sci-sinc

Mina waddled into the communal kitchen, glancing behind her guiltily as she approached the mini-fridge. She was dressed in a way that was probably pretty smart 40 pounds ago; white business shirt, neat skirt, jacket. Those forty pounds were the killer though. The buttons were straining all down her shirt, and her jacket was threatening to split where her upper arms strained the narrow cut of the shoulders. She bent down to examine the contents of the mini-fridge, and her skirt audibly creaked as the abused fabric almost gave up under the impossible task of containing her bulging rump. She was well over three-hundred pounds, and in that outfit you could just about count every single one. She seemed confused by the contents of the mini-fridge. An... an enormous pie? Thick butter pastry in a huge dish. Beef? Chicken? If she was lucky, it might even be a sweet pie. It was almost a shame it was so large – even she couldn't eat all of this. Perhaps she could sneak half into her bag and