Fourfold - Part 3 (Commission for Aceron)

TAGS: Different Perspectives, Growth Gun, Clothes-Bursting, Growth

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If anyone were to ask Trissa what the odds of her winning the Crucible were, they wouldn’t get an answer; such an obvious, self-evident question didn’t deserve to be answered, as clearly whoever was posing it just didn’t understand the level that she was operating at. Did they think she put her name down for the competition without being entirely certain she’d come out as a victor? It’d be a waste of time to do elsewise.

Granted, plenty of people did try to warn her that forgoing the use of any plating whatsoever was probably a bad idea. The skintight suit was just there for modesty; it was the armour, or at least the various bits of it in strategic locations, that was meant to serve as a means of protection. For her to decide not to wear any of it was either an horrendously stupid decision, in the eyes of everyone but Trissa, or a brilliant tactical choice, in the eyes of the only one that mattered.

The armour wouldn’t help her if she actually got hit; if anything, it’d just be more weight slowing her down, which was the last thing she wanted when her libido would be forcing her to stop and indulge herself to begin with. What she needed was as little stuff on her as possible; not only would this keep the odds of immobilisation down to a minimum, but it also gave her the widest range of motion possible, which, given the weapons they’d be using, she very definitely needed if she wanted to avoid a spike of arousal coming out of the literal woodworks.

The jeering didn’t stop her; the crowd was only there to watch the other three serpents have their tits flop out anyway, what right did they have to judge her? She was there to give them a show; maybe even herself if her competitors got a lucky shot in. So let them call out to her, let them shout at her that she looked half-naked, let them jeer and proclaim hers were the worst odds out of the betting pool. By the end of the day, they’d know better, and she would have the authority to force them to admit it.

The door to the arena opened, and with it, the big reveal: a jungle. Artificial in nature, probably made out of plastic and nanomachines, and just as useless in terms of cover when it came to her marksmanship; all she needed now was a good place to hide in, lie in wait for the other competitors to try and take the centre, then blast them from a safe distance away! Then, once they were on the ground, helplessly begging for someone to do unspeakable things to them, she could move in, take the middle, and slither out with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face.

The several shots fired from one end of the arena to the other, however, did give her reason to pause for a few moments. It was a risky maneuver, trying to hit someone when their deployment areas had just opened, not to mention there being a whole jungle in the way… then again, the sound of metal clanging and low-pitching ringing seemed to indicate the shots hit true, which for Trissa was only another sign that her ultimate victory would be that much more glorious: clearly, if her opponents were that good, she would wrangle out of it a much higher honour than if she was just going up against rookies and barely-trained, unblooded recruits.

She gripped her stun gun as hard as she could, then immediately ran down the nearest dirt path, making sure to dive into the foliage at a completely random location; it was important to let anyone tracking her think she had a method to her madness, right as she circled around and placed herself on overwatch. That way, if anyone were to walk in on her killzone, they would never leave it, at least until the organisers showed up to drag their sorry self out to the recovery zone.

Sadly, no one seemed to care enough about her to try and prepare an ambush, forcing Trissa to move out of her cover and make her way to the centre of the arena, where, by then, a firefight had already broken out. She couldn’t see who was involved, only hear and feel every round coming out of their stun guns as she came closer; already Trissa was grinning, a predatory expression spreading on her mouth from the moment she set her weapon to its maximum intensity: a great way to drain the battery in one shot, forcing it to recharge passively for a couple of minutes, but an even better way of knocking out her opponents with but a single press of the trigger.

She did try and make an impression before anything else: rather than emerging onto the wide open like an idiot, she instead skirted the outskirts and fired a fully charged shot towards a stack of boxes on the metal platform holding the capture point. She could swear she saw someone on there, but it was likely just a trick of the light; surely no one would be dumb enough to try and get on the control zone that early.

With her stun gun thus reduced to its recharging state, it was time for Trissa to find somewhere to hide in so she could avoid getting shot back while she waited. She wasn’t an idiot: the first rule of warfare was that whatever one needed to do to win, one did it; whether or not it was “honourable” or made for a good show was entirely secondary to whether it would work, and it was precisely this ridiculous need for showboating that made others lose their Crucibles.

She was boring, but she would get there in the end… provided she could avoid any of the stray shots firing in every direction. She could only curse the extremely poor trigger discipline the other contestants had on display; really, what was the point of suppressing fire when the damned gun couldn’t even operate for more than a few rounds at a time? Bunch of amateurs, that’s what she was dealing with; amateurs who needed to be taught a lesson in how the business worked, so they could be punted back to their platoons with a valuable life lesson.

When her stun gun beeped loudly enough to give away her position, signalling it had fully recharged, Trissa picked a random direction and threw herself towards it; she made to leave as big of a mess as she could, making it obvious where she went, before carefully maneuvering herself to disappear into the jungle without so much as a bent branch. It was, perhaps, a bit too much considering no one seemed to be on her tail, but no amount of paranoia was unjustified when it came to winning the Crucible; for all she knew, there were three serpents chasing her right at that moment!

Not that they were, but it was important to keep acting as if they were, ignoring the crowd chanting in her general direction, calling her all manner of things which they’d regret later. So what if she was a tryhard? Tryhards won, that was what mattered, and when Trissa circled back around to get a look at the centre of the arena, she had absolute confirmation of it: there was someone there, one of the competitors who had very clearly been hit multiple times, pointing their own stun gun at themselves while screaming at the heavens for more.

Now, under regular circumstances, Trissa would’ve followed up with a few shots of her own, but what was the point? There, in full view of everyone, was the end result of poor discipline and a lack of adequate training: someone whose libido had gotten the better of them. They didn’t care for cover, or dodging, or anything to increase their survivability: they just wanted to feel their arousal be spiked to unsustainable levels, while their tits grew bigger and more unwieldy in the process. Firing at them would be a waste of time, resources, and a perfect way to reveal her position to the other two contestants; that fourth one was already knocked out of the competition anyway.

Which meant there were only three people in the running, massively improving her odds. By that point, it was highly likely that the other remaining two were somewhere close by, circling around the metal platform making up the control point, looking for an opening to try and take it. The jungle had eyes, scanning every inch of terrain, two other huntresses just waiting for a chance to knock someone out of the race and turn the whole thing into a glorified coin flip.

Well, Trissa wasn’t having any of that. Once the drones came in to remove the lust-addled fourth competitors, the control point was freed, giving her a chance to take it for herself and force the issue. With no armour on her, no way of protecting herself, and the stun gun strapped to her side, she rushed out of the cover, diving into a shallow pool of water before emerging with enough force to fly several feet in the air in a dramatic, somewhat unnecessary landing; the flourish was entirely pointless, but it did serve to keep everyone guessing just what she was supposed to be doing… or, at least, it was supposed to do that; Trissa didn’t expect to get shot immediately on making contact with the ground.

It was all going so well that it just didn’t register with her. She’d gone out of her way to ensure she had maximum mobility, she deliberately confused her opponents by engaging in pointless dancing around the battlefield, and had effortlessly nailed a three-point landing after creating a barrier of mist, preventing anyone from seeing her. So, getting shot was quite literally impossible; someone had cheated, and she was going to have words with whoever it was.

The crowd laughing at her didn’t help, though by then, very little remained of Trissa’s ability to care. The simultaneous spike to her libido combined with the vibrations from her landing led to some curious effects, mostly around the chest region; something about venom production being amped up by physical trauma, surely. Not that it mattered, seeing as she was a sitting duck now; she could try and drag herself up the platform, but there was no cover to keep further stun gun arounds from slamming into her, leaving her increasingly hot and bothered with each successive one.

She could feel herself filling up as well, was the biggest issue, and the ripping of her skinsuit didn’t help. It was impossible; she wasn’t supposed to lose, she wasn’t supposed to be reduced to a whimpering, mewling mess, dragging herself along the ground while her tits spilled out from her vestments. She was supposed to stand tall above her enemies, proving them all wrong; she was supposed to be victorious, not be reduced to begging for mercy from an enemy she couldn’t see. So whatever happened, it had to be cheating; she was unbeatable!

Thus, she kept going; she was going to win, end of story, and it wasn’t going to be a brand new pair of tits that stopped her. If she had to physically pull herself onto the point and then anchor herself with her own bust, she would; it didn’t matter if the drones had already been deployed and her name was called out as being eliminated, she was going to win. Trissa even went so far as to try and fire her stun gun at the automated sweepers when they came to pick her up; did it matter that this meant an automatic disqualification on top of her loss? Of course, not, because she was going to win.

And no one was going to stop her.