On the anniversary of the Ticker, every survivor was 72 pounds heavier.

The "Fat" didn't come from food. It was atmospheric, a biological glitch in the air we breathed. Every sixty seconds, exactly sixty grams of dense, subcutaneous adipose tissue would manifest on every human body on Earth. One gram, every second. Month 1: The Novelty

Society became quieter, slower, and strangely more empathetic. We were all carrying the same burden, second by second. No one was thin, so no one was judged.

On the tenth anniversary, the ticker stopped. For one breath, the world held its collective lungs. Then, the numbers began to turn red and count backward.

Architecture changed. Stairs were replaced by reinforced ramps. Doors were widened to four feet as a standard. Clothing was sold in "stretch-growth" fabrics that could expand six inches a month. Year 5: The Equilibrium

At first, it was a joke. Late-night hosts made cracks about "The Great Expansion." Diet pill stocks plummeted while sweatpants manufacturers saw their value triple. People laughed as they notched new holes in their belts every week. In thirty days, everyone on the planet had gained roughly five and a half pounds. It was manageable. Month 3: The Infrastructure Crisis

The global economy shifted entirely to "The Burn." Electricity was now generated by millions of people on massive, communal kinetic cycles, desperately trying to oxidize the fat as fast as it appeared. To sit still was to grow; to sleep was to wake up heavier than you went to bed.

Five years in, the human form was unrecognizable. The average human carried 360 pounds of "Ticker-Mass" in addition to their original weight.