As the so called suicide mission came closer it become more evident to all involved that it was exactly that. It felt as though with each passing day there was another report of a Human colony being attacked, further impressing upon everyone the importance that they not fail, but also sowed a dread that defeating the ever growing threat of the Collectors was impossible. Success would require the absolute best out of everyone involved. The stress was starting to get to the entire crew. Shepard’s behavior was becoming increasingly erratic and unpredictable, Miranda and Jack were always at each other’s throats, and Tali was one jump scare away from putting another hole in Legion. The only one unaffected by it all was Morinth. No matter what, the Ardat Yakshi continued stuffing her face. No matter what horrors she encountered on missions, no matter the atrocities the Collectors committed, no matter how inevitable their deaths seemed, she would always saunter back onto the ship, into the mess hall, and slide right back into the endless feast her life had become. And it infuriated Samara to no end.
This was the plan, and it was going smoothly. Even as she soared past a quarter ton of decadent, self-indulgent blubber, Morinth’s abilities in battle were not hampered, and had saved the day on more than one occasion. She was an asset to the mission, and a danger to no one, just like they wanted, but the Justicar was having serious doubts that it was worth having to suffer her daughter’s unending arrogance. She had be beaten, put into a corner, yet a smug grin never left Morinth’s face. Only custom ordered clothes had any hope of keeping her covered, and even then she was growing so fast she would outgrow any nee outfits in a week, leading to her spending most days half naked, tempting everyone with her acres of exposed, supple flesh. It was clear to all now that Morinth did not see this forced expansion of her figure as a punishment, but yet another outlet for her to indulge her hedonism.
After two hours of ceaseless gorging, Morinth had finally retreated into the private quarters. Not because she was full, no, she had more food in her quarters, and even carried an armful of greasy delights to keep her sated during the short walk there. No, she went to her quarters to continue eating while indulging in other pleasures of the flesh she was forbidden from doing in public. It seemed that while Morinth’s figure grew, so too did her hunger, not just for food, but for all carnal delights. She was becoming so insatiable that special accommodations needed to be give to sate Ardat Yakshi’s appetites for fear she might lose control of herself and pounce on some helpless member of the crew. She was given any manner of illegal substance she desired to abuse, and she went through sex bots as quick as she did clothes. All lf this bankrolled by the Commander’s mission funds. Samara couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t her daughter that was trapped, but rather the entire crew that was being held hosting by Morinth’s capricious whims.
Meditation no longer did anything to quiet Samara’s rage. The Code taught her how to keep control over her emotions, but Morinth was becoming a living, jiggling monument to everything the Code was opposed to. Soulless self gratification, mind dulled by pleasure, a weak body bloated by indulgence, Morinth was a living embodiment of all these sins and more. If it had humiliated her, put her in her place and kept her harmless, she could have tolerated it, but the Justicar had finally convinced herself that she had made a grave mistake in sparing her daughter, and there was only one way to rectify it. She grabbed her pistol and marched to Morinth’s room, intent on doing what she should have done when they had her cornered on Omega. It would be much easier, now that the Ardat Yakshi was so bloated she couldn’t summon much energy without that special pill Mordin had created.
When Samara reached the door of Morinth’s private quarters she found it locked from the inside, but that no obstacle for someone with biotics as refined and well tuned as her own. With only minimal effort, the Justicar was able to move the mechanisms in the doors and forced all the pieces open, allowing her to enter and confront her daughter for a final time. What she saw inside took her entirely off guard, leaving her frozen in shock. She knew Morinth had fallen into a life of debauchery and excess, but she had never seen the full extent of it for herself.
Morinth was laid on her belly atop her bed, a sex bot crushed beneath her girth and her round face buried into a pile of food in front of her, eating like pig at a trough. And what a big she was. Six hundred pounds of excess flesh were piled up on her body. Her double belly had become a triple, and the lowest tier would hang to her knees if she were to stand. Her back was a series of thick folds that stacked up on the shelf of her backside, which itself had become like two two moons, cratered with dimples of cellulite. Two heavy chins hung underneath the one she was born with, and they jiggled along with comically round cheeks when she pulled her face out of the pile of food to look up in surprise at her mother. She saw the gun and panicked. Desperately she tried to prop herself up, to scramble onto her hands and knees, but rings of fat around her thighs, thick as tiers, and the pillows of fat that hung from her upper coupled with the sheer size of her overfed gut kept her immobilized in ber current position. When she failed to move in any meaningful way, she tried to call om her biotics, but the narcotics in her system prevented her from manifesting the power in a manner she could use to defend herself, only managing to create some blue sparks of of energy that sent ripples through her oceans of azure adipose. She was entirely defenseless.
Samara saw her daughter in this pitiful state, entirely naked, covered in stains, and the Justicar could only feel one thing…
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