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Jupiter didn’t know how long he’d been in this place.
The only thing he knew was that he was hungry.
He moaned as his stomach gurgled, begging to be fed. He sifted his fingers through the mess of wrappers, take-away boxes and crumpled cans that surrounded him like a sea of trash, but they were all empty.
“Food!” he groaned.
With a metallic, scraping sound, the only door in the room slid open to reveal a person dressed in a hazmat suit. Jupiter couldn’t get a good look at the face behind the mask, but he didn’t care who it was. All he cared about was what they were carrying: a stack of pizza boxes.
The scent of melted cheese, freshly-cooked dough and meat struggled to make itself known over the fetid stench of Jupiter’s farts that pervaded the room, but the moment it hit his nose, he began to salivate.
“Feeding time!” the bearer of this delicious offering called out.
“Gimme!” he shouted, lumbering forward. His legs, now pillars of fat that could barely prop up his globular, sagging body, strained as he waddled to reach his meal. Unstable as he was, he slipped on a stray chip packet, falling down into the pile of rubbish. His fat cushioned him, and, undeterred, he began to crawl.
The suited figure laughed. “How the mighty have fallen,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask. “Look at you: begging for food like an animal.” He looked around the room. “Sitting here, in your own filth… You’re a disgusting pig.”
If there was a time that Jupiter would have felt shame for what he’d become, it had passed long ago. Now, the degrading insults, the mocking words, they were nothing to him but noise.
And all this talk was getting in the way of his eating. He reached his hands up pleadingly and whimpered.
“I'm… hungry…”
Another laugh from the person before him. “All right, all right. I don’t want you to starve now, do I?”
He placed the boxes on the floor and Jupiter ripped the lid off the first one he got his grubby paws on. Without any formalities or even a moment to savour the food, he began shoving it down his gullet, chomping away like a woodchipper. He ate so fast he could barely taste the food except as a general flooding of greasy, carby goodness in his mouth. His cavernous stomach ached to be filled, and it was that pleasure, the feeling of a gut stuffed to the brim, that he sought out.
When he was finished, he lay down on his back, panting from the exertion. Oil and sauce smeared his face and globs of cheese stuck to the tattered remains of his supersuit.
The man in the suit gently caressed Jupiter’s engorged stomach and he moaned as the pressure on his skin, drum-tight, sent shivers of pleasure through his body. Jupiter tried to reach for his dick, which had gone hard during his stuffing and rubbed against the underside of his belly, but he couldn’t reach. His enormous gut stood in the way, an immovable force.
He was about to beg for the person in the suit to help, but just then a rumble went through his stomach. By eating so fast, he’d swallowed a lot of air, and it was coming back up.
“Erp-BOUUUUAAAAARRRRP!”
The superhuman belch literally shook the room.
“Whew, that was a big one,” the man in the suit said, patting Jupiter on the belly. “Feeling better, big guy?”
As if in response, another noise emerged from Jupiter’s guts, but this time it was a wet, groaning whine from his bowels.
“Uh-oh…” the man said, stepping away. He pressed a button on his wrist and spoke into a device on his cuff. “We have a Code F, Glob! I repeat: Code F! Emergency evacuation needed—”
But it was already too late: Jupiter let out a moan of pleasure as he released a massive fart.
“BFFRrrrrrrrrrriiiifffrrrpt!”
The man coughed, choking on the sulfurous stink that was so strong it penetrated even the filters of his hazmat suit. “GLOB! Cough GET ME OUT cough NOW!”
Jupiter closed his eyes in bliss. He was not only accustomed to the scent of his gas, but had come to enjoy it. In his post-flatulent state, he ignored the panic at the door as his feeder hurried to escape. All that mattered was he was fed and happy.
“Gah!” Glob cried, pinching her nose. “You stink!”
“I know!” the Corruptor said, pulling off his Hazmat suit. “This is why we have a Code F emergency procedure. I’m going to stink of rotten eggs for a week now…”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Glob said. “I’ve got an update on Project Corruption.”
The Corruptor looked up at the big screen Glob was working in front of. “Yes? Tell me!”
Glob tapped away at her keyboard and a map of the world appeared. Dotted across it were green, yellow and red spots. Glob zoomed in on one in the north-east corner of the United States.
“It seems our expedition to New York last week was successful,” she said, pointing to the orange dot above the city. “That spider-themed superhero there has been showing signs that the Corruption Beam has taken effect: he’s becoming lazier, more sluggish and seems to be slowly putting on weight.”
“Excellent,” the Corruptor said, grinning. “Soon Spiderboy or whatever his name is will fall, along with the rest of them… What about that guy in Metropolis… Uberguy? Hyperman?”
Glob ignored his mangling of the superhero’s name. “Nothing yet…” she shifted the screen to show a green dot over somewhere near the Great Lakes. “It seems he’s resisting it more than others.”
“Hmm… We’ll need to look into that. See if he has any other known weakness we could exploit.”
“Will do, sir!”
The Corruptor left her to it and stepped over to the viewing screen for Jupiter. The disgusting blob had fallen asleep, lying in his own filth, the remains of his previous meals spread out around him. The Corruptor grinned, looking forward to the day he’d be adding another superslob to his personal pigpen…