Conspiracy

Tina didn't know how anyone could miss what was going on.  All the information was there.

One of Roald Dahl's children was a consultant for the 2005 film "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" but - more importantly - served as a contributor to an online food magazine.  Said magazine was owned by a newspaper publisher, the owners of which had made donations to the campaigns of several prominent politicians.  From there it branched outward to a web which spanned the globe, from psyops to astroturfed campaigns to carefully orchestrated events that the uneducated layperson would simply write off as "mere coincidences," all leading to a single, ominous conclusion: Warner Bros. had a vested interest in suppressing interest and exploration into the concept of Wonka's three-course gum.  Gum that, with the help of several chemistry .pdfs from the deep web, Tina managed to formulate, create, and distribute to the deep web in turn.

Not a moment too soon either, she thought, as the silent alarm tripped.  Turning to the bank of monitors for her hidden cameras, she saw a line of short, armed individuals climb the stairs towards her apartment. "God damn it," she hissed. "I -knew- that twelve proxies wasn't enough."

She pulled a narrow bookshelf to the ground, hitting the hidden button she had installed.  With a staccato of clicks the homemade thermite deposits ignited, setting note-covered corkboards ablaze and melting hard drives into slag.  Rushing out of the room she threw open her fridge door, removing the sample and jamming it into her mouth, chewing rapidly.

There was a banging at her front door, bolts and chains rattling against the steel plate reinforcement. "Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-dink," a baritone voice sang, "would you like some fluoridated Fizzy Lifting Drink?"

Tina felt the sweet tang of juice fill her mouth and she swallowed the gum, feeling a rapidly-mounting fullness a few seconds later. "The meter on that was absolutely strained!" It wasn't the only thing that was strained - as her jeans began to cut into her she undid the button, her gut surging forth as a patch of deep purple spread from her navel.  Hurrying into the living room she dragged the coffee table towards the wall, swelling breasts slipping out of her too-small camisole.  Pushing the table the rest of the way with her foot she paused to tuck them back in, droplets of violet fluid from her nipples dying the cloth and her fingers. "...and don't think for a minute that I don't know who you are!"

"Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-dup," she heard a second voice sing. "Come out quietly with your hands up."

"Why?  So you can get rid of me for learning the Truth?"  She couldn't hear the denim creaking over the crackling of the fires, but she could -feel- it, stretching to contain widening hips and a globular ass.  With the toe of one shoe she tugged a light rug aside, revealing a wide circle of paint on the wooden floor, and waddled into its center.  By now her camisole was a juice-soaked ring of cloth wedged between two sticky melons and a sloshing keg of a stomach, and most of her energy was spent trying to stay standing.  At least, staying standing long enough.

The first returned. "Oompa Loompa, do-ba-dee-doo.  If you obey no harm will come to you."

"Then why'd you-" Her belly gurgled and churned loudly, and the taste of blueberry rose in her throat before her entire body suddenly throbbed outward, limbs thickening into fat, stiff arms and trunk-like legs attached to an increasingly globular body.  Her range of motion was disappearing by the second, and even though she had a plan she kept both eyes fixed on the door, even as the twin hills of her now-massive breasts started to block her view. "-why'd you bring GUNS, you orange midget-lookin' globalist!"

Something hard and heavy impacted the door as the apartment continued to grow uncomfortably hot.  Sweet-smelling sweat ran down her body as her ass and mons touched the floor, lifting her feet up as her hands and feet sank partway into her sides.  The floor beneath her gave a fraction of an inch, and she smiled inwardly as a ripple rolled through her.  The scored timbers and cut boards could only hold so much weight, and she knew how much, checking and re-checking her math on how much something - some-one- - would weigh given a size and density.

"YOU CAN'T STOP THE SIGNAL!" she shouted.

With a loud snap the wood on three sides gave way, and the floor swung downward like a hinge.  Tina's body shuddered as she rolled down the incline into the abandoned apartments below, funneled into a series of plywood ramps.  Picking up speed and continuing to swell as she spiraled downward four stories, she broke through a glass window before hitting the street at high velocity, juice alternately being squeezed and flung from her nipples and sex onto the pavement and anything and anyone in a forty foot radius.  Their reach was long and their power immeasurable, Tina reasoned, and the method of escape more daring and less secure, but there was absolutely, positively NO WAY they would be able to cover up a round blue woman the size of a pickup truck messily rolling straight through downtown at highway speeds.