Officer Wendy leaned in closely towards their apprehended criminal, staring her in the eyes. Selina could awkwardly feel the officer's uppermost roll of stomach fat brush against her leather catsuit.
"How long have you been here, punk?" the officer sneered, flecks of chocolate frosting (most likely from a baker's dozen of donuts) tumbling from the corners of her plump lips into her vast cleavage.
Selina paused for a moment, wondering how to answer, before stammering "I-I guess you could say I just got here..."
"A new one, eh?" Wendy turned towards her partner. "Book her, Linda. Let's take her to criminal rehabilitation."
Upon hearing "rehabilitation," Selina expected the worst. Her mind was racing, thinking of what horrors may have awaited her in this alternate Metropolis. Before she could probe the more depraved ideas, she found herself being shoved into the double-wide back of a police cruiser. The ancient, sweat-and-mildew-stained pleather seats were starting to crack with age, and there was an ankle-deep pile of wrappers and bags from fast food chains. Awkwardly righting herself, Selina did a cursory scan for anything that might help her get out, but there was nothing. The door handles were completely removed and bolted over, the windows and divider towards the front seat seemed to be reinforced plexiglass, the cuffs seemed to require an electronic key (which she didn't have), and there were iron grids over the windows. She was stuck for now. Before she could devise alternate escape methods, Selina painfully collided with the back of the seat. Officer Wendy was a massive (pun intended) speed demon, tearing down the streets and swerving through traffic, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
Several minutes, two near-evacuations of the stomach, and one minor concussion later, Selina finally felt the car screech to a halt. She stared out of the grimy window, expecting to see the imposing edifice of the Metropolis Police Department. Instead, all that met her gaze was a neon sign that read SlobBurger: Winner of the 2011 Coronary Cookoff. Really? Drive-through ast food, with a criminal in the back seat?
"I dunno, Wendy. I don't think I can stomach two combos and a hot wing basket," the other cop, Linda, indecisively mused.
"Don't be ridiculous, LindURBP! I don't blame you, considering you're a rookie. But I've been on the force for a year and a FRPPPPT half, and I only ate half as much as you. Look at me now, 525 pounds and strong as a horse! You're what, 250?You keep up your rate of consumption, and you'll BRAAAP make Sergeant in no time!" Her pep talk over, Wendy rolled down her window and began her order. "I'll have four combo meals, two mega buckets of hot wings with extra sauce, a large onion ring basket, 1 - wait, 2 - large fries, and 2 XL sodas."
After a second, Wendy turned her bulk around, slid open the little door in the divider, and nonchalantly asked, "Whaddya want, punk?" as if she hadn't just arrested Selina. The cat burglar was flabbergasted for a moment. She stared out at the faded, backlit plastic menu before settling on a kid's serving of fries and soda. The cruiser lurched forward, coming to rest at the next window. Wave upon wave of paper bags and styrofoam containers found their way through the window into the waiting laps of the officers to the point where Wendy could barely grasp the steering wheel. One of these bags, at least a foot tall and soaked to near-transparency, was passed through the window to Selina, who anxiously took it. It was shortly followed by a soda bigger than most restaurants' extra large sizes. Selina opened the fries, feeling the heat radiating off the fries. She took one and gingerly placed it in her mouth, taking care to avoid dripping the massive amounts of grease and salt. onto her catsuit. When it hit her tongue, she was amazed by the flavor, and how hungry she was. Without hesitating, she began munching on a handful, while taking a swig of the soda. It tasted like pure corn syrup with bubbles, but Selina didn't mind. To her parched mouth, it tasted like the ambrosia of the gods. But before she could chug some more, the soda went flying out of her hand and onto her face. Officer Wendy was on the road again.
Two restaurant stops later, the cruiser arrived at a dingy little Mexican joint called El Cerdito Gordito. It was the kind of building that looked like the only logical explanation for its continued existence was a cartel front. Still, the smell of fryer oil graced the wind.
"Bue-nos dee-as. We'll have seven mega mofeta bean burritos, two chicken gorditos, the chalupa special, a monster taco, two boxes of dessert churros, a tub of refried beans, and some of that Mexican soda with the real sugar," Wendy ordered without hesitation. Selina was baffled that they still were able to eat anything.
Linda asked her compatriot "What's with the HURP beans, Wendy?" The latter's words of wisdom certainly seemed to rub off.
"You'll see..."
Selina also saw soon enough when pulled into an empty parking lot to begin the feast. The seventh burrito was for her, and it was almost the size of her arm. She cautiously took a few bites, feeling absolutely full from their previous stop at an ice cream parlor. Shortly after her fifth bite, a disconcerting gurgle emanated from her stuffed stomach.
FRPppppppt
The gas seeped its way up through her sealed catsuit, eventually emptying out through various seams and openings. Selina gagged a bit at the stench, which was far worse than anything she had smelled before. She tried to throw the burrito into the ever-growing pile of wrappers and food scraps that reached her knees, but was stopped by the hum of a taser pointed at her head.
"If I were you," Wendy threatened, "I'd finish that burrito."
Ignoring the growing discomfort in her midsection, Selina pioneered on, methodically taking large bites of the massive burrito. After several agonizing minutes, she had managed to eat every last bite. She glanced down at her stomach, where a slight bulge was evident under the food-stained leather corset. Then returned the familiar rumble followed by a long-winded squeak, as an enormous amount of gas began to seep out of her ass at an ungodly rate. She felt her suit inflate slightly from the flatulence, and it felt like her torso was being slowly roasted. And the smell was even worse.
At this point, the officers took the opportunity to finish scarfing down the last of the burritos, roll up the windows, and join in the fun. While Selina's may have been forceful, it was nothing compared to what would come next. A thunderous duet began, with two deep trumpets spurting out thick clouds of methane that made it almost impossible to breathe. The temperature spiked, and Selina began to hyperventilate; she couldn't get enough oxygen! The symphony of sphincters grew louder and more forceful as time passed, the air becoming thicker, and the noxious odor became more unbearable. Selina felt herself becoming light-headed. As blackness crept up into her vision, she lost her balance and her head came to rest on a pillow of grease and paper.
Selina awoke to the sound of a car door being opened and the refreshing feeling of (less) polluted air. She groggily uprighted herself and stepped out of the car, being pushed along by two pairs of grease-coated hands.One of the first things she noticed was how sweaty she was in her suit; there was a decent amount sloshing around in her boots. Hopefully the jail would have a nice, dry prison uniform.
The officers led her through the front doors, arriving at a desk. There sat an enormously obese woman in a motorized wheelchair the size of a couch, her auburn hair remaining incredibly orderly juxtaposed to her filthy face and police uniform. Something about her struck Selina as oddly familiar. "Whaddya got, Wendy?"
"Another street punk, Barb. Caught her trying to sell weight loss scams. Taking her to rehab."
"Put her in block 14A, the facility there's open."
First, came the usual procedures. Her claws, whip, goggles, pack, armor, and boot reinforcements were stripped, leaving Selina with nothing but her sticky, sweaty, stained cowled catsuit. She then found herself being ushered through an endless labyrinth of white cinder-block, fiberboard ceiling tiles, and scuffed linoleum, before arriving at a reinforced metal double-door. A small scanner popped out of the wall and beeped, 'DNA sample required.' Wendy leaned in and released a small burp, and the machine retracted back into the wall. The metal doors slowly rumbled open, and Wendy unceremoniously tossed Selina in and hit the 'close' button, before striking up a conversation with Linda about where to go for a snack.
Selina stood up. She was in near-total darkness, something not completely foreign to her. Based on the sound of her footsteps, the floor was unadorned concrete, and probably a hallway. She nervously inched her way forwards, looking for a sign of life. As she neared the end, Selina saw a faint sliver of light dance across the floor. Someone's in there. She bolted forward, not paying attention to the floor. She failed to notice a small step downwards, and her ignorance was rewarded with a twisted ankle and some bruises. Limping along, she finally arrived. It was a door, but only about 4 feet high and 2 feet wide. Whatever it was, it didn't look like anyone the size of the officers was getting through. Selina also noticed a faded placard stuck above: D. PRICE, HEAD OF REHABILITATION. Wait, Diana? Selina, exhilarated to find someone she knew, burst through the door to find...
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