“Stupid meanie!” the lone figure grumbled to herself, finding it difficult to use language stronger than a conscientious nanny’s ever since the incident that broke her body and her mind. But at least her strange handicap provided a suitably unique criminal identity, one which she hoped would strike ironic terror into the hearts of all once she was finished. Despite being three-quarters of her original size, and sounding like some kind of preschool show host rather than the intimidating and masculine thug she used to be, she was determined to exact a heavy toll on the world for inflicting this fate upon her. She’d make them all pay, oh yes she would. And one irritating part of them in particular.

“That caped crumb-bum will rue the day he ru-ined my life!” cackled The Folly Filly, as she called herself these days. “Now that I know the secret of these chemicals, I’ll dump them into the Trougham City reservoir and make everyone a cute little one-horned freak, just like me!” she shouted to the empty warehouse as she prepared the last vat of toxic toy resins for transfer into the tanker truck.

It was exceedingly unlikely that the amount of chemicals she had available would detectably raise the incidence of significant health issues when diluted into the 90,000 hectare reservoir, but mathematics had never been her strong suit.

“Now I just need to turn this valve and wait for the tanker to top up with my technicolor toxin, and then vengeance shall be mine!” She tried to unleash a howl of intimidatingly evil laughter, but it came out as a girlish titter instead. Paying her failure to execute the theatrics no mind, she gripped the rusted valve with her teeny little girly hands and twisted with all her might. Which didn’t amount to much might, it seemed.

She grunted, she strained, she broke a nail, but all to no avail. The corroded valve refused to yield. “A wise guy, eh?” she gritted her teeth, glaring at the valve. “Well, we’ll just see if PROFESSOR PIPE WRENCH can teach you a lesson!” With a surprising reserve of effort, she managed to lift the ten-pound wrench without falling backwards more than once. Raising it over her horned head, she grinned wickedly and swung the heavy tool down. It wrang out with a satisfying CLANG! as it struck the valve.

“Hah! What now, Wiseguy Waterworks?” she taunted the frozen fixture. Whether she expected a response or not, what she got was a face full of more degraded plastic sludge as the joins in the pipe broke from her strike. “ACK! PFFFT! PTOOOEY! NOOOO!” she cried in horror as the mutagenic chemical cocktail saturated her flesh once more. “OH JEES IT’S IN MY MOUTH! IT’S IN MY MOUTH! SHUT IT OFF!” she shouted at nobody in particular, flailing to shield herself from the rapid-fire spray of spectral slime.

The Folly Filly staggered out of the gusher, ooze dripping down her clothes. “Ew, gross! It.. it… kinda… tickles…” she trailed off, overcome by a strange but all too familiar sensation. Where it touched her skin the mysterious ichor soaked in like water to a sponge, spreading itself into her nerves and blood stream with a warm, tingling feeling. “Gotta… wash off…” she whispered, losing focus.

Her awareness receded inward, world shrinking to occupy only the volume of her own body and the invading liquid that was once again working its strange effects over her. She felt sleepy, dizzy, and hot all at once. She could track the progress of the toxin as it soaked into more and more of her tissues. Her chest twitched on its own. Then her breasts, already more pronounced than she cared for, began to fatten even more. Her chest was starting to feel heavy, her nipples throbbing angrily.

“N-no… not that… please, anything… but… that…” she begged, her drooping eyes fixed downward as her shirt grew tighter and tighter. The skin within stretched taut over the burgeoning globes of flesh, swelling in reaction to the old plastic’s leachate. She reached out to try and keep them from growing, but her merest touch made her knees go weak and her stomach wobble excitedly. “Ah! Sssso sensitive…” she remarked, letting her fingers rest ever so lightly on the expanding curvature of her billowing bust. “When is it gonna s-s-stop?”

Somehow, she knew this was ultimately the fault of that dark do-gooder!