This is the second pic and story for  Snozzy and  RockyTheProcy's Halloween Weight Gain Mystery Party!
Do come here to enjoy the full picture and story, AND to vote on who the next victum is! MAUAHAHHAH and have a Happy Halloween!

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One Little Party Guest Just Took The Bait…


Garrus Vakarian grunted as he saw the ring-tailed thief swinging gracefully off the chandeliers in the relatively well-lit hallway. The agile coon had somehow managed to keep his signature pole while the turian sniper was constantly reaching for his Black Widow and cursing whoever it was that had taken his pride and joy.

His keen eye, though, was having trouble tracking the thief; flashes of lightning coming from the windows kept either obstructing his view or made him look at shadows that popped up along the hallway. Soon enough, that damn mammal had somehow eluded his gaze and now the ex-C-Sec operative was standing by himself in one of the manor’s empty hallways. The various doors lining the long hall gave no indication as to which one the masked thief had decided to dive into.

Sighing, the turian was about to return to the grand foyer when he heard voices. It was just a few at first, but they seemed to multiply the closer he got to a large double-door opening. Standing off to the side of the door, Garrus hesitantly opened the entrance, peering in.

Inside the room was an unexpected sight; it seemed to be the Presidium Commons on the citadel. Looking from the hallway to inside the room, there was no possible way this could exist. Hesitantly entering the commons, the sniper looked at the various beings who were walking around.

“This is…impossible…” Tapping open his omnitool, Garrus started to do a scan of the area, hoping to find out if everything was just some illusion. Maybe this was just part of that “game” that was going on.

As he slowly passed the various races that inhabited the citadel, he suddenly heard a gasp and looked up. He had somehow entered Apollo’s café and an asari was right in front of him.

“GARRUS? THE Archangel? THE HEAD SPECTRE?” The blue-skinned alien’s eyes glowed as she looked over the counter at the sniper.

“Huh, wait, what…?” Confused, Garrus shook his head as he tried to figure out what was happening.

“Oh my god. You’ve got to try this new beer! It’s a Turian ale named after you! It’s called the Vakarian!” And before he knew what was happening, the asari had shoved a mug into his three fingered hands.

“Wait but…there’s…” Looking down, he once again used his omnitool to see what exactly he was given and oddly enough, the holographic device didn’t even register that there was anything in his grasp, let alone anything in the room. Raising an eye ridge, the turian hesitantly raised the mug to his nose, sniffing what seemed to be an above-average brew before taking a sip. It was positively amazing, and he downed the rest of the mug in one long draught.

“That…URRRP…that was quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever drank...but still this can’t be r--” Garrus tried to protest as he let out a large belch, but the asari’s eyes opened wider.

“That’s amazing news, you MUST do an ad for this beer!” The blue female suddenly pushed her computer close to Garrus, a sweat starting to gleam on his forehead. They were asking HIM to advertise a product, and not Sheppard.

“I, uhh…” The turian coughed, clearing his throat as the moved down to speak in the microphone.

“I’m Garrus Vakarian, and this is the best beer on the citadel.” The asari squealed and suddenly a feast of pastries and other foods appeared on the counter.

“You must try these other pastries, as thanks!” A waitress appeared and dragged the ex-C-Sec to a seat, pushing another mug into his open hand.

“No really, I shouldn’t, I mean this can’t…” But as the first pastry was pushed into his mouth, the turian was a goner. Usually human food such as this wasn’t exactly edible, considering his specie’s unique diet, but he was having no problems keeping this…wondrous…filling food down. Was this why some humans grew so corpulent? Jeeze, if so, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad… Wait, where the hell did that thought even COME from?

“Mr. Vakarian, you must support our guns!” Another computer was shoved into Garrus’s face while he tore into a cake and realized a HMWSR seller was asking HIM to support their gun line.

“URRRP, I’m Garrus Vakarian, and these are the, urrp, best guns on the citadel!” The turian downed another mug before realizing it had been refilled without asking.

The more the alien ate and drank, the more his fears and hesitancy disappeared, replaced with the belief that he was the best Spectre around and he had earned this, damn it! And his damn armor was getting way too tight for some reason.

“Mr. Vakarian! Please, Mr. Vakarian, would you please try on our new sweat pants!” By the time this new request came around, the tipsy turian wasn’t exactly sure what species he was looking at. But giving a belch he nodded.

“Fer…hic…fer my loving fans, sure!” Downing his current bottle of turian ale, he slammed the mug on the table. This was how it was supposed to be. He was just as good as Sheppard, just as loved. As he slowly started to take off his armor, the fuzzy creature being quite helpful in that, Garrus rubbed his bloated and slightly ample belly… More than slightly at this point, but the alcohol was destroying any sense of self he had. Slowly placing his now thicker legs into the sweatpants, the turian pulled up the very comfortable fabric.

“Ugh, these…hic..these are real nice. God, heh, I got a fat assh, hehe, oh, and… and…” Downing another mug that appeared in his hand, the now-tubby turian let loose a thunderous belch.

“I’M Garrush VAKARIAN, and theshe, hic…theshe are the besht fuckin’ shweat pantsh on the chitadel…” Falling back onto the seat, the ex-C-Sec continued to consume more and more of the pastries. His body continued to expand slowly, the turian too drunk to notice his corpulent belly drooping over his crotch and into his lap. His once lean facial features and limbs had softened considerable, forming a thick padding of flab which was almost unheard of in their species. Heck, he was even beginning to form a soft, flabby chest and his species didn’t even HAVE mammaries.

“So, Mr. Vakarian, are you done?” The fuzzy image of a person seemed to smile. Downing one more mug of beer, the now hefty turian let loose a room shaking belch.

“Done? I…I haven’t even begun to drink! And you..hehe..you, hic…you have a shill..a shi…a shilly hat!” Garrus grinned.

“I’m GARRUSH VAKARIAN AND I SHUPPORT DISH PARTY!” He slapped his large gut as he sank back in his seat, before the floor dropped out from under him.

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“Ugh, what the…” Garrus blinked several times as he looked around the room. Sitting at one of the many buffets seemed to be the young vulpine from earlier, but with a few added pounds.

“Ugh, hey kid, what happened to you?” Shaking his head, the sniper was having trouble getting to his feet for some reason. His balance was way off.

“Same thing that obviously happened to you.” Tails pointed to the obviously fat turian.

Gasping in shock at what had to be at least fifty kilos in weight, the sniper started playing with his ample, sagging belly. His whole form was thicker than he thought possible for his much more angular, avian species. His chest sagged onto his flabby gut and he realized it was only because his muscle was so lean and toned that he looked so out of shape and fat.

“How..why…I remember being on the citadel…then drinking, and…” The door opened at the other end of the room.

“And…wait a second, aren’t you…” Garrus started as the figure grinned.

…A Few Calibrations And Then There Were Eight

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