Warhammer 40K (XWG/Deathfeederism) Xenos Experimentation part 3 by m00nliner

++ ADDENDUM I ++
+ excerpt from unknown source +
The Inquisition.
What a wonderful bunch of single-minded fanatics, paranoid lunatics and power-obsessed megalomaniacs.
The crème de la crème of Mankind. Or, rather, that’s what they want to believe. For all their self-aggrandizing flair, they still need someone who is capable of thinking outside the rigid, primitivistic thought patterns they ever so desperately push everyone else into.
Idealists are almost criminally easy to manipulate.
Still, the opportunities they offer are indeed a blessing I was craving for as long as I can remember.
No more senile stuck-ups screeching “flesh is weak” every nanosecond of their pitiful existence.
No more arbitrary restrictions on resource allocation because the Manufactorum has “different priorities” right now.
No more cybernetic eyes peering over my shoulders at most inappropriate of times.
No more threats to put me under investigation for my “possibly heretical” research inquiries.
So I’ll just play along. See what happens. Find the limits of their benevolence. Abuse the living hell out of my new position.
We’ll all die eventually.
But I digress.
Xeno autopsies ceased to be of any interest for me long ago. You may study the burnt-out wreck of a machine for as long as you desire, yet past a certain point you’ll never gain any relevant insights on how it used to work. So you either try to reverse-engineer it, which is almost always considered a heresy of the highest order, or you obtain one in working condition, which is a nigh-impossible affair both for a backwater Manufactorum and a small Xenarite cabal.
Same goes for live sentient xeno study. What my kindred tend to forget is that life itself is a machine. A machine of unfathomable scale and complexity. A machine that deserves at least as much study as their vaunted “Quest for Knowledge”, if not more.
“The Flesh is Weak”. When the last part of living flesh within your shiny metal shell is a quarter of your increasingly deteriorating brain, it should be easy enough to deduce what exact part of you is now weak.
Oh, the irony.
Now, personal gripes mostly out of the system, I can finally begin recapping the rather peculiar project I ended up working on.
Tau.
I like Tau. So young. So vigorous. So idealistic. So naive. And yet, so resourceful, so crafty, so ingenuous. Will they replace us as rightful masters of the stars? Considering the breakneck speed of their technological advancement, I’d say they will, eventually – that is, unless some kind of disaster engulfs the tiny portion of the Galaxy they call their home. We have so much to learn from them – and yet, the only trade we give them so far is nothing but total, unrelenting, genocidal war.
All the more surprising is that even after all the atrocities we have inflicted upon their kin, they are still willing to greet us with gentle smiles and open arms. Even as one of them is captured like an unwitting beast, then smuggled to the other side of the Galaxy, and then put into ethically questionable experiment.
Still… a priceless opportunity to observe a live sentient xeno.
No matter what our senile ideologies tell us to believe, you can’t cheat your brain. Not unless copious amounts of brain-altering substances or extensive neurosurgical intervention is involved. Beneath the thin veil of our brain cortexes, which hold everything we have ever achieved as civilization, each and every single one of us is still an animal, hard-coded to fulfill the Prime Directive of Life through aeons upon aeons of trial and error commonly known as evolution. No matter what our senile ideologies tell us to believe, deep down we all still consider any distinctly humanoid species to be possible mates.
It’s just that our cortexes are told time and again to suppress any thoughts about it.
Unfortunately, deeper layers of our brains hold little to no regard for words.
Overseer still thinks I didn’t notice. Best don’t let him know.
But again, I digress.
Our Water Caste guest’s descent into rampant gluttony and morbid obesity was quite a spectacular sight to behold. Her sudden drive to fulfill the sadistic will of her captors to the fullest extent at the expense of every other regard was truly astonishing – so much so that during the initial stages of the experiment I even had to hard-limit her nourishment supply, as she did grossly overestimate her stomach capacity and its’ ability to digest excessive amounts of foodstuffs more than once. Fortunately, the reason behind this behavior was quite easy to deduce – somehow, the xeno quickly taught herself to derive immense pleasure from the mere acts of consuming a meal, her brains swimming in endorphin and serotonin equivalents every time she passed out in another food coma. Oddly enough, there were no surveillance feeds indicating that the xeno would manually stimulate her reproductive organs to create a connection between being agonizingly full and fulfilling the Prime Directive of Life – like some certain deranged human individuals would do.
Was it her... fetish? Do Tau even have sexual fetishes? Or was it a part of Water Caste’s innate social mimicry? Most likely the latter, but we could never know for certain. Not unless that pesky Overseer stops watching and re-watching every accursed security feeds. “Safety concerns”, he would say. Oh, the blessed ignorance.
In either case, the word that I would use to describe xeno’s physique until the experiment reached later stages would be “blossomed”, and I would bear no shame in doing so. Rapidly forming adipose tissue was spreading across test subject’s body extremely evenly, except for xeno’s face and nether regions. At every bi-weekly check-up I found her expanding form more and more alluring, radiating more and more primal fertility, every growing curve subtly ticking checkboxes in the “desirable mate” counter somewhere down the less refined parts of our brains. Furthermore, despite the speed at which the xeno was accumulating excess weight, I never observed any stretch marks forming on her seemingly flawless, soft, yet surprisingly strong and tensile skin.
Can’t help but wonder what effect would that visage have on a regular male, especially combined with full pheromone exposure. I could even think of a certain willing test subject… but that would have to wait.
At about two hundred and fifty pounds, her previously bell-shaped belly began dividing into distinct, puffy rolls, though that process would not be complete until much later into the experiment. As the gravity made it sag further down, obscuring xeno’s nether regions, a subtle fold that went from her belly button to the hem of her belly began to deepen, serving as a sort of a pre-programmed contingency plan to maintain the appeal of aforementioned fertility. At about three hundred and twenty pounds, I began observing a rather peculiar change in xeno’s growth dynamic – seemingly having exhausted the reserves for simple linear outward expansion, her body began to rapidly widen, with a plethora of new rolls forming at her sides and on her back. Xeno’s face, previously spared from any excess flesh, had finally began to yield, gradually rounding out, showing beginnings of a second chin, with some peculiar fat deposits on her elongated neck.
From what I can conclude, four hundred pounds can be set as more or less accurate threshold beyond which Water Caste bodies begin to give up. As if suddenly realizing that positive sexual appeal as a desirable mate cannot be maintained any further, as if intuitively concluding that other sentients would most likely view further increases in body mass as a sign of growing sickness rather than a sign of additional fertility, her body gradually began to lose many of the previously observed perks. The aforementioned process, however, proved to be far slower and far less severe than with humans. Even as xeno’s contours began to gradually distort beyond the more or less defined and collected shape it managed to retain so far, even as her burgeoning rolls began to yield to the forces of gravity, her skin retained most of its’ properties, as well as oddly pneumatic feeling to the touch. Same can be said about xeno’s breasts – despite having grown far beyond any reasonable size, they didn’t sag or droop until much later into the experiment. At the same time, xeno’s digestive tract too began to somewhat falter, we began to observe the first bouts of uncontrollable flatulence. This, however, is hardly surprising – the xeno had stretched her stomach beyond any reasonable capacity her guts could handle. What is surprising, however, is the fact that said bouts began to show up only now, much farther into the reckless gluttonous spree than if it were a human being.
The rest, however, is hardly interesting, as the patterns I have observed hardly differed from those observed with humans. The xeno began having mobility issues at just over five hundred pounds, though if anything, it only strengthened her dedication and resolve. True immobility, however, was recorded only at about six hundred and twenty pounds, roughly matching that parameter for a human with somewhat under-developed or slightly degraded muscle skeleton. Seven hundred and fifty pounds marked a threshold at which the xeno could no longer move her arms efficiently enough to feed herself, as hauling the bloated sacks of adipose caused too much muscle strain for her. The experiment proceeded with the machine feeding, allowing the xeno to reach just over eight hundred and forty pounds before I began registering imminent signs of heart failure, though without the oxygen tube I stuck in her breathing slit, as well as permanently attached IV unit with mild doses of stimulants, it would have happened much, much sooner. Truth be told, the xeno herself, having been reduced to a mostly formless pile of sweaty, wheezing, immovable, and persistently flatulent pile flesh, was a sight both pitiful and quite revulsing. I even considered ending the spectacle through administering Omnissiah’s Mercy... but the voice of reason dictated otherwise.
Because the spirits of medical machinery are so easy to misguide.
Growing eight hundred pounds of cloned xeno flesh is not an arduous task either.
I will not allow her to perish. Not like that. Not until she had exhausted all of her usefulness.
Because there are still plenty of ways to exploit you for the benefit of Mankind.
So that the Golden Age may dawn upon us again.