# The Growing Star of Channel 5

# Part 1
Clara awoke with a jolt to the shrill ringing of her phone. Groggily, she squinted at the caller ID and saw it was her boss Steve calling at...4:12 AM?! She accepted the call with an annoyed grunt.

"Hello?" she answered groggily.

"Clara! Thank god you picked up. We have a situation, a huge breaking story. I need you at the studio right away to go on air," Steve's frantic voice came through the phone.

Clara rubbed her eyes in disbelief. "Are you serious? It's 4 in the morning! These aren't working hours, Steve."

"A real reporter is available 24/7 for breaking news! This is your job, Clara. Stop being so unprofessional and get your ass down here now!" Steve's voice rose angrily.

Clara scoffed. The nerve of this guy... "Look, unless it's the literal end of the world, I'm not dragging myself out of bed at this ungodly hour. Call me back during normal working hours."

Before Steve could respond, she hung up on him and tossed her phone aside. She'd deal with his tantrum later. Sleep came first. Clara drifted back into slumber, her boss's ranting quickly fading from memory.

Several hours later, Clara's alarm roused her from peaceful sleep at her normal wake-up time of 8 AM. As the fog of sleep cleared, she vaguely recalled Steve's unhinged middle-of-the-night call. Had that really happened or was it just a weird dream?

Shrugging it off, Clara went about her regular morning routine. She made a pot of coffee, cracked a couple eggs into a pan for breakfast, and played some music, enjoying her quiet and slow morning.

After finishing her coffee and breakfast, Clara hopped in her car and drove the short distance to the Channel 5 news studio. The moment she walked through the front doors, the frantic energy hit her like a truck.

The lobby was pure chaos - production staff running amok carrying stacks of papers and cables, interns shouting into headsets trying to gather information, researchers huddled around monitors analysing reports and data.

Clara stood there blinking in the entryway, utterly stunned by the scene before her. She snapped her fingers to grab the attention of a passing intern. "Hey you! What's going on here?"

The flustered young man whirled around. "Oh! Ms. Vidal, thank god you're here. Didn't you hear? There's some crazy virus spreading that makes women just...grow! Like getting super jacked and tall out of nowhere!"

Clara rolled her eyes. "Yeah, okay good joke kid. What's really going on?"

"We're covering it live! This is the biggest news story of the decade...maybe the century! Everyone is trying to gather intel and get footage while my team coordinates with our reporters and affiliates worldwide," the intern explained frantically.

"All this over some virus thing? You'd think the world was ending or something..." Clara muttered dryly. She waved off the intern dismissively. "Whatever, get out of my face."

Clara made her way back to her private office area, dropping her bag and taking a seat at her desk to start reviewing some of the reports and witness statements about this "virus." The more she read, the more bizarre and unbelievable the situation seemed to become.

From what she could piece together, the virus originated sometime in the past week and struck women across races, locations and walks of life. It would incubate for a random period of time from hours to days, then suddenly the transformation would start. Reports of women gaining inches of height and pounds of muscle were coming in from all over the world, without a sign of stopping.

Clara let out a low whistle as she reviewed some of the more...dramatic...before and after pictures. This was certainly shaping up to be the story of her career if it kept escalating. Shaking her head in disbelief, she glanced at the clock and realised she'd been engrossed in reading for over an hour.

As if on cue, her office line buzzed. She accepted the call apprehensively. "Yes?"

"CLARA! Where the HELL are you?" Steve's furious voice exploded through the speaker, causing her to wince.

"At my desk reviewing details on the...situation," she replied coolly. "What's got your panties in a twist this time, Steve?"

"Don't play dumb with me! We've been covering this muscle virus terror LIVE for hours with our top reporters and newscasters! Except for our STAR, who apparently couldn't be bothered!" Steve roared.

Clara furrowed her brow in confusion. "Slow down, it's barely 10:30. When did we start covering this?"

"Since 5 AM when the story first broke globally! I CALLED you then, but no, Miss Prima Donna needs her beauty sleep!" Steve's rant continued to escalate.

Clara's eyes went wide as the memories from this morning flooded back. So Steve really hadn't been exaggerating or making it up. She felt a twinge of guilt for brushing him off so callously.

"You should have led the coverage from the start, but that rookie Mags stepped up while you snoozed. She's been reporting live since this morning, keeping us at the forefront," Steve growled.

Now Clara felt annoyed. That over-eager little brownnose Mags had taken her spotlight? Not a chance.

"Look, get off my back. You can rant at me later about 'journalistic integrity' or whatever," Clara said, standing up abruptly. "But I'll head down to the studio floor right now and jump in for the next live segment, got it?"

"But Mags is on-" Steve started before Clara cut him off.

"But nothing! I'm not letting that fame-hungry kid take my lead story, especially this HUGE. Tell her to be ready for me to take over live coverage in the next ad break," Clara barked, not waiting for Steve's response before slamming the phone down.

Clara smoothed her hands over the crisp navy blue blazer and white skirt. Showtime. She touched up her makeup in her compact mirror, tossed her dark locks over her shoulder, and strode out of her office with a determined gait.

As she neared the bullpen and studio floor, the faint voice of her co-worker Mags came into focus reciting her live spiel. Clara could just make her out in front of the green screen on set through the window overlooking the studio.

"...authorities still have no explanation for what's being called the 'fmg-35 Virus', or the  which experts now believe may have impacted over 2 billion women globally so far, causing extreme physical transformations including increased height and massive muscular development..."

Clara rolled her eyes as she watched the rookie rabbit on. Mags was pretty in that overly stylized news anchor way, with her perfectly styled blonde locks and flashy pink ensemble. But the bimbo couldn't carry a serious story if her life depended on it.

But before Clara could enter the frame, she was stopped by a huge security guard who stepped into her path. "Ma'am, I have orders not to let you interfere with the broadcast. Please wait for Mr. Steve to arrive." His gruff voice was firm as he held up a meaty hand.

"Excuse me?" Clara balked, trying to sidestep around the human wall of muscle. "Get your hands off me! I'm the lead anchor here."

The guard didn't budge, crossing his bulging arms over his broad chest. "My orders are clear, Ms. Vidal. Please wait for the station manager."

Clara opened her mouth to protest further, but at that moment, Steve came rushing with smoke coming out of his ears "Clara! What do you think you're doing?"

"What I should have been doing from the start - taking over the real coverage!" she shot back firmly. "That pretty little airhead can't handle a story of this magnitude."

Steve took a calming breath before continuing in a measured tone. "Mags has had the spotlight for a couple hours now. We can't just rip that away from her abruptly in the middle of her segment. It'll confuse and alienate viewers."

"But I'm the star!" Clara protested indignantly. "I should have been leading this from the jump!"

"Well, you weren't here! And now Mags has momentum," Steve countered sternly. "I'm not risking our ratings by swapping you in now for no good reason."

Clara's face flushed with anger and humiliation. She clenched her fists, fighting the urge to stamp her foot like a petulant child being scolded. Steve gave her one last stern look.

"Go home and get some rest, Clara. Cool off. We'll get you on the prime time coverage tonight once Mags's shift is over." He turned and gestured for the guard to let him through.

Seething, Clara stormed off the studio floor, the sound of Mags's bubbly voice filling the airwaves once more as she rounded the corner. This was unacceptable. She'd been upstaged and disrespected on the biggest story of her career. All because of one tardy slip-up that she couldn't take back.

As Clara fumed in the parking garage, angrily tossing her belongings into her car, an idea began taking shape in her mind. A wild and risky idea...but one that could let her take back the spotlight as THIS was the story she'd lead. No matter what Steve or anyone else said.

With a decisive nod, Clara peeled out of the station parking lot, changing routes to take her through some of the sketchier neighbourhoods on the outskirts of town. She pulled her sleek black luxury van up along a filthy side street lined with crumbling brick tenements and abandoned storefronts. The few people meandering about shot her suspicious looks as this fancy ride stood out like a sore thumb in the run-down area.

Clara checked her mirror, ensuring her face was obscured by a pair of large sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled low. She strode down the sidewalk with a purposeful gait, not betraying an ounce of fear or uncertainty at being in this rough part of town. Hands shoved into the pocket of her blazer, fingering the reassuring weight of the small canister of pepper spray there.

As she passed a narrow alleyway, a rough voice made her freeze. "Well, well...look what the cat dragged in."

The pungent stench of stale booze and body odour assaulted her nostrils as a haggard, wiry man emerged from the shadows. He pressed the dull edge of a battered switchblade against the soft skin of Clara's exposed throat.

Rather than shrinking away in terror, a wry smirk played across Clara's ruby lips. "Nice to see you too, Phil. Though I have to say, the knife is a bit much for a casual hello, don't you think?"

The man squinted in confusion, trying to make out Clara's face through the sunglasses. Realization seemed to dawn as his grip on the blade relaxed minutely.

"Vig...Vidal? That you, babe?" His tongue slurred over the words. "The hell you doin' round these parts?"

"Just looking to make a deal, Phil," Clara replied coyly. "One that could be highly...profitable for a guy like you. Assuming you can keep that knife in your pocket for the next few minutes?"

A hungry, almost feral look flashed in the strung out man's beady eyes. With a grunt, he slid the blade away, spitting a thick gob of phlegm onto the cracked pavement.

Clara grinned, holding up a hand to halt his next words. "Perfect. Now, let's take this to somewhere a bit more...private to discuss my proposal, shall we?"

Hours later, Clara was getting ready for her prime hour reporting that night, but she left her home a little earlier than usual. She had one stop to make before going to the studio. She drove to the same sketchy location she had been earlier, her sleek black luxury van standing out amidst the rundown surroundings. She spotted Phil with his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets, leaning against the dimly lit street. He looked like a stray cat waiting for scraps.

Clara walked towards him, her high heels clicking on the cracked pavement. "So, you got her?" she asked, her voice firm and confident.

Phil nodded, his eyes darting around the deserted street before guiding her inside an abandoned and disheveled hospital. The building looked like it had been condemned years ago, with broken windows, crumbling walls, and a general air of neglect. Some lights still worked, but they flickered ominously, casting eerie shadows on the walls. The smell of decay and rot hung heavy in the air, making Clara's nose wrinkle in distaste.

They made their way down a corridor, the only sound being the creaking of the old wooden floorboards beneath their feet. The walls were covered in graffiti, a riot of colours and tags that seemed to scream for attention. Clara's eyes scanned the area, taking in the squalid conditions, but her expression remained impassive.

They stopped in front of a room with a barely visible sign that read "Surgery Room" in faded letters. Phil pushed open the door, and Clara stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. The room was small, with a single operating table in the centre, surrounded by rusty medical equipment. Two big men flanked a woman tied down to the table, a tape covering her mouth. They looked like they hadn't showered in weeks, their sweat-stained clothes clinging to their bulky bodies. Clara's gaze swept over them, her lip curling in distaste.

"Al and George," Phil introduced, his voice gruff. "I had to ask for reinforcements. She was more than I could handle on my own, so it's going to cost you triple"

Clara's eyes narrowed, her voice icy. "The fact that you can't contain a woman is not my problem, Phil. I will give you double, and that's the last word."

Phil opened his mouth to protest, but Clara cut him off, her tone brooking no argument. "Are you sure you got the right one? She looks... well, nothing like the women I've seen in other reports." She gazed down at the struggling woman, her eyes flicking over the restraints binding her to the table.

Phil shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting to the woman and back to Clara. "Yeah, I'm sure. Al knows her, and he says she had grown four inches in the last 48 hours. She was thin and weak, and now... well, see for yourself."

Clara's gaze never left the woman, her expression unreadable. She rolled up the sleeves of her oversized hoodie, revealing a fit, toned arm that looked like it belonged to an amateur female bikini competitor. The woman's eyes widened, and she struggled against her restraints, but Clara's grip was firm.

Then, Clara pulled up her hoodie, revealing a flat, toned stomach with a visible six-pack. It didn't popped out of her core like she had seen in other women on the TV, but it was clearly defined. Clara's eyes locked onto the woman's, a cold calculation in her gaze.

This was the sign she needed to confirm that the woman was infected with the virus. Clara's plan was finally taking shape, and she was one step closer to reclaiming her spotlight.

Clara's eyes sparkled with excitement as she clapped her hands softly, a signal for the men to remove the tape from the woman's mouth. The moment it was gone, the woman's face contorted in rage, her voice shrill as she spat out, "What the fuck do you want, bitch? You better untie me before I punch your little smug face!"

Clara didn't flinch, her expression serene as she reached out and slapped the woman across the face. The sound echoed through the room, and the woman's eyes widened in shock.

"Listen, sweetheart," Clara purred, her voice dripping with condescension. "You're not going anywhere for at least the next 48 hours. I want to make sure you pass on that valuable gift of yours, so you'd better start talking. Do you know how it's transmitted? Who did you get it from? How did you get it?"

The woman's face twisted in pain and fear as she struggled against her restraints. "I don't know how it's transmitted, lady," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clara's eyes narrowed, her gaze piercing. "Well, that's not good enough. We'll start with the most common transmission ways and work our way up to more...invasive methods." She smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement, and the men in the room shifted uncomfortably.

The woman's eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape, but Clara's grip was firm. "You're not going anywhere," she repeated, her voice firm.

With that, Clara leaned down, her body language screaming dominance and control. She grabbed the woman's face with one hand, her fingers digging into her skin, and planted a long, passionate kiss on her lips. The woman's eyes widened in shock, but Clara's grip was unyielding.

The men in the room looked on, their faces a mix of confusion and surprise, as Clara continued to kiss the woman, her body language screaming possession and control.

As the kiss ended, Clara pulled back, her eyes locked onto the woman's, a fierce determination burning in her gaze. "We're just getting started," she whispered, her voice husky with intent.

The woman's eyes were wide with fear, her body trembling with anticipation. She knew she was in for a long, brutal ride, and Clara was just getting started.

Some time later, Clara finally arrived at the studio, ready to report on prime time. Her huge black SUV pulled into the parking lot, and Steve was waiting outside, smoking a cigarette. He looked relieved to see her, but his expression quickly turned to annoyance.

"Clara, you're late!" he exclaimed, checking his watch. "And what's that smell? Where the hell have you been in the last few hours, dumpster diving?"

Clara ignored him, walking energetically towards her office to retouch her makeup, specially her lipstick, which was slightly smudged from her earlier encounter. She brushed her hair, making sure every strand was in place, and applied perfume again to cover up the lingering scent of sweat and dust. As she adjusted her bra, she couldn't help but notice that it seemed to have shrunk, maybe in the washer? But a thought in the back of her mind knew exactly what it was.

She pushed the thought aside and made her way to the recording room, an intern quickly walking beside her, handing her the research notes and bullet points she needed to cover on her report. She scanned them quickly, her years of experience allowing her to absorb the information in seconds. She was ready to go on air.

As she opened the door, Mags was coming out, looking like a Barbie doll in her bright pink dress and perfect hair. Mags looked at her, then down at her cleavage, a sarcastic smile spreading across her face.

"No wonder why the station keeps you around for prime time," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "You're definitely a ratings booster."

Clara brushed it off, not wanting to give her coworker rival more attention. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the live broadcast.

Steve counted down the seconds, his voice calm and professional. "Five, four, three, two, one...live!"

Clara smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling with confidence. She began her segment, her voice smooth and authoritative, discussing the latest developments on the virus and its effects on women. She spoke with conviction, her words flowing easily, as if she had been reporting on this story for years.

"Good evening, I'm Clara Vidal, and welcome to our special report. Tonight, we're discussing the latest developments on the FMG-35 virus, a highly infectious and mysterious disease that has been sweeping the globe, affecting millions of women worldwide.

According to the latest research, the FMG-35 virus is a unique strain that targets the female population exclusively, causing rapid growth in height and muscle mass. The virus has been identified in women of all ages, from 18 year old women to senior citizens, and its effects are being felt across the globe.

Scientists have been working around the clock to understand the virus, but so far, the origin remains unknown. The World Health Organisation has confirmed that the virus is highly infectious, although the mode of transmission is still yet unknown.

The symptoms of the virus are striking, with women experiencing rapid growth in height, often gaining several inches in a matter of days. Muscle mass is also increasing, with many women reporting significant gains in strength and endurance.

But despite the rapid progress being made in understanding the virus, many questions remain unanswered. Scientists are still unsure when the affected women will stop growing, or if the growth will continue indefinitely.

The medical community is also concerned about the long-term effects of the virus, particularly with regards to bone density and joint health. As the virus continues to spread, hospitals and healthcare systems around the world are bracing for the impact.

We'll continue to bring you updates on this developing story as more information becomes available. In the meantime, we urge all women to take precautions to avoid infection, and to seek medical attention immediately if they experience any symptoms.

"Now, let's go live to Dr. Jenkins, a physician from a nearby town, who has been on the frontlines of this outbreak. Dr. Jenkins, thank you for joining us tonight. Can you tell us about your experience with patients who have been affected by the FMG-35 virus?"

Dr. Jenkins' face appeared on the screen, his expression serious and concerned. "Thank you, Clara. Yes, I've seen a number of patients in the past few days who have presented with unusual physical characteristics. One of my patients, a lawyer, came in for a routine check-up and everything seemed normal. In fact, she was a little too healthy. Her body fat index was that of a fitness enthusiast, which was surprising given that she doesn't actively work out."

Clara's eyes widened with interest. "That is surprising. Did you ask her about it?"

Dr. Jenkins nodded. "I did, but she said she hadn't changed her diet or started exercising. I was confused, but I dismissed it as an anomaly. However, as more patients came in with similar stories, I realized that something was going on. These were all normal women who, out of nowhere, seemed as if they had been into the gym culture for years."

Clara's eyes locked onto Dr. Jenkins' face, her expression intense. "And have you been able to find any patterns or clues as to what's causing this?"

Dr. Jenkins shook his head. "Not yet, Clara. I've started taking measurements of the affected women, hoping to find some kind of pattern or clue, but so far, the measurements just keep increasing with no sign of stopping. It's as if their bodies are constantly adapting and changing."

Clara's face was grave. "Thank you, Dr. Jenkins, for sharing your insights with us tonight. We'll continue to follow this story and bring you updates as more information becomes available."

The camera cut to commercial, and Clara took a deep breath, her mind racing with the implications of Dr. Jenkins' words. She knew that she had to get to the bottom of this story, and she was willing to do whatever it took to uncover the truth.

Clara's eyes locked onto the camera, her expression serious. "We're now joined by Dr. Richard Langley, a primary care physician from nearby Oakdale, who has been on the front lines of this outbreak. Dr. Langley, thank you for joining us tonight."

Dr. Langley's face appeared on the screen, his eyes tired but determined. "Thanks for having me, Clara".

"Dr. Langley, can you tell us about the first patient you saw who exhibited symptoms of the FMG-35 virus?" Clara asked, her voice encouraging.

Dr. Langley nodded. "Yes, Clara. Her name was Sarah Johnson, a 35-year-old lawyer who came in for a routine checkup. Everything seemed normal, but what caught my attention was her body fat index. It was incredibly low, similar to that of a fitness enthusiast. I asked her about it, but she swore she hadn't changed her diet or started exercising. I was confused, but I dismissed it as an anomaly."

Clara's eyes narrowed. "But then you started seeing more patients with similar symptoms?"

Dr. Langley's expression turned grave. "Yes, Clara. Over the next few days, I saw several more patients who presented with the same unusual physical characteristics. All of them were women, all of them were healthy, and all of them had no explanation for their sudden physical transformations. It was as if they had been working out for years, but they all denied any changes to their lifestyle."

Clara's voice was filled with concern. "And what have you been doing to try to understand what's going on, Dr. Langley?"

Dr. Langley's eyes lit up with determination. "I've started taking detailed measurements of these women, hoping to find some pattern or clue that can help us understand what's happening. So far, the measurements have continued to increase, with no sign of stopping. It's as if their bodies are constantly adapting, constantly growing stronger and more muscular."

Clara's expression was thoughtful. "Dr. Langley, thank you for sharing your insights with us tonight. Your research is invaluable in helping us understand this mysterious virus."

Dr. Langley nodded, his face serious. "Thank you, Clara. I'll continue to do everything I can to help us get to the bottom of this."

Clara smiled, her eyes locking onto the camera. "We'll be right back after this break. Stay tuned for more on this developing story."

As the camera cut to commercial, Clara stood up from her seat, stretching her arms above her head and arching her back. She took a deep breath, feeling the tension melt away from her body. She walked over to the water cooler, pouring herself a glass of ice-cold water and taking a refreshing sip.

Steven, approached her, a look of admiration on his face. "Clara, you're doing an amazing job out there," he said, his voice low and sincere. "You're a natural in front of the camera."

Clara smiled, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "Thanks, Steven did you expect less from me?."

But then her expression turned playful, and she raised an eyebrow. "However, I think it's time you started treating me like the growing star I am," she said, emphasising the word "growing" as she extended fit but skinny her arms out to the sides.

As she did so, a button on her blouse popped open, revealing her white bra underneath. Steven's eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly scolded her. "Clara, what are you doing? We're going to be back on air in two minutes!"

Clara just laughed, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, oopsies" She playfully said,  "first my bra, and now my blouse. All my clothes decided to shrink"

Steven shook his head, chuckling despite himself. "Well, maybe you should eat more veggies and work out more, okay? You're great at your job, but looks don't hurt, don't forget that." He got ready to go back to his director's spot but turned back and said to Clara: "We don't want any wardrobe malfunctions on live TV."

Clara pouted, but she knew Steven was right. She nodded, and an assistant rushed over to help her fix her blouse. As they worked, Clara couldn't help but think what if she has not putting on weight, but solid muscle, as she gave her small arm a squeeze. Still, small, but maybe a little harder?

The assistant finally finished fixing her blouse, and Clara took a deep breath, preparing herself for the next segment of the show. She walked back to her seat, feeling confident and powerful. She was a star on the rise, a growing star, and she knew it.

As the camera started rolling again, Clara smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling with energy. She was ready to take on the world, one news segment at a time.

# Part 2

Over the next few days, Clara followed her normal routine: waking up, showering and cooking breakfast. Driving to work, going back home in the afternoon. It was all very mundane, with the exception that she was growing a few inches every day, and she passed from looking like a regular skinny woman in her 40's to a fitness enthusiast who looked like she had been lifting for a few years now.

On the third day, Clara arrived at the studio, more confident than ever. She walked into Steve's office, her long legs striding across the room with ease. "Steve, I need to talk to you about my segment," she said, her voice firm and authoritative.

Steve looked up from his desk, a hint of annoyance in his eyes. "What about it, Clara?"

"I want to shorten it," Clara said, her eyes flashing with determination. "I need to go to the mall and buy some new clothes. I've outgrown everything in my wardrobe."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me that you need to take time off from work to go shopping?"

Clara nodded, her long hair bouncing with the movement. "Yes, Steve. I'm using the company's line of credit, of course. And I think it's only fair, considering my ratings have been through the roof lately."

Steve scowled, his face reddening with anger. "Who the fuck do you think you are, Clara? You're not some kind of diva who can just demand whatever you want."

Clara smiled, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh, but I am, Steve. I'm a growing star, literally. And I'm one of the first growing women in media. Other channels would pay me more to move networks, and you know it."

Steve's face fell, his expression shocked. "You're threatening to leave us?"

Clara nodded, her confidence unwavering. "I'm just stating the facts, Steve. I'm a hot commodity right now, and I know it. So, are you going to give me what I want, or should I start answering all the offers on my inbox?"

Steve sighed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "Fine, Clara. You can have your shortened segment, and you can use the company's line of credit to buy new clothes. But don't think you're above the law around here, got it?" He said while pointing at himself.

Clara smiled, her eyes sparkling with triumph. "Got it, Steve. And thank you, darling." She said condescendingly. 

With that, Clara turned and walked out of Steve's office, her long legs striding confidently across the room. She knew she was a star, and she was going to make sure everyone else knew it too.

Clara walked onto the set, her confidence and authority radiating from every pore. She took her place behind the anchor desk, her long legs crossing elegantly as she settled in for the morning's broadcast.

"Good morning, I'm Clara Vidal, and welcome to our morning news broadcast," she said, her voice smooth and professional. "We have a lot to cover today, so let's get started."

She began to report on the latest developments in the FMG-35 virus outbreak. "According to the latest numbers from the World Health Organization, there are now over 2 million reported cases of the virus worldwide. The virus continues to spread rapidly, with new cases being reported every hour."

She moved on to an interview with Dr. Maria Rodriguez, a leading expert on the virus. "Dr. Rodriguez, thank you for joining us today. Can you tell us more about the latest developments in the outbreak?"

Dr. Rodriguez nodded, her expression serious. "Thank you, Clara. Yes, the situation is grave. The virus is spreading faster than we anticipated, and we're seeing cases reported in nearly every country. We're working around the clock to develop a vaccine, but it's going to take time."

Clara nodded, her eyes locked on the doctor. "What about the government's response to the outbreak? Many are criticising their slow reaction to the crisis."

Dr. Rodriguez's expression turned critical. "The government's response has been inadequate, to say the least. They need to take immediate action to provide support and resources to the affected women. We need to work together to find a cure and stop the spread of this virus."

Clara pressed on, her questions probing deeper. "What about the medical community's response? Are doctors and hospitals prepared to handle the influx of cases?"

Dr. Rodriguez sighed, her frustration evident. "To be honest, Clara, we're struggling to keep up. The virus is unlike anything we've seen before, and we're still learning how to treat it. We need more funding, more resources, and more support from the government to combat this outbreak."

Clara nodded, her expression grave. "Thank you, Dr. Rodriguez, for your honesty. We'll continue to follow this story and bring our viewers updates as more information becomes available."

As the broadcast came to a close, Clara summarised the main points and thanked her viewers for watching. "That's all for today. Thank you for joining us. We'll be back tomorrow with more news and updates on the FMG-35 virus."

The camera cut to commercial, and Clara stood up, stretching her long legs and smiling to herself. She knew she had done a good job, and she was proud of the work she was doing. She was a star, and she was going to keep shining bright.

Clara left work early, just as she had threatened, and headed to her favourite boutique to buy some new clothes. She had outgrown everything in her wardrobe, and she needed something that would fit her new body.

As she walked into the boutique, the tailor, Mrs. Jenkins, welcomed her back with a warm smile. "Clara, darling! It's so good to see you again. What can I get for you today?"

Clara smiled, walking confidently to the inviting shop. "Hi, Mrs. Jenkins. I need some new clothes, but I'm afraid I've outgrown everything I have."

Mrs. Jenkins' eyes narrowed, her gaze scanning Clara's body. "Well, let's take a look. Are you looking for something in your usual style?"

Clara nodded, feeling a little hesitant. "Yes, but bigger."

Mrs. Jenkins' eyes lit up, and she nodded knowingly. "Ah, I think I understand. You've caught the virus, haven't you?"

Clara's face flushed, but she nodded proudly. "Yes, I have. And I'm loving every minute of it."

Mrs. Jenkins chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "Well, in that case, we'll need to take your measurements again. Let me get my tape measure."

Clara nodded, feeling a little excited. She had never been measured before, and she was curious to see just how much she had grown.

Mrs. Jenkins returned with the tape measure, and Clara stood up straight, her arms at her sides. Mrs. Jenkins began to measure her, starting at her shoulders and working her way down to her hips and legs.

As Mrs. Jenkins measured her, Clara couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. She was 5'8" now, four inches taller than she had been just a few days ago. And she was in great shape, like she had been into fitness for years. Her muscles were toned and defined, but she was still very fit and lean.

Mrs. Jenkins nodded, her eyes scanning Clara's body. "You've certainly changed, Clara. You're looking fabulous."

Clara smiled, feeling a little self-conscious. "Thanks, Mrs. Jenkins. I'm just trying to get used to my new body."

Mrs. Jenkins nodded sympathetically. "I know it can be tough, but you're doing great. Now, let's get started on some new clothes for you. What do you need?"

Clara thought for a moment, her mind racing with all the possibilities. "I need everything, Mrs. Jenkins. Dresses, tops, pants, skirts, mostly things for work, but can you make them a little bigger? You know, just in case."

Mrs. Jenkins nodded, her eyes sparkling. "Well, we'll get started right away. It's going to be a long day, but I'm excited to work with you again, Clara."

Clara smiled, feeling a sense of relief. She was in good hands with Mrs. Jenkins, and she knew that she would look fabulous when she left the boutique.

Clara thanked Mrs. Jenkins and drove home, feeling exhausted from the busy day. She collapsed on her couch, not even bothering to take off her shoes, and passed out. Her new growing body was demanding more energy, and she was happy to oblige.

But when she woke up, she was shocked to see that the sun was already shining brightly through her windows. "Oh shit", she thought. And to make matters worse, she was late for work, and she still needed to pick up her new clothes from Mrs. Jenkins.

She jumped out of the couch, feeling a little groggy, and stumbled into the shower. As she washed off the sleep, she couldn't help but notice how her body was changing. Her muscles were bigger and more defined, her curves more pronounced.

When she got out of the shower, she stood in front of the mirror, and her jaw dropped. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. She was huge! Like a bikini FBB contestant, her muscles were bulging out of her skin. She looked like she had been lifting weights for years.

She tried to put on one of her old skirts, but it barely fit. It was squeezing her ass, threatening to burst at any moment. She looked like she was about to pop out of it at any second. Her blouse was more of the same story. It was tight and constricting, making her feel like a sausage in a casing.

She sat down in the driver's seat of her SUV, feeling a little frustrated. She was supposed to be on TV that morning, and she couldn't wear any of her old clothes. She heard a loud tear, and she looked down to see that her skirt had finally given up showing her pink laced panties. "Oh no, the new clothes better fit me now".

She drove to Mrs. Jenkins' boutique, feeling a little anxious. But when she arrived at the boutique, Mrs. Jenkins greeted her with a warm smile. "Clara, darling! I have your new clothes right here, I thought you weren't going to show up today. Let me show you."

Clara followed Mrs. Jenkins to the fitting room, feeling a little nervous. But when she saw the clothes, she was relieved. They were beautiful, and they fit her perfectly. The dresses were flowing and elegant, the tops and pants were fitted but not too tight.

She tried on a few outfits, feeling like a new woman. She was huge, but she was also confident and beautiful. She looked like a supermodel, not just a TV anchor.

As she drove to work, feeling like a million bucks, Clara couldn't help but think about how much her life had changed in just a few days. She was growing, and she was loving every minute of it.

Clara arrived at the studio, feeling confident and ready to take on the day. She followed her usual work routine, taking her time to review the notes for that morning's broadcast. As she was going over the script, Steve stormed into her office, looking frazzled and annoyed.

"Clara, you're late again," he scolded, his voice rising. "You need to get your act together and start taking this job seriously."

Clara stood up, looking him eye to eye for the first time. She was previously shorter than Steve, but now she was now the same height as him in her heels. She smiled sweetly, her eyes glinting with amusement.

"Steve, darling, I'm not late. I'm just fashionably delayed. And besides, I have more important things to worry about than your tantrums. Like the stack of job offers in my inbox, for instance."

Steve's face turned red with anger, but Clara just laughed, her voice husky and confident. "You can't threaten me Steve, you know that the network needs me. And baby darling, we both know that you would never fire me. You love having me around, watching me grow, wondering how big I will get."

Steve scowled, but he knew Clara was right. He stormed out of her office, leaving her to prepare for her show.

That morning, Clara had a guest on her show - the mayor of the town. She was going to ask him about his action plan to manage the virus situation, and she was determined to get some straight answers.

As the mayor sat down across from her, Clara smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling with intelligence. "Good morning, Mayor. Thank you for joining us today."

The mayor smiled back, looking a little nervous. "Good morning, Clara. It's a pleasure to be here."

Clara leaned forward, her elbows on the desk. "So, Mayor, what's your plan to deal with the virus? We've had reports of women growing at an alarming rate, and we need to know what you're doing to help them."

The mayor hemmed and hawed, trying to avoid giving a straight answer. But Clara was having none of it. She pressed him, her questions getting more and more pointed.

Finally, the mayor looked flustered and frustrated. "Clara, we're doing the best we can. We're working on finding a cure, and we're going to create funds to support the women who are affected."

Clara raised an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "That's not good enough, Mayor. We need concrete action, not just empty promises. And what about the infrastructure? We need adapted installations for the amazon women, government financial aid to buy bigger essentials... the list goes on and on."

The mayor looked taken aback, but Clara just flexed her bicep, her muscle straining against her blouse. "You see, Mayor, I'm an amazon woman too. And soon, all the amazon women in this town will be demanding more. We won't be ignored."

The mayor was cornered, and he looked desperately at his assistant, his eyes infuriated but helpless. He mouthed "this wasn't on the script" to his assistant, who looked equally flustered.

Clara, however, was not deterred. She leaned forward, her eyes blazing with intensity. "Funds, Mayor? That's not enough. We need amazon women in your office to make sure we get representation, we know better than anyone what we need!"

The mayor shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face reddening with anger. "We're working on it, Clara. I assure you, we're doing everything we can."

But Clara was not convinced. She pressed on, her questions getting more and more pointed. "What about the schools, Mayor? What about the healthcare system? How are you going to ensure that the amazon women are integrated into society?"

The mayor looked like he was about to explode, but Clara just kept going. She was on a roll, and she was not going to let up.

Finally, the mayor's assistant jumped in, trying to intervene. "Clara, I think we've covered enough ground for today. Maybe we can schedule a follow-up interview to discuss the details of the mayor's plan."

But Clara was having none of it. She turned to the assistant, her eyes flashing with anger. "No, I don't think so. The mayor needs to answer these questions, and he needs to answer them now."

The mayor looked like he was about to cry, but Clara just kept pressing. She was determined to get the truth out of him, no matter what it took.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the mayor cracked. "Fine, Clara. We'll do it. We will start hiring amazon women to create policies and allocate the funds to the growing women's best interests. But please, just stop asking questions."

Clara smiled, her eyes glinting with triumph. "That's all I wanted to hear, Mayor. Thank you for your time." She concluded in a sweet tone.

As the camera cut to commercial, Clara turned to the mayor and his assistant, her eyes still blazing with intensity. "And don't think for a second that I'll let you forget about this, Mayor. I'll be watching, and I'll be holding you accountable."

The mayor looked like he was about to have a heart attack, but Clara just smiled and walked out of the studio, her head held high. She had won, and she knew it.

Clara went back to her office, feeling exhausted but satisfied with the way the interview had gone. She spent the rest of the afternoon reading articles, news, and answering mails. As she was scrolling through her emails, she came across a news alert that caught her attention. The president was going to give an emergency speech over the weekend, which meant a lot of work for the next week. But Clara didn't worry about it too much, she knew that was future Clara's problem. She could go home now and rest for the weekend.

But before she left, Clara decided to stop by the tailor shop again. She had been feeling like her new clothes were already getting a bit tight, and she didn't want to repeat the ripping skirt scenario from that morning. Plus, who knew how big she would be getting over the weekend? She might as well get her measurements taken again, just to be safe.

Mrs. Jenkins welcomed her back to the shop, looking surprised by how big Clara had gotten in such a short time. "Clara, darling, you're growing like a weed!" she exclaimed, as she led Clara to the measuring area.

Clara smiled, feeling a bit self-conscious about her rapid growth. "I know, it's crazy," she said, as Mrs. Jenkins began to take her measurements.

Mrs. Jenkins measured Clara's height, and Clara was shocked to see that she was now standing at 5'11". She had grown another three inches in just a day! Mrs. Jenkins continued to measure her arms, waist, hips, legs, and every other part of her body. Clara was amazed by how much she had changed in such a short time.

When Mrs. Jenkins finished taking her measurements, Clara ordered her to make the clothes two sizes bigger this time. Mrs. Jenkins raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. "Are you sure, Clara? I mean, you're growing, but are you planning to turn into She-Hulk over the weekend?" she asked jokingly.

Clara laughed, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Maybe, but I just don't want to get any wardrobe malfunctions on air," she said, blushing.

Mrs. Jenkins nodded, smiling. "Okay, darling. I'll make sure to make the clothes extra big this time. But just in case, I'll also add some extra seams and reinforcement, so they can stretch with you."

Clara nodded, feeling relieved. "Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins. You're my hero."

As Clara left the shop, she couldn't help but wonder how big she would be getting over the weekend. Would she reach 6 feet tall? 6'2"? The possibilities were endless, and Clara couldn't wait to find out.

Over the weekend, Clara continued to grow at a slow but steady pace. She could feel her muscles getting bigger and stronger, and her clothes were getting tighter and tighter. Her skin was stretching to its limits, and she could see the definition of her muscles through her clothes. Her veins were bulging, and her muscles were rippling with every movement.

By Saturday morning, Clara was already feeling like she was bursting out of her clothes. She looked in the mirror and was shocked by what she saw. Her muscles were huge, her biceps and triceps were bulging, and her shoulders were broad and powerful. Her chest was expanding, and her breasts were getting larger, but still proportionate to her body. She started looked like a female bodybuilder, maybe even bigger. Her hair was still long and luscious, but it was now framed by her massive shoulders and powerful jawline.

Clara decided to take her measurements again, and she was amazed by the results. Her biceps were now 18 inches, her triceps were 20 inches, and her quads were a massive 24 inches, while still keeping a small and delicate 28 inch waist that contrasted with her thick hips. Her calves were 18 inches, and her forearms were 14 inches. She was getting bigger and stronger by the day, and she couldn't wait to see how big she would get.

As the day went on, Clara continued to grow. She could feel her muscles getting bigger and stronger, and her clothes were getting tighter and tighter. By Saturday evening, Clara was already 6'2" tall, and her muscles were huge. She now looked like a pro male bodybuilder, and she loved it. Her skin was a deep, sun-kissed brown, and her muscles were so defined that she could see the individual fibres rippling beneath her skin.

On Sunday morning, Clara woke up feeling like she was going to burst out of her skin. Her muscles were huge, and her clothes were ridiculously tight. She looked in the mirror and was shocked by what she saw. Her muscles were massive, her biceps and triceps were bulging, and her shoulders were broad and powerful. And she had ripped her pajamas, her bulging quads pulsating out of her torn pajama pants. Her thighs were so big that they touched as she walked, and her calves were so defined that they looked like they were carved out of marble.

Clara decided to take her measurements again, and she was amazed by the results. Her biceps were now 24 inches, her quads were 30 inches, surprisingly her waist stayed the same size. Her chest was now 40 inches, and her breasts were a full H cup. She was getting bigger and stronger by the day, and she couldn't wait to see how everyone in the office would react to her insane transformation over the weekend.

By Sunday afternoon, Clara was 6'5" tall, and her muscles were massive. She looked even bigger than a pro male bodybuilder, her muscles almost as big as the smile on her face. Her arms were bigger than her head, each of her thighs looked like the weigh as much as she did before the virus, and even her breasts seemed to have expanded several cups in size. In her old body, she would have dropped to the ground due to their weight, but now she had a huge wide back to support her girls. Her shoulders were so broad that she had to turn sideways to fit through doorways, and her chest was so deep that she had to wear a special diy bra she made with old shirts and ropes to support her breasts.

As Clara looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn't help but wonder how big she would get. Would she reach 7 feet tall? 7'5"? If Steve could not get his eyes off her star newscaster before, he now would be glued to her at work, just like everyone else.

Clara did her normal morning routine, though it was anything but normal given her incredible growth over the weekend. She looked down at her ripped pajamas, barely hanging to her frame by a few threads, the only thing that still sort of fit her massively muscular frame. The shirt was stretched paper-thin across her broad shoulders and bulging chest, while the pants hung in shredded ribbons from her wide hips and tree-trunk thighs.

Chuckling to herself, Clara decided there was no point in changing out of the ruined pajamas - they'd have to do until she picked up her new outfits from Mrs. Jenkins' boutique. After hastily making herself a high-protein breakfast to fuel her newly enhanced physique, Clara headed out.

She arrived at the boutique a little early, wanting to avoid any gawkers during normal business hours. The lights were still off when she pulled up, so Clara used her huge frame to bang loudly on the front door. After a few knocks, a flustered young woman Clara didn't recognise opened up.

"I'm here to pick up my order," Clara announced, her deep voice rumbling with authority as she struggled to squeeze through the doorway.

The assistant's eyes went wide, her jaw dropping as she stared up...and up...at the towering Amazon woman before her. "Um, w-we don't have any new orders ready for pickup..." she stammered, still gawking shamelessly.

Clara rolled her eyes with a smirk. "It's for Ms. Vidal. Mrs. Jenkins told me my order would be ready on Monday morning, please double check for me darling."

"Oh! Oh my..." The girl's eyes raked over every bulging inch of Clara from head to toe. "Y-you can't be Ms. Vidal! I thought she was a woman in her 40s, b-but you look like you're in your 30s at most! Mrs. Jenkins told me to expect more of a 6-foot lady fitness model, not... uhm...well... uh... you know..."

Clara gave an amused snort, flexing her huge biceps. The ravaged sleeves now completely giving up against her massive peaks of muscle. "Well thank you for the flattering unintentional compliment, dear. But I AM Clara Vidal, reporter for Channel 5 News. I caught that virus everyone's babbling about, obviously and, well..." She shrugged her unfathomably wide shoulders. "You can see the results. Now if you're done gawking, I'd like my order - I'm running late as it is."

The mousy assistant seemed to snap out of her daze, blushing furiously as she scurried toward the back to retrieve Clara's pickup. She returned a few minutes later lugging an oversized garment box, her face straining under its considerable weight. Clara took it from her easily with one hand, drawing a surprised look.

"Everything should be in there, made to your new...specifications," the girl explained somewhat breathlessly. "Let me know if you need anything else, Ms...Um, Ms. Vidal."

"Everything looks good, I will change now in one of your tiny changing rooms, I'll call if I need anything" She said as she made her way to the back, pushing unintentionally the assistant out of the way with her hips. Each rippling movement of her back caused the strips of her tank top to stretch and cut into her burgeoning traps and shoulders.

Inside the cramped changing room, Clara set the box down and quickly dug through the assortment of newly tailored outfits, all made to accommodate her impressively amplified proportions. She settled on a chic white blouse made of a stretchy, crisp material, and a complementary long white skirt with a wide build to avoid restraining her powerful quads. To complete the polished look, she added a smart navy vest that strained ever so slightly against the thickness of her back and lats.

Most of the tops Mrs. Jenkins had wisely made sleeveless to avoid any armhole restrictions - Clara's arms were corded with so much striated muscle, she could makeshift curls just by tensing them. She smirked at her huge guns in the mirror as she got dressed, giving a solid flex that immediately ripped what remained of her shredded pajama top's seams.

Once fully clothed in her stylish yet muscularly-fitted outfit, Clara strode over to her SUV, the wide skirt belling around her thick, sculpted stems. She turned sideways to squeeze through the driver's side door, her broad back and thick shoulders not quite fitting straight through. But at last Clara was buckled in and ready to head for the studio.

"Oh, just wait until Steve gets a look at me now," she mused, giving a devious grin as she put the car into drive...

Clara arrived at the Channel 5 news studio on time for the first time in weeks, actually a bit early instead of her usual tardiness. The office was practically empty, most of the staff not due in for another hour. She made her way to the newsroom, fixing herself a vat of black coffee that could have served a small family.

Settling into her chair with her oversized mug, Clara began scrolling through her emails, reviewing the notes of the president's weekend speech. As she reached to draw the curtains, she felt an odd restriction around her rear. Looking down, Clara realized with an amused snort that her newly amplified bubble butt had wedged itself into the chair backing, stuck fast.

"Well, that's just great," she chuckled, giving an experimental wiggle that did little to dislodge her from the seat.

With a resigned sigh, Clara reached down and gripped the chair arms in her huge hands. She flexed her powerful forearms, the striated muscles flexing as she strained against the chair's confinement. The wooden arm rests cracked and splintered in her vice-like grip until, with a final heave, she ripped them clean off. Her massive rear end was freed from its makeshift prison.

"Forget these dinky little desk chairs," Clara laughed, tossing the ruined piece of office furniture aside with disdain. "I need an Amazon's throne."

She got on her knees to browse on her computer an online furniture retailer, quickly reviewing the limited oversized seating options currently available. With a satisfied nod, Clara ordered an extra-wide, overstuffed couch to serve as her new desk chair. Once the virus became more widespread, she was certain dedicated Amazon furniture would become a prime market.

Checking her watch, Clara realised she should head down to the studio floor to prep for the morning broadcast. As she stood and stretched her long legs, she could hear the telltale sounds of the production crew filtering in and setting up. Smirking to herself, Clara made her way down the hallway, her strong calves rippling beneath her linen skirt.

She rounded the corner into the main studio space, spotting her co-workers and colleagues huddled near the main stage. Steve had his back turned as he appeared to be barking orders to someone off-camera not noticing Clara entering the studio. She approached him from behind, her huge stature blocking a studio light.

"Ayo Rick, turn on light 3 again! And where the hell is that huge bitch? Let me guess, late as usual..." Steve grumbled loudly.

Clara couldn't resist. "Two corrections," she called out in her deep, commanding tone. "I'm not late - I'm right here. And I'm not a huge bitch..." She paused, smirking as she watched Steve freeze. "...I'm the EXTRA huge bitch."

Steve whipped around, his irritated expression melting into one of stunned shock. There stood Clara in all her massively muscular glory, a feminine reinvention of the hulking peak male bodybuilder physique. Her arms were as big around as his thighs, the sleeveless white blouse stretched tight across her bowling ball delts and exaggerated chest taper. Her calves and quads were similarly heart-stoppingly huge, the stretchy material of her skirt pulled taut against their mass.

But most intimidating was Clara's towering height, dwarfing Steve's average 5'10" frame by nearly a foot. He had to tilt his head back at an almost 90 degree angle just to make eye contact with the beautiful yet fearsome Amazon before him. Steve's mouth hung open wordlessly as his eyes raked over every inconceivably amplified inch of the sports reporter. He had no words to see his previous little star reporter towering over him.

Licking her lush lips with a self-satisfied grin, Clara crossed her titanic arms beneath her chest, causing the blouse fabric to groan in protest. "What's the matter, Steve? Cat got your tongue?" she purred in a sultry, challenging tone. "Close that mouth before you start drooling all over the studio."