that original outfit. What she did care about was how hot it was. The material was thick. It made breathing hard. Beads of sweat lingered on her skin, but because of the nature of the outfit, it was all contained. It just clung to her skin. It made it moist. It was uncomfortable. 

What did Lacroix care for comfort? The idea was one shot, one kill, then she could get this outfit off. It was easy to get around the junkyard landscape of the prisoner’s island. A hook shot here to avoid a hound, a few sneaking steps. She saw him. He had his hook - there was apparently quite a few agents lost to that thing. His gun was at his side. He was lugging a truck over his shoulder, dragging it through the barren sands. 

She found an elevated position. She was high up - out of his range, or so she thought. She had her rifle. She let the thing rev up - mag rifles were silent, powerful, but needed time. She’d be just as good with a regular rifle, but… she loved the hum. It reminded her of someone. 

She inhaled. The scent of her own sweat stayed in her lungs. The rifle was usually so light, but with this ridiculous lead-lined outfit, it was hard to keep up. She put that pig’s face in her crosshairs. She laid upon the ground for support. She breathed in. She clenched her finger. The shot fired. 

Lacroix always hit her mark. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was she didn’t shoot twice. That was the tragic mistake. The pig got a slug to the head. It was like a gnat. The glass of his gas mask fell. He let out a roar. Lacroix was already gone.

She was running through the sands. Her long legs were taking her as far as she could. She could hear him though. His heavy footsteps reverberated through the sands. Her own boots clopped into the ground. She was used to heels. Roadhog? This was his territory. She should have fired twice. Instead, now he was angry. 

She had one more hook ready. Point and clench. She raised her arm high. She didn’t see the beast behind her, but it was best not to. The zipline shot out of her slender arm. It attached to a piece of rebar… 

The piece came shooting out. She was propelled for just a second. She fell. She tripped. She was face down in the dirt. Her visor was cracked. She clenched her teeth. The pile of plastics and twisted metals besides her erupted. The target came bursting through. One eye-visor was cracked and she could see his crazed red eyes. He looked at her and snorted. 

She raised her other arm. This was back up. She had the rifle in one hand. She fired a gas canister with her other. It hit him, clenched into his chest. It was like a spider, clinging to prey. She held up her gun and fired at the beast. 

He was coughing. It was obstructing his breathing. She didn’t know what effect it was having though. He was full of rage and he swept blindly through the air. The leggy assassin fired from a kneeling position. She didn’t know about the drugs he was taking though. The stimulant compound that he had made himself in the desert. The most rancid and degrading chemicals that just shot every nerve in the face. It didn’t play nice with the toxins. He held up one arm to protect his skull. He took shots, but they quickly healed… and then he fell to the ground.

The beast was on his knees. He was howling. He was punching the ground. It was as if he was frustrated. He looked her over, when he could take a peek. Woman. Perfect. 

She was out of ammo. It was dry firing. He was fast. He leapt from his crouched position. 

She tried to twist, to get up. His massive hand came around her head and he threw her behind him, onto her back. Her phat tits were still contained. If not for her juicy ass, she might have broken something. He towered over her. He was steaming, breathing heavily. He still had his gun by his side. He saw her slender frame though…

His scrap cannon clattered to the ground as he threw it away. He opted for the hook. This was it. She was dead. He towered over her. He could sit on her and her right there. Sweat dripped down his fat wide gut. His breathing was so loud. It echoed in her ears. She knew Talon was listening. No begging for mercy. She was going to go out on top. 

“I shot. Target hit. No kill,” she said. She might as well retain her reputation…

The beast grabbed her throat. Thick fingers slid around her neck and he held her high, like she was a doll. She scratched at his arm, she kicked. She wasn’t breathing. It was too tight of a grip. He lifted the hook. Evisceration would be so painful. She knew that. He slid the tip ip. He slid it to the cleavage of her bosom. He tore in. A loud rip. A release of her breasts. The fabric tore under his hook and her breasts spilled out. Naked skin underneath glistened with sweat. 

Oh god. This was worse. His red eye stared at her. His breathing had slowed. Death and destruction was his original intent, but one look at her and everything had changed. That gas didn’t work nice. He wanted flesh. He dropped her body… down into the dirt. She landed with a clatter. She tried to crawl. She was panting. She threw her helmet off. Her hair was in a tight bun to fit the helmet. The beast merely followed her, slowly. The beast was playing with his food. He dropped the hook. He had a chain. It clanged against his metal boots as he followed her. He saw her turn and look at him in fear.

The chemicals annihilating his brain loved it. He saw her wide eyes. She was limping, coughing. The radioactive atmosphere and dry oxygen was hard to ignore. He was casually rummaging in his pants. He was undoing the leather strap that acted as a belt. A musk filled the air. It fell over her like a wave. A turgid member pointed up in the air, against his fat belly.

He grunted. He held his cock in one hand. He stroked it. His thick fingers played over the member, sliding up and down. He was unwashed. She could smell it. He held the hook in his other hand. She tried to get up. The hook slid around her throat. He held it there. He held her close. He made sure she knew what he was capable of. 

Lacroix panted. This was hell. Flashbacks to when she turned into what she was now. Flashbacks to the scientists that couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. More importantly, flashbacks to the feelings of weakness. The inability to do anything. 

Mako held a canister in his hand. He pushed the hook against her throat. It wasn’t going to slice. It was to keep her obedient. He pressed the canister to her lips. It covered her face. She was panting. What was this? It was the wrong choice. A stream of gas filled her lungs. Her eyes went wide. She shook immediately. It was a stimulant. She on fire. Shaking, quivering. It was too much energy for her little frame. 

“Oh god!” She shouted. She collapsed to the ground. She was frozen from the excess energy. She quivered. She felt it slide through her spine. She felt her nerves on fire. She was hot, electric. She felt her nipples stand on end… she felt her cunt quiver and clench. 

“Help.” That was finally when she cracked. She didn’t know what to do. She was paralyzed by fear and energy. She was on her hands and knees with no where to go… 

He let go of the canister, letting it fall to the ground. He let her quiver. He let her shake. He opted to walk around her and stair at her head on. He towered over her figure. He was massive. His shoulders blotted out the sun. His fat gut slid over his hairy crotch. He smacked his gut and slid his hand down to his shaft. Thick fingers slid over the dick. He began to stroke it. Lacroix’s mouth opened. It was the only thing to do: She needed to exert this energy. It felt like do that or die. Die inaction or live. Her mouth opened. He didn’t even have to put his hand on her. Thick purple lips slid over the cockhead. 

Her nostrils were filled with the sour musk. It filled her mind with visions she’d prefer to not know. Disgusting things she’d never do. Like what she was doing now… 

She slid her head further down. Tears were in her eyes. She was breaking down and she knew it. It was like someone had broken into her head. She couldn’t stop herself. She couldn’t stop her still gloved hands from reaching up and cradling the hirsute balls. They were massive and warm. She could still feel them through her gloves. She felt his veins against her tongue. She pressed against them curiously. The taste was horrendous. She couldn’t get enough. 

Do or die. She closed her eyes, as if it would shut down the embarrassment. That’s not how it worked, but here we are. She was bobbing her head. The beast was prodding her backside with his hook. He was sliding along her back with the blunt edge. He saw her phat cheeks on display and gave them a quick swat with the metal. He grunted. The fat beast was toying with one of his nipples, tugging on it. He groaned and his hips began to thrust. He was pushing into her face. 

Her mouth was spread wide. Her jaw creaked. She could feel his massive dick poking and prodding at her throat. She couldn’t let it in. But she had to. Do or die. The energy was building. This was starting to feel good. Letting out the stress. She cradled his balls and one hand reached between her legs. She reached for her slit. She hadn’t felt like this in ages. She groaned. She squirmed… she coughed up throat slime as she let the beast violate her throat.

Her neck bulged and distended. Her eyes went frantic. She began to bob her head up and down. Pleasure was the means of escape. The pain felt nice.

She was a sniper. She was usually away from the front lines. She didn’t… feel at all. To feel felt nice though. Her gloved fingers slid into her tight snatch. She groaned. Tears wretched down her eyes. Her tongue slid along the shaft. Her nose was pressed against the base of his shaft. She was squirming. Her nipples were on end. Her chest was exposed, her front half open because of this beast. The thing she couldn’t kill…

His fat gut smacked against her. His balls slapped her chin. Each time, the sound of flesh hitting flesh made him just want to go faster, faster. She was holding them, but it didn’t stop the momentum. His hand came down and clenched her bun, squeezing and tugging on her hair. A hook on her back, the other on her skull. He spanked her again. He watched the cheek wobble. The beast didn’t get many visitors. He was letting it all out now. A tightening of his balls. And everything clenched. He grit his teeth. He closed his eyes.

His sticky cum came blasting out in thick ropes right down her gullet. He groaned. She could feel the pulses as he emptied into her. She choked, gagged. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. She was bobbing like a whore. Her purple skin was turning dark blue. She felt cold. She felt dizzy. The electricity kept her alive for now. She was panting. Her chest convulsed. Her fat whore tits were wobbling. Her fingers were plowing herself deep. The beast rammed down her throat… He finally pulled out. Another burst of cum over her face. Threads of sticky saliva, throat slime, and seed poured out with it. It fell upon her exposed chest, making her skin glimmer. The rope he shot fell upon her eye. She came in an instant. Her legs wobbled. Her knees folded inwards. She screamed out and doubled over. The beast continued to jerk his cock off over her. 

She panted. She felt pleasure. Pain. It was sensations she hadn’t felt in ages. She wanted more. The beast threw his head back. His arms were limp. He was sated, for now. His cock was limp. It drooled jizz into the desert sands. He liked his new meat. He would let her live. He grunted. 

And then to his surprise… he saw that bitch get on her hands and knees. He saw her crawl towards him. He saw her inhaling his scent. Drunk on pleasure. He saw her put her hands around his waist, take out a canister and place it to her face. She inhaled again. Her eyes went wide…

“More,” she pled to Mako from her knees, gripping his pants in her fingers. “More.” 