With my previous lapse into cuteness, I hope you didn't get the wrong idea.
This is the real me, kids.
Kathryn pinched the thin bridge of her nose and leaned against the bulkhead, her eyes closed and jaw set tightly, the smooth muscle flexing beneath the milky skin. Her shoulders were hunched, and she drew long, slow breaths at even intervals, desperately trying to muster the last of her nerve.
It finally had gone too far. At first she had allowed it, thinking it was just a phase in the young woman's life that would surely pass. Never, in her wildest dreams (and oh did they get wild) would she have assumed that this could happen to her, of all people. She had heard rumors of it when she was a young cadet, tall tales of students being dragged from their dorms at the Academy, with heavy black pouches under their eyes and a thick layer of sweat and grime over their swollen bodies.
But those were just normal, weak-minded kids, not six foot tall hunks of curvaceous Borg.
It had progressed from a mere hobby she indulged in every Tuesday night into a living, breathing monster that tore the woman to bits and pieces. Seven had abandoned her duty and shut herself in the Cargo Bay, sealing the doors with impenetrable Borg technology. She was now lost to all of Voyager, too consumed by her addiction to function.
Janeway gulped. This was it. She had to do it.
She straightened her back, took a deep breath, and positioned the phaser rifle that was slung over her back in her arms, saying a small prayer before blasting through the ultrafutiristictitanium doors.
She stepped through the smoldering hole, coughing and squinting through the smoke.
She never could have prepared herself for what she saw next. Slumped in a heap on the floor at the far corner of the cargo bay was Seven, or at least what she assumed was Seven. The once firm, supple curves were now ballooning pillows of flesh, the infamous blue cat suit stretched to its limit and splitting at the seams.
Janeway clenched her jaw in fierce determination and made her way to the massive lump of Borg. She gently prodded the shuddering form with her foot, which sunk several feet into the mass of flesh upon contact. Grimacing, she removed her limb and squatted next to her.
"Seven? It's me, Kathryn."
The hulking mass whimpered in reply. Janeway placed her hand softly on what she hoped was the young woman's shoulder and patted her gently. A grumble or a fart, Janeway couldn't tell which, resounded through the Cargo Bay as Seven attempted to roll onto her back.
She did so slowly, moving like a vat of molten lard and emitting a variety of gruesome sounds. But eventually, she managed to heave herself on her back, sweat pouring over her face and washing away some of the reddish brown smeared across her face.
"I…can't stop," she wailed.
Janeway sighed softly and patted her arm.
"Nobody can, Seven. The McRib…is just too dangerous."