Zubin Sedghi and Rob Cantor, two revered members of the musical group Tally Hall, found themselves at an impasse. Their fans, while fervent and dedicated, had grown increasingly unhinged and fanatical. At every show, every event, they would aggressively pursue the band members, clamoring for their attention.
 
"Can't they just give us some space?" wondered Rob, the yellow-tied guitarist. "We're not bloody zoo animals."
 
Zubin, the blue-tied bassist, nodded in solemn agreement. "Something must be done, my friend. But I fear I know not what."
 
As if in answer to their prayers, a mysterious woman appeared at the band's next gig. Dressed in an elegant black gown, her face obscured by a feathered mask, she approached the stage with a confident stride.
 
"Greetings, gentlemen," she purred, her voice like velvet. "I have a proposition for you. One that will solve your little 'fan problem', as it were."
 
Zubin arched an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, might this proposition entail?"
 
The woman smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. "I can rid you of your fans. All of them. Every last one. For a price, of course."
 
Rob scoffed. "And what makes you think we'd trust some random nutcase with that kind of power?"
 
Quick as a flash, the woman whipped out a small, ornate vial from her cleavage. It glowed with an eerie, pulsating light. "Because I possess this. A brew of my own creation. Drink it, and you shall be granted the ability to consume any who would vex you. Fans, critics, exes... anyone you desire."
 
Zubin felt a shiver run down his spine. The idea was unthinkable, unspeakable. And yet... the temptation was undeniable.
 
"How much?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
 
The woman named a price, astronomical and obscene. But to Zubin, it was a small cost to pay for the freedom he so desperately craved.
 
With a trembling hand, he reached out and snatched the vial. The liquid inside sloshed and swirled, casting its hypnotic glow over his face.
 
"It's a deal," he said, his eyes locked on the mesmerizing concoction. "This vial, for the sum you named. I trust this transaction shall remain between us?"
 
The woman cackled, a sound like shattering glass. "Oh, you have my word. Enjoy your newfound ability, Mr. Sedghi. I'm sure you'll find it most... satisfying."
 
And with that, she turned on her heel and vanished into the night, leaving the two bandmates alone on the empty stage.
 
Zubin turned to Rob, a manic grin spreading across his face. "Can you believe it? This vial, it'll give me the power to eat our fans. All of them. Can you imagine it, Rob? A world where we're finally free of their incessant clamoring?"
 
Rob shook his head slowly, his eyes wide with horror. "Zubin... are you insane? You can't seriously be considering this. It's murder, plain and simple."
 
"Nonsense," Zubin scoffed, waving off his friend's objections. "It's not murder. It's... it's more like... like a really extreme form of crowd control. An efficient way to deal with a problem that's been plaguing us for far too long."
 
Rob reached out, his hand hovering over the vial as if to snatch it away. "Please, Zubin. Don't do this. I'm begging you."
 
But Zubin was beyond reason. With a swift, decisive motion, he uncorked the vial and tilted it back, draining the contents in one long, deep swig.
 
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a warmth began to spread through Zubin's body, starting in his stomach and radiating outward. His eyes took on a glazed, almost feverish sheen.
 
"It's working," he breathed, his voice thick with excitement. "I can feel it, Rob. The power. It's coursing through my veins."
 
Rob took a step back, his face pale. "Zubin... you're scaring me. Please, before you do anything rash, let's talk this through..."
 
But Zubin was no longer listening. His gaze had turned inward, lost in visions of the feast to come. A thousand faces swam before his eyes, each one a potential meal, a morsel to be savored and digested.
 
With a roar of triumphant laughter, he lunged forward, his jaws gaping wide. And Rob could only watch in mute horror as his friend made good on his word, his teeth sinking into the flesh of the first fan to cross his path.
 
The woman screamed, her eyes bulging in disbelief as Zubin's mouth stretched impossibly wide, his throat bulging obscenely as she was dragged down into its churning depths.
 
Rob clapped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the wet, sloppy sounds of consumption that filled the air. But he could not tear his eyes away from the sight of Zubin, his face a mask of mindless hunger as he devoured fan after fan, his belly swelling with each new addition.
 
It went on for what felt like hours, Zubin's frenzy of gluttony showing no signs of abating. Fans poured into the venue, drawn by some unseen force, only to be snatched up and gobbled by the ravenous bassist.
 
And through it all, Rob stood frozen, his mind reeling with the implications of what he was witnessing. This was beyond anything he could have imagined, a nightmare made flesh.
 
As the hours turned to days, the venue became a scene of unimaginable carnage. Rivers of blood painted the formerly pristine floor, the air thick with the stench of death and decay.
 
And through it all, Zubin remained, an implacable engine of consumption, his hunger never sated, his belly growing ever larger as he fed.
 
Rob lost track of time, lost track of everything but the horror of what he was seeing. The faces of the fans blurred together, becoming a single, indistinct mass, a never-ending tide of flesh and blood.
 
Until finally, after what felt like an eternity, it was over. The last fan had been consumed, the last drop of blood licked from Zubin's lips.
 
The bassist stood in the center of the room, his belly distended to an impossible size, his skin stretched taut and shiny. He looked like a grotesque parody of a pregnant woman, his entire body devoted to the single purpose of housing the (now digesting) remains of his former fans.
 
Rob approached him slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. "Zubin," he whispered, his voice hoarse from disuse. "What... what have you done?"
 
Zubin turned to face him, his eyes glazed and distant. "I freed us, Rob," he said, his voice a dull, flat monotone. "I freed us from their clamoring, from their incessant demands. We're alone now, just the two of us. As it should be."
 
Rob shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "No, Zubin. This isn't freedom. This is... this is hell. You've damned yourself, damned us both."
 
Zubin smiled, a cold, mirthless thing. "You'll see, Rob. In time, you'll come to understand. The power of it, the freedom of it. We'll never be bothered again, never have to deal with another fan as long as we live."
 
Rob backed away, his eyes wide with horror and revulsion. "I'll never understand, Zubin. Not this. You're... you're a monster."
 
Zubin's smile widened, his teeth stained red with the blood of his victims. "Perhaps I am," he said, his voice soft and contemplative. "But I am a monster of my own making. And in the end, isn't that the only kind of monster that truly matters?"
 
And with that, he turned away, his massive, distended belly swaying with each heavy, ponderous step as he lumbered off into the night, leaving Rob alone amidst the carnage.