Bambi stared at the name "Tara Michaels" and sighed, her keyboard nearly rising to meet her face. Here was a truly worrisome contestant. Not because of her gun, mind you; Tara had maybe the least interesting power among the players. Breast growth didn't have much utility in the game beyond immobilizing other people or persuading a horny man to do one's bidding, and at low levels it couldn't even do those effectively.
No, the issue came from Ms. Michaels' dossier. The woman spent her teens and early 20s in a haze of JRPGs and furious masturbation, yet managed to graduate summa cum laude from every school that offered the honor. She blended in well at her library job, alternating between passionate focus, perusing the shelves, and idle slacking as she deemed necessary. Given Tara's intelligence, laser-focused-when-necessary work ethic, and unstoppable libido, she would have done well working for the Games. The Games had, in fact very nearly recruited her, but rejected her after assembling a psychological profile from intercepted texts and emails.
When an organization that hired Laura Oko pronounces somebody to have "too little concern for others to be trusted in our ranks," you know something was off.
But, Bambi reasoned, that was what made Tara the ideal person to help. The dossier on her said that she would either be a formidable opponent to face in the later stages of the game, or would fall to a better-equipped contestant in a matter of hours.
A notification appeared on-screen, revealing a video feed of Tara. Apparently she had chosen to level up by exploiting a loophole in the guns' rules and growing herself. Ms. Michaels' tits were nearly as big as Bambi's, and were certainly bigger than her torso. She had fallen, chest-first, into the bathroom sink at her workplace, ripping the fixture off the wall.
Bambi knew where this was going and, almost without thinking, selected the power that Tara would receive.
-------
"Congratulations!" beeped Tara's gun as she struggled to stand upright. "You leveled up, and unlocked the Stealth Package!"
Tara stared in confusion, then amazement as the gun lost color, fading to a matte, paper-white hue. Its edges softened as it collapsed into a ball, as though it were being molded by a pair of unseen hands. The ball compressed, flattening into a curved rectangle, before finally regaining its color, revealing itself to be a phone.
"You might have guessed that waving a gun, even a clearly fake gun, in public, may get you unwanted attention," read the phone's screen. "You also might notice that changes that you make to others are exceedingly conspicuous. Well, the Stealth Package fixes all that! Aside from the obvious cosmetic change to your device, any changes made in the past, present or future will remain unnoticed. You won't have to worry about awkward questions as to why you can suddenly smuggle a basketball in your cleavage. Have fun!"
Tara's ruined blouse faded as a new, low-cut top shone into existence, leaving her with an ensemble that would let her go out in public while still showing more cleavage than a bus of bikini models.
She grinned.
"Oh, I will."
She leaves the bathroom and decides to...
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