Ada Wong's skill was told in various clandestine meetings and various bars with faded names, frequented by men and women who had long since ceased to exist in the eyes of the world and it's various governments. High class, low class, and everything in between, Ada could adapt to any role, any situation. Her abilities came at a high price but all of her clients would have gladly hired her for double her going rate if pressed.
Not that she ever did.
For most people surviving Osmund Saddler, Jack Krauser, Raymond Salazar, and the Las Plagas that followed them would entail months if not years of therapy. For most agents involved in an operation like that, it would be a long while until they would feel ready to go back into the field. But Ada Wong was not just any person or any agent.
Wesker had his sample, Leon and Ashley were alive, and she was on the lookout for the next bit of work coming her way.
Said work came walking towards her in a Michelin four star eatery in Paris, all long legs and firm body. A manila folder was in his right hand and he offered it to Ada as he sat down. Ada sipped at her glass of wine as she opened it, poring over the photos of a statuesque brunette with rapid speed.
There was a single woman in all of these photos, a careful, alert woman by the looks of things, save for how her eyes strayed whenever a rotund, stout, or simply obese woman was around. In one photo it looked like the woman's eyes had become black holes, devouring every bit of a fat woman's appearance.
“Madeline Fariv, a noted pillar of her community, a mix of old money from her mother and new wealth heaped on her by her father and her own business acumen. She donates to various charities, is patron to a number of galleries in the various cities she routinely travels to, and a prominent spokeswoman for the homeless.”
“What's she really like?”
“As you've no doubt noticed she has an eye for the rotund but that, of course, is not anything too out of the ordinary. No, what Madeline Fariv does in her private life is nothing less than the exploitation, torture, and murder of young women with nowhere to turn.”
Ada finished going through the photos, the last one in the folder that of a corpse washed onto a beach. The body was horrendously bloated but even with the damage caused by the water, the woman was enormous. She looked like she would be immobile if she was still alive.
The man slid his phone towards Ada, the spy looking at the smiling, slim young woman on the screen and then back at the obese corpse, noting the similar eye color and skin tone.
“Madeline Fariv did that over a year and a half. My sources indicate she's done this to dozens of women but this is the only body we've been able to find. We want you to become the type of woman Madeline Fariv desires, recover any evidence about her private activities, and return them to me at the following address.”
Ada snatched up the scribbled paper, memorizing the coordinates before giving it back to the man. “You will be paid in full right now, if you desire.”
“I do and I'm sure your group will provide surgery in the case of an excessive amount of difficulty in this assignment.”
“Of course as well as provide the best personal trainers and training facilities in the world once the job is completed.”
“None, take as much time as you need, do whatever you like to ensure that this woman's crimes are dragged into the open.”
Ada opened her own phone, ensuring that the funds were transferred, eyebrow quirking as she saw that it was triple her going rate. “Why the heavy spending?”
“Think of it as an apology asking a woman in your line of work to give up her figure.”
“It's not needed and you have my guarantee that this woman will be exposed. Before we conclude our business here, I have to ask for a few concessions.”
“One, my grapnel will need to be reinforced to hoist and hold over two tons of weight. Second, I have a red dress I'll need specially tailored and ready to deliver at my order to Madeline Fariv's location. I assume you can handle these requests?”
“Of course and on the behalf of the parents of this murdered young woman, thank you for accepting this assignment.”
“You're welcome,” Ada replied, placing the manilla envelope in her white purse as she sipped some red wine and watched the man leave the bar they had agreed to meet at.
Taking in the sight of the lush restaurant, the lavish service, and the decor, Ada gave a light chuckle.
“Goodbye high society.”
Ada paid in cash for a dilapidated-looking apartment a good twenty two miles from Fariv's North American estate. Her classy wardrobe was replaced by blue jeans, sweatpants, sweatshirts, and the like. She had a bad dye job done to her hair, turning it a cruddy shade of brown, her usual sultry strut now a simple stride, her posture hunched over most of the time and timid. Her new name was Ava Loring, third generation Asian American, with debt up to her eyeballs from old student loans, bad checks littered all over her bank statements, and no credit. She had just been fired from a job at a McDonald’s five states over and was looking for a fresh start.
Ada reviewed her new life in her head time and time again until she had it down to her soul. That done, Ada spared one last glance at her figure in the slightly cracked mirror in her new home. The lean muscle, the toned thighs, the softer bits of her that would only increase as this assignment continued. She wasn't wistful as she looked at her reflection, didn't hesitate as she picked up the flip phone, placing an order for three pizzas, all large with every meat topping available, plenty of crazy bread and three two liter bottles of soda to wash it all down with. Hanging up after reading off her debit card with just four hundred dollars to her name, Ada looked again at her body, rubbing her middle as she smiled.
“Goodbye Ada Wong, hello Ava Loring.”
A few hours later, Ada returned to the mirror, belching a bit as she gently patted her stuffed stomach. Her skin was quite red around the outer edges of her belly button, the gorged dome there taut to the touch. Ada upended the half-full two liter that remained and chugged, stopping after six gulps, breathing heavily afterwards.
“Haaa! Huff...urp...ummmm....so good,” Ada said, taking in the grease stains, bits of melted cheese, and some pizza sauce that had dripped onto her.
This was a good start but she still had her whole checking account to go.
A good seven months later, Ada Wong grunted as she got to her feet, answering the insistent pounding at her door. It was her landlord, the permanent scowl marring his features deepening as he took in his tenant.
Ava Loring was a pig in human form, a far cry from the skinny woman who had paid her security deposit, first, and last month in January. Ava's middle had become a beer belly, just starting to droop into a little apron gut. Her breasts were coated in sweat and sagging a little. From what he could see of her hips clad as they were in a ratty pair of sweatpants, they were wider than his own and her rear was taking up even more room than the last month he'd seen her.
“Rent,” the man muttered.
Ava nodded, handing him several crumpled hundreds.
He counted the amount. “You're short.”
“It's all I've got,” Ava replied.
“Then you've got no place to sleep anymore. Get out of here by four or I'm tossing you out, got it?”
Ava nodded, shame written clearly on her face.
By the time the landlord returned at three fifty eight, Ava Loring was gone, leaving behind nothing but a crumb coated floor. Rolling up his sleeves, the man got to work getting most of the crumbs off the floor.
Three weeks later, a digesting Ada Wong sat at the booth of a McDonald’s clad in her now ratty sweats. Stains dotted the grey clothing, both food and sweat varieties here and there, visible for all to see. Showers and basic hygiene were excised from her life and she spent whatever she had on more food, giving her a new reality to present to her target.
Ada's middle was protruding further, in the liminal stage between a beer belly and a full on fat person's gut. Her hips and rear were wider still, by far the biggest part of her body. Her face had also puffed out, all of it almost cocooned in flab.
She left the restaurant, cardboard sign in hand, ready to go resume her begging at one of her ten different spots she made regular use of. As she walked, her normal stride now starting to waddle bit by bit, thighs gently pressing against one another, Ada felt the eyes on her. It was the beige minivan she had spotted just over three weeks ago rolling out of the same street containing Miranda Fariv's estate. She had also seen it five days ago at her stoop near the cheap buffet. Staring ahead, Ada paid the vehicle no mind as she came around the corner, sign going up to signal her need.
Miranda Fariv was a few inches taller than Ada, appearing almost gangly save for the slight buildup of muscle in her arms, thighs, and middle. Her skin was olive-tinged and meshed well with her striking blue eyes. All in all , clad in a gray business suit ending in a shirt a few inches beyond decent, Ada's target was a composed, put together figure.
“Ms. Ava Loring I presume?”
Ada nodded. “Who are you and how do you know my name?”
“Miranda Fariv is my name and I make it my concern to follow the plight of the homeless and destitute around me. I'm putting together a campaign raising awareness for the plight of the homeless in our fair city and wanted to inquire if you would be willing to aid me in this endeavor.”
“I don't do charity,” Ada replied.
“You would, of course, be provided handsomely and be given shelter and all you can eat at my home.”
“No catch,” Miranda replied.
“As long as it keeps me off the streets and with a full belly, I'll take it,” Ada said.
“Splendid, splendid, just follow me and we can begin.”
Ada was expecting to be knocked out or injected with a sedative, something to get her pliant and make her unable to resist whatever fattening plans Miranda had up her sleeve. Instead she was whisked away to Madeline's mansion, a three story, from the outside anyway, Baroque-style home with an enormous veranda around the rear of the house, overlooking a few miles of pine and conifer trees. Ada also knew there were plenty of security cameras all around the grounds, some visible, others not so much. She had much of the floor plan of the building, save the bits that Madeline used for her less than savory activities but Ada had no doubt she'd be seeing those up close and personal before this job was done.
Past the double doors, two rights and one left opened up to the dining room and it was loaded with food. There were several exotic dishes, all of which Ada could name, and some covered items, though judging by the buildup of salt and bits of grease the spy was able to spot, they weren't at all healthy.
“Before we get into the nitty gritty of my awareness campaign and any insights you could offer, please by all means have your fill.”
Miranda watched as her latest victim began the process of becoming her personal sow. It was always this moment, not the degradations, stuffings, and humiliation that followed that turned her on the most. This time, she had chosen a heftier woman than usual, impressed by Ava's gain. Of course she had been following the woman for over a month, stealthily taking care of her debts, erasing the chance of anyone from any organization calling about her or checking up on her well-being. Ava was alone, with no friends and deceased family save for a few distant cousins. No one would miss her and that was exactly what Miranda needed.
Lily, or had it been Josie, four or eight women ago had been a mistake; prey to a whim to fatten up a girl from a stick to glorious immobility. Plus she hadn't been as thorough as she usually was, her desires getting the better of her but in the end things worked out. No one asked after her, no one would ever connect the pair together.
Ava was making good progress, on her fourth plate or so, Miranda's eyes glinting as she watched the woman stuff herself.
No, not a woman, Miranda thought, just another sow, fit for fattening and discarding.
But her newest sow only managed a plate and a half more before shoving herself away from the table. Better than most but far from the best Miranda had chosen.
“You sure can eat, I'm impressed!”
The sow grunted in reply, a little groan escaping her lips as she rubbed her stomach. “What was that for?”
“Well we need to establish a baseline.”
“Baseline for-” but the drugs took effect, sending the sow off into unconsciousness and letting Miranda take a far more detailed look than her photos and videos had given her so far. Moving slowly, savoring the moment, Miranda reached out a hand and pushed as deeply as she could into her sow's turgid middle. The stomach was round now, owing to the food, but was developing into a multiple-rolled apron. She could just feel the packed stomach, shivering at the sensation, before removing her hand and pressing it against her sow's face. Here there were some nice starter cheeks, a bit soft and very round, but they could be, would be, so much more. Not much secondary chin development but Miranda could tell that her sow would not be a belly or face heavy woman. Her sow's breasts were big, starting to droop, but they weren't the magnum opus. No, her swine's crowning achievement was found in her rear, filling, but not eclipsing, the chair nicely. Madeline squeezed for all she was worth before pulling the swine's pants down and licking along the upper half of the right butt cheek, tasting the sweat and body odor.
A fine taste.
Miranda moved to the thighs, pleased they were touching already but only just. From here she moved to the extremities, the slightly softer hands, the surprisingly round toes, tubby feet, and sausage-lite fingers.
Yes, her newest sow was a fine foundation to start with but there was a lot of work ahead. Standing back to take in the full picture once more, Miranda nodded to her staff to begin, moving further back as they swarmed in on her swine.
Ada woke up.
She moved her right arm. Bound by a restraint. Same with her left and her legs. There wasn't much tightness, just enough to ensure that she couldn't move. There was something against her throat, almost plastic like. Her clothes were gone, body nude.
Ada screamed, thrashed about, started to curse and then plead after her noises went unanswered, sobbing by the time an hour had passed by her internal clock. Her stomach had rumbled a bit in the time since she regained consciousness but Ada ignored it, focusing instead on selling her fear.
It roared by the time she stopped her final bout of crying, the sound reminding her of some of Umbrella's larger bio-weapons. She was being bludgeoned by hunger, the growls growing louder, sweat starting to drip faster from her pores.
“Someone...anyone, please give me something to eat!”
A door opened beyond Ada's field of view, a pair of heels hitting the ground following. Miranda appeared at her right, a burger held in her left hand.
“Finally you say the magic words.”
“Miranda, what's going on?! Why am I chained up? Why am I-” The burger was shoved into her mouth, Ada chewing swiftly and licking what fell past her lips and into her captor's palm up with a slobbering tongue.
“Eat your food swine. You're going to get big, piggy, so very, very big and smelly, disgusting really. Then I'll dress you up very nicely, more than you deserve and then....well I can't spoil everything right now.”
“I'm still hungry,” Ada replied, adding a crack into her voice for good measure, fear ruling her tone.
“Of course you are. You're innards are adapting to a wonderful compound I've cooked up, one that will have you eating more than you thought possible, piling on more of that delicious fat. The chains are just for now, until you've adapted to being my sow. Then I'll let you have a bed and move around a bit. That will be a fun memory for you when you can't move anymore.”
“Why do this to me? I've never done anything to you.”
“But you did, piglet, you did. You thought you could just walk around spending what little you had on fattening up that belly of yours and no one would notice? No one would care? Well I care and when I'm done with you you'll be loving every new bit of yourself. Now open your mouth, little sow, and go to sleep!”
Miranda then punched her hard in the gut, Ada vomiting out the burger, bits of it landing on Miranda, the woman just smiling as she walked away, whirring coming from above the chained woman.
Looking up, she saw a tube lowering, her mouth opening as her throat was shocked by the device around her neck. The tube entered and a rich, creamy liquid entered, filling and tasty.
Ada swallowed as fast as she could, grateful that the flow wasn't overpowering. She was able to set a pace after a little while, mind whirling with the information she'd gleaned. There was nothing to do but what Miranda suggested, go to sleep, the flow continuing even as she lost consciousness once more, the device at her throat vibrating a bit, stimulating her to swallow.
One hundred and thirteen days on the tube.
Ada's internal clock was never wrong. She was brought down from the shackles every day and a half, walked around for an hour, and then back to the wall. She was given a mirror to observe the changes all this feeding was doing to her. Her belly was a full apron now, nearly covering the upper half of her privates, multiple rolls making her stomach up, sweat secreting from each under-hang regularly. Her face ballooned, and she now had a second chin underneath her first, joining the ring of flesh ringing around her face. Her breasts were sagging, almost looking like another roll of stomach fat. Her hips swelled, her rear larger and larger, great sacks of soft flesh, pooling all around when she was allowed to sit down. Her thighs were now permanent invaders of their own personal space. Her stamina was severely reduced, having to hunch over and wheeze for all she was worth after a good thirty steps. Her innards were constantly producing gas, often in the form of noxious farts that had Ada coughing and sputtering, her belches nearly as bad. Body odor hung around her like fate around Raccoon City once the news got out about the outbreak.
But she did have a room now, a bed, access to a toilet, though she often had to go with Miranda watching. She was allowed an hour of free time, to walk around the mansion, no room off limits, just the outside. All the blinds were drawn, no glimpse of the sky or breeze allowed.
She was still nude, given no showers, her smell increasing as the days passed and the pounds progressed. She wasn't idle but gave off the appearance she was. She walked, always the same route, always passing the staircase, always picking up her pace the closer she got to the turn leading to the kitchen, to food. Day in, day out, routine followed routine.
Miranda would come in the evening, her public mask removed and she had her way. She had Ada eat off the floor, off her body, stuffed while being whipped, spanked while gorging. Always insulting, always dehumanizing.
Ada did what she was told, she put up small resistances at times, to show she still had some fight, only for it to be stuffed away. She finally stopped resisting altogether, becoming placid, appearing to be ruled by her gut.
The operative knew this couldn't continue, knew the possibility existed for her to give in, if just for a moment. She knew that moment was failure, a little death before her real one. Her willpower was fraying, as she was expecting it to. She was only human after all.
Then she was given a phone book and told to pick out her tailor just over a year after her first day of tube feeding.
She smiled dozily, giggling and snorting as she snacked on a few cupcakes, staring blankly at the phone book before Miranda opened it towards a page.
“Pick sow or else no lunch today!”
Ada nodded slowly, pointing a fat finger towards an option.
Miranda nodded at her choice and called the establishment after asking one more question of Ada.
“What color does my sow want her dress to be?”
“Red,” Ada replied.
Ada had her dress, she had the location of the evidence, more like trophies, Miranda kept of all her victims. She even had her grapnel, the beloved item stuffed under her lowermost belly roll, Ada transferring it from the secret pocket in her modified dress along with the dampening fabric it had been wrapped in. The fabric also doubled as a scarf, one she wrapped around her neck as she reviewed her objective.
A dress she was allowed to wear as soon as it arrived two days ago, the dress and the panties that came with it stained with sweat, food crumbs, and in the case of the panties brown and yellowish smudges. The special occasion it had been made for was nearing, less than seventy two hours away in fact.
Now was the time to put all her preparation, all her waddling and memorizing, to use.
There was just one last opponent between Ada, the information, and her ex-filtration: the western staircase. The cameras were looping footage of an empty hallway, courtesy of the special bit of tech disguised as a faulty root canal in her lower right wisdom tooth. The motion and noise sensors for the entire building likewise feeding false information owing to the same device. She had time to make this climb, all she had to do was begin.
Steeling herself, Ada lifted one hefty foot in front of the other and began her ascent.
The fifth step has her sweat start to course it's way down her back, the twelfth bringing along the first rumbling that signals a mighty fart, Ada clenching for all she was worth, earning minute squeaks. Her control wasn't needed, aided as she was by her technology, but Ada was never one for relying entirely on machinery. A wayward burp managed to escape, but she soon had it transfigured into a little one thanks to her swift closing of her lips.
The twenty-eighth step brings quivering, the tubby bits of her that had been muscles spasiming for all they were worth. She ignores the pain and takes another step and then another, plodding on. The dress is completely soaked in Ada's stench and sweat by the forty third step and she's getting a bit light headed. Ignoring it, she strides onward, finally stopping at the top and giving a few gasps while she works the lock on the door after allowing ten minutes for some of the quivering and jostling of her figure to stop.
The lock is child's play for Ada, the walk across the floor to the bust of Pallas Athena harder.
But she manages, running a tubby finger on the underside of the sculpture's chin, revealing the display. She plugs in the flash drive after unhooking it from the butt of the grapnel, all the data uploaded, Ada triple-checking and sending a small prayer towards the victims and promising an end to this cycle of torture and violence. Once secured, she moves the evidence to her left hand, cupping it with tubby digits.
Waddling towards the veranda, Ada opens the doors and steps out into the night.
She readies her grapnel when the sound of sprinting footsteps comes to her ears, Ada turning her head and placing a sly smirk on her lips.
Fariv enters, a look of shock carved into her very soul if her face is any indication, thin hands stretched in supplication.
“Here's something to remember me by,” Ada replied, keeping her smirk in place as she cedes the tight control she'd been placing on her ass since the moment she'd opened her bedroom door that night.
Her entire lower half jiggled and jostled, the rolls that now made up her back joining in, the stained panties ripping and tearing. Ever the professional, Ada loosed her grapnel without looking, knowing she'd lined up the perfect shot, whisking away as she left Miranda Fariv to marinate in her flatulence but not before inhaling her foul stench as deeply as she could.
This would be the last time she'd get to enjoy the smell at this level of rankness, after all.
Miranda Fariv was arrested trying to leave the country, her social, civic, and professional life ruined as the details of her crimes came to light. She was sentenced to life, and after a few weeks, into solitary, left with only her memories for company.
Ada Wong's final weight in the course of her latest mission totaled four hundred and eighty seven pounds.
Her employer for the mission rested his eyes on this total, looking from it, after a few silent moments, to the now three hundred and twenty six pound Ada Wong. Her fat figure was framed stunningly in a white, custom made, Vera Wang sequin number, and, married that he was, the man couldn't help but admire her beauty.
“I see you're using the facilities provided to you. I am surprised, however, that you haven't opted for surgery.”
“Let's just say I'm getting in touch with the American side of my heritage,” Ada replied, smiling coolly. “I also want to insure that my work has met satisfaction.”
“The utmost, Ms. Wong.”
“Good and feel free to reference how much I gained to any of your associates who require my services once I'm back to my normal weight.”
“What on earth for?”
“Free publicity, so to speak,” Ada replied, getting to her feet and waddling out the double doors, leaving behind the scent plum perfume and the tiniest hint of body odor and flatulence.
Ada sighed as she lounged on her beach chair, smirking as she heard the metal groan just a bit under her hefty body. She was dressed in a muumuu, cartoon cows and pigs dotted over the fabric, a two liter soda in a cooler by her right, a sandwich in her left hand.
Just another fat American enjoying some vacation time, Ada thought, easing into a moderate fart that drew disgusted stares and more than a few giggles from the mishmash of adults, children, and families all around.
There was still a lot of training left and she would complete it, regain her figure, maybe even undergo some lipo if she wasn't satisfied with the results, but for now she could relax.
Even spies needed vacations, especially the very best.