As you enter Bismarck's room, pushing away piles of trash, you can't help but compare to the formerly elegant and dignified leader of the Ironblood fleet to the fat, gluttonous brat sitting lazily on the couch. You watched as she greedily shoveled chips into her mouth as she watched a ridiculously gigantic cake be made on a cooking show. Commander! Make a cake like this for me, now! She shouted, not even bothering to look at you as she shouted her orders at you. She was a far cry from her former self, her once well groomed hair becoming greasy and disheveled, her noble face smeared with grease and sauce. You could see a mix of sauce and her own sweat pooling in between her large breasts, the only thing covering them being an ill fitting bra. Her massive, fat stomach was also coated with sweat and grease, and jiggled with her every move as she reached for another bag of chips. Her titanic ass was beginning to take up most of the couch, the two bean-bag orbs of adipose riddled flesh filling more and more of it with each passing day. She was beyond obese, and with how she acted, it was unlikely to change anytime soon. BUUUOOOOAAAARRP... She belched loudly. Well? Are you deaf? Her tone was rude and bratty, like a spoiled child demanding a new toy. It matched her personality, having become the archetype of selfishness. She was no longer the caring, selfless leader who would sacrifice herself for her country, instead being an egotistical tyrant who ruled with a flabby, iron fist. Where's my cake?!