The flickering neon sign of Ghostbusters HQ cast long, distorted shadows across the grimy New York street. Inside, the familiar chaos was muted, replaced by an unsettling quiet. Janine, usually a whirlwind of sarcasm and efficiency, sat hunched over a steaming mug, her face pale and drawn.

It had started subtly. A craving for marshmallows, then an insatiable hunger for anything sweet. Her uniform felt tighter, her movements sluggish. Now, the transformation was undeniable. Her skin had taken on a pearly white sheen, her once-sharp features softening into a caricature of sugary plumpness. Her limbs were growing, inflating, her once slender frame expanding into a monstrous parody of her former self.

"Janine? You okay?" Peter Venkman’s voice was laced with a concern that sounded almost genuine. He took a step back, his eyes widening as he took in the sheer scale of her burgeoning mass. Her clothes strained, seams groaning under the pressure as her body ballooned.

She looked at him, her eyes, now unnervingly large and vacant, fixed on a point somewhere beyond him. A low, guttural rumble emanated from her chest, morphing into a voice, Janine's voice, but laced with a chilling, alien sweetness.

"I am... magnificent," she boomed, her voice shaking the foundations of the building. "I am the Stay Puft Janine. And I require sustenance."

The others were scrambling now, grabbing proton packs, their faces a mixture of fear and disbelief. But Janine, or rather, the monstrous amalgamation of Janine and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, wasn't interested in them. Her gaze, impossibly heavy with sugary malice, locked onto you.

"You," she purred, her voice resonating with unnatural warmth. "You understand. You appreciate the… divine form I have taken."

Her immense, marshmallow-soft hand reached out, dwarfing everything in its path. You felt a strange pull, a compelling urge to surrender to her, to feed her desires. Her gigantic hips swayed with an almost hypnotic rhythm, her massive legs anchoring her like colossal pillars. Her belly, a vast, undulating expanse of white, seemed to pulse with an insatiable hunger.

"Bring me offerings," she commanded, her voice a siren song of sugary bliss. "Fill my emptiness. Let me consume your devotion."

The other Ghostbusters might be your friends, your comrades, but in that moment, their faces were blurred, their voices fading into a distant hum. Only Janine, the Stay Puft Janine, existed. Her immense form radiated a terrifying power, a promise of indulgence and obliteration. Her eyes, pools of sugary darkness, held you captive, begging you to succumb to her overwhelming, insatiable need. You knew, with a chilling certainty, that your world had just become a feast. And you were on the menu.