Prologue

 

Dr. Ryan Choi cowered in the corner of a hamster cage, a mere specimen in his own lab. Above, his captors leered triumphantly.

 

            “You’ll never get away with this!” he screamed, immediately regretting the words.

 

            “My dear Dr. Choi,” said the bearded man in the white lab coat and coke bottle glasses. “Surely you’re too new to this game to be trucking out that hoary old cliché. Our guest seems agitated, Prof. Crane,” he informed his companion. “Give him another dose.”

 

Ryan could not see the second man’s face, merely the ghoulish burlap mask that obscured it. The mystery figure extended a gloved hand and released a jet of sickly, greenish gas from an unseen device. Instantly, Ryan could feel the terror returning.

 

            “Certainly, Prof. Strange,” the masked man replied. “But I’ll remind you again—when I’m working, it’s ‘Scarecrow.’”

 

            “Yes, of course,” the first man, Strange, answered. He did his best to disguise his contempt. Crane was a useful ally but indulging his delusions was fast becoming tiresome. “Scarecrow. How foolish of me to forget.”

 

            Below, the miniature doctor fought hard to maintain coherence as gas-induced hallucinations clouded his vision. “W-why are you doing this to me? I don’t even know you!”

 

            “Quite so,” Prof. Strange agreed. “Nor we you. But we know your predecessor—The mighty Atom, ‘The World’s Smallest Superhero.’” He chuckled at the rather ludicrous words. These costumed types did enjoy dramatics and press-worthy catchphrases.

 

“He’s been missing for several months but it was child’s play to deduce the new Atom’s identity, Dr. Choi. You two corresponded for many years. You were like a protégé to him, no doubt,” Strange said mockingly. “I wonder what he would say if he knew his much-vaunted miniaturization technology belonged to us now. I imagine he’d be most disappointed in you. Wouldn’t you agree, Cra—er, Scarecrow?”

 

“Oh, most assuredly, Professor,” the garish Scarecrow added. “I’d wager such a possibility was one of his greatest…fears.”

 

Strange suppressed an urge to wince. That had been the third fear reference in the last few minutes. Jonathan Crane was an incurable ham.

 

“I thank you for the use of your technology, Dr. Choi. Or ‘Atom,’ if you prefer,” Prof. Strange smirked. “Rest assured it will be applied in the name of science. Scarecrow, try not to damage the prisoner. He may prove useful later. I must attend to other business.” The balding scientist removed his white coat and proceeded towards the door of the lab.

 

The Scarecrow seemed perplexed. “Wait a moment, Strange. Where are you going? Torturing a second-string do-gooder is all well and good. But when you proposed our little ‘team-up,’ I assumed it would involve our mutual enemy, Batman.”

 

Strange paused in the doorway with a smile. “Trust me, Crane. This is about the Batman,” he said, glancing backwards. “It’s always about the Batman…”

Dick Grayson, alias Nightwing, climbed wearily through the window of his apartment. He’d stopped five muggings, four attempted rapes, seven robberies, and two arsons. And that was before Dr. Death had tried to raid the local S.T.A.R. Labs for biological weapons. All in all, not a bad night of crimefighting. But Dick could seriously use a shower and a few hours of sleep.

 

            This, it seemed, was not to be. “Welcome home, Mr. Grayson,” the sinister voice from the shadows declared. Dick recognized the man instantly—Prof. Hugo Strange, one of his mentor, Batman’s worst enemies. And unfortunately, among the few to figure out the Dark Knight’s true identity. They’d thrown Strange off the trail in the past but the mad professor was convinced he knew the truth.

 

            “Grayson’s not here, Strange,” Dick lied weakly. “He’s been missing for a week. I’m investigating his—”

 

“Oh, don’t patronize me, boy,” Strange spat in annoyance. “I know who you are. All of you. Does that keep you up at night? That your adopted father has a chink in his secretive armor? Oh, yes, I’ll bet you’re just a stew of daddy issues, Nightwing. Little Robin all grown up with so many expectations and hopes yet you’re never the man he wants you to be, never—”

 

“Look, are we going to fight or is this a social visit, Hugo?” Nightwing said.

 

“This isn’t a fight, Grayson,” Strange answered. “It’s an experiment.”

 

Before the hero could react, the professor had drawn an odd device from his jacket. With lightning quickness, Strange held a small lens up to the light, refracting the beam at his opponent. Instantly, Nightwing began to feel queasy.

 

The room spun then seemed to distort and change. Objects elongated in an unnatural fashion and Dick felt the sensation of a swift, rushing wind. When his vision cleared, the normally diminutive Hugo Strange towered over him like a terrifying colossus.

 

“Excellent,” the giant thundered. “Another animal for my lab.”

 

Returning to his senses, Nightwing leapt away from the huge grasping fingers that descended for him. Drawing a grappling hook from his belt, he fired a line out the window and disappeared into the night.

 

“Damn it,” Strange cursed behind him. “Enjoy your new stature, Grayson. I’ve bigger fish to fry.”

 

The cold night air was like razors to the tiny crimefighter. His mind raced, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Strange had actually…shrunk him? It seemed impossible. Hugo had always relied on mental games and strategy, rarely technological gimmicks or paranormal tricks. The how and why of it mattered little though, Nightwing knew. A cure was his primary goal if he had any hope of stopping Strange. And he knew he’d never survive alone like this. Not for long.

 

He needed help. Nightwing quickly activated the com-link in his costume, calling for allies. “This is Nightwing. I, uh…have a bit of a situation here. Anyone there?”

 

“Oracle here,” came an electronic voice from his earpiece. “What’s going on, Nightwing?”

 

Dick breathed a sigh of relief. At this moment, the slightly modulated voice was that of a savior. Ever since they’d been kids together as Robin and Batgirl, Barbara Gordon had been the love of his life. He adored her strength, her intelligence, and that undying resolve that kept her going after crippling injury and seeming defeat. Though retired from field work, as the all-seeing Oracle, Barbara was invaluable to the war on crime.

 

And though things had been…awkward between them lately, there was no one he wanted by his side more when the world got crazy.

 

“Am I glad to hear you, Babs,” Nightwing said. “Can you get a fix on my coordinates? I need some help pronto.”

 

“We’ll be there soon,” Oracle assured him. “What’s up?”

 

“I think it’d be better if I just showed you.”

 

Nightwing spent several agonizing minutes on a vast rooftop, jumping at every shadow, startled by the slightest noise, until the helicopter touched down. The metal behemoth seemed massive beyond reason and the wind from its rotors threatened to sweep the miniature figure away like a twister. He held fast to the ground and prayed.

 

Soon, the door swung open and an enormous figure emerged. Straining to focus on the huge black boots and the shapely skyscraper legs, Nightwing recognized one of Oracle’s agents, her personal pilot, Lady Blackhawk. The towering blonde was dressed in a black aviator jacket and cap and a mini-skirt that left little to the tiny hero’s imagination. Particularly from the angle he was now viewing her. Nightwing quickly pulled his eyes away and tried to get the giantess’ attention.

 

“Zinda! Zinda, down here!”

 

“I don’t see him anywhere, Skipper,” Lady Blackhawk called back to the woman in the helicopter. “This here’s where the signal came from but your beau seems to have up and vanished.”

 

“He’s not my ‘beau,’ Zinda,” Barbara’s (now natural) voice answered from the doorway. “Not anymore.”

 

“Well, I’ll keep lookin’, just the same,” Zinda Blake insisted. She took a step forward and Nightwing had to leap out of the path of a sky-blotting boot.

 

“Gah!” he grunted, as he tucked and rolled away. Her footfalls shuddered behind him. “Zinda, look where you’re going! I’m right—oh, this is ridiculous.” Drawing his grappling hook, he fired it up the length of Zinda’s lofty form until it latched onto the brim of her cap. With the touch of a button, the line retracted, pulling him into the air.

 

“What in the Sam Hill?” the dulcet yet ear-piercing voice intoned. Before the puzzled Blackhawk’s eyes a small, one-inch figure dangled by a thin string.

 

“Nightwing?” Zinda asked, bewildered. “Jeehosaphat, boy! You’re tiny! I’ve done whiskey shots bigger’n you! What the heck happened?”

 

The little man could barely focus on the delicate features now magnified to horrifying size. Before he could respond, a large, white-gloved hand extended palm upward to catch the dangling creature. Nightwing detached his grapple and dropped into Zinda’s waiting fingers.

 

“Hey, Skipper!” she said as she held out her hand to Barbara. “Look what I found!”

 

Resting in her wheelchair at the door of the aircraft sat a red-haired, mountainous goddess. The sight of his former love at this staggering scale took Nightwing’s breath away. Behind her thin glasses, Barbara Gordon’s sea-green eyes grew wide with alarm. A mouth large enough to swallow him dropped open in disbelief.

 

“Dick? How…?”

 

“We got us our very own little Robin, boss,” Lady Blackhawk chuckled. “Think this is what they mean when they talk about a bird in the hand?”

Standing in the palm of Oracle’s hand, the tiny Nightwing had never felt so exposed or vulnerable. Four lovely faces of unimaginable scale loomed above him, their collective shadow producing the effect of a lunar eclipse. Oracle periodically reached out to touch the tiny figure with her other hand, as if assuring herself he was real. Nearby, Lady Blackhawk continued to beam at him and gave a cute, flirtatious wave. Behind these two, Oracle’s other agents, the blonde bombshell Black Canary and the masked, leather-clad Huntress, peered curiously at their shrunken comrade.

 

            “You’re sure it was Hugo Strange?” Oracle asked, unconsciously stroking the little man with a fingertip.

 

            “Positive,” said Nightwing, not so unconsciously enjoying it. He had to project his voice for the gigantic women to even hear him. “I’d know that Freudian freak anywhere.”

 

            “Since when does Strange shrink people?” the Huntress said. “I thought he was some kind of psychologist.”

 

            Lady Blackhawk giggled. “Maybe it was for irony. Shrunk by a shrink, get it?”

 

            Nightwing scowled up at her. “I’m glad someone finds this amusing, Zinda.”

 

            “Aw, hey, lighten up, squirt. I’m just teasin’.”

 

            “It’s not a joke, Zinda,” the Canary added. “That lens device Nightwing described sounds         like the one the Atom used to use. If Strange has duplicated that…”

 

            “Agreed,” said Oracle. “Bad business all around. That means we’re going to need Atom’s help reversing this. Zinda, set a course for Ivytown.”

 

            “Aye-aye, Skipper!” At once, she hurried off to the cockpit of the helicopter.

 

            Black Canary looked at Oracle in surprise. “But I thought the Atom had retired.”

           

“He did,” answered Oracle. “There’s a new one.”

 

            Nightwing nodded. “Yeah, I remember hearing about him. But he’s so new to the scene, does anyone actually know who he—?”

 

            “Ryan Choi,” Oracle recited. “Physics professor from Hong Kong. Inherited Ray ‘The Atom’ Palmer’s seat at Ivy University. Among other things, it seems.”

 

            The tiny hero slapped his forehead. “I suppose I should know better than to question the mistress of information.”

 

            “Damn straight, Shorty,” she said, poking him in the stomach with an index finger. Nightwing fell over backwards into the center of her palm.       

 

            Taking this as her cue, the Canary began to turn away. “Well, I imagine you two will want a moment alone. C’mon, Huntress, let’s give them some privacy.” The Huntress tried to protest but was pulled towards the cockpit by her blonde teammate.

 

            The miniscule man and the pretty redhead merely regarded each other for a few seconds. Much had been left unsaid since their last meeting though these were not the circumstances under which they had thought to say it. Nightwing finally broke the silence.

 

            “Look, Babs, I know things have been…weird between us…”

 

            “Yes, well,” Oracle said, turning away momentarily. “A broken engagement will do that.”

 

            “Yeah…” Nightwing sighed, staring down at the lifelines of her hand. “I just wanted to say how much I appreciate this. You and the team coming to the rescue and all.”

 

            Oracle’s eyes practically bored a hole in him as she stared over the top of her glasses. “Dick, you’re an inch tall. What was I going to do, leave you like this?”

 

            “No, I guess not.”

 

            “We’ll get this fixed,” she declared. “If we can’t find the Atom, I’ll get every big brain I know on speed dial—Steel, Mr. Terrific, Doc Magnus, The Chief, and, well—”

 

            “And?”

 

            Barbara frowned. “You know who. We have to tell him, Dick.”

 

            Nightwing’s heart sank. The thought of Batman seeing him like this was too much. Strange’s psychoanalysis still rang bitterly in his ears.

 

            “Not yet,” he said. “This is our case. Let’s show him we can handle it alone.”

 

            “Dick, you’re not still hung up on winning his approval? He can be a callous bastard sometimes but you have to know he’s proud of you. Strange has been getting to you, hasn’t he?”

 

            “Maybe a little,” the miniature man admitted. “What about you, Babs? Where do you and I stand?”

 

            She hesitated for a moment but said, finally, “I’m proud of you too, Dick.”

 

            “Is that all? You think maybe one day…you know, if we start over and…”

 

            Barbara put a finger to Nightwing’s lips (or more accurately, most of his face). “Shh. What’s done is done. We’ve had a few goes at this. Maybe we’re just not meant to be.”

 

            “Babs…I…”

 

            In answer, the auburn-haired giantess leaned closer, until her huge face was practically touching the tiny man. A warm breeze swept forward through thick red lips half as tall as he was.

 

            “Still…you’re awfully cute like this, you know that?”

 

            In an instant, the mammoth lips descended upon him, pressing the little figure into her hand with gentle yet overpowering force. For a few seconds, this sensation was all Dick Grayson knew—soft, warm, enveloping him utterly. He’d often felt like he could lose himself in Barbara’s kisses, yet never imagined it in such a literal fashion. At last the gentle pressure abated and Nightwing was lifted slightly by the suction before detaching and falling from those lips with a wet smack.

 

            Barbara Gordon smiled down at him almost impishly, marveling at the red lipstick streaks now marring the tiny blue and gray uniform.

 

            “Babs…” Nightwing finally managed. “Have I ever told you you’re an incredible kisser?”

 

            “Better than Starfire?” she said with a smirk.

 

            “Worlds.”

 

            “Hmm, flattery. Play your cards right and there could more where that came from, ‘Toy Wonder.’ It’s a long way to Ivytown.”

 

            The little man perked up at these words. “Does that mean….I mean, you and me…?”

 

            “I don’t know what it means. Yet,” Oracle insisted. “Seeing you like this is just doing weird things to me.”

 

            “Well, I am kind of irresistible.”

 

            “Yeah, right,” she laughed. “A regular bite-sized Casanova.” At this, she opened wide and descended on him again, engulfing his body completely in her mouth. With a quick slurp, Nightwing was drawn into the darkness. Mischief sparkled in Barbara’s eyes as she closed her lips and maneuvered the minute hero about, tossing him back and forth with her dexterous tongue.

 

The taste was not particularly pleasant—Kevlar and leather and nervous sweat—but Barbara was beginning to see the advantages of a man this size. Ever since her injury, Dick had tried to coddle her, protect her. It was inevitably what split them up every time. If there was one thing the vivacious young woman detested, it was being treated like she was helpless. She’d fought her way into the superhero world and earned the trust of the damn Batman. She’d conquered every challenge and she’d conquer her paralysis too one day when the time was right. Barbara Gordon was anything but a damsel in distress.

 

“Let’s see how Dick likes being treated like the helpless one for once,” she thought to herself, swishing her little boy-toy about like a breath mint.

 

Nightwing’s world was nothing but a swirl of wet flesh and midnight black. His body flipped from side to side, crashing against the porcelain surface of giant teeth. His heart was pounding with a mixture of excitement, pleasure, and fear he hadn’t felt since his days in the circus.

 

The voice of Black Canary took them both completely by surprise. “Hey, guys, it got awful quiet in here. You two all right?”

 

Suddenly startled, Barbara’s body gave a quick jerk. In a panic, she felt a miniature form slide backwards into her throat.

 

Nightwing could feel himself slipping through an entrance to a narrow chasm. Instinctively, he reached for his grapple. “No, I’ll hurt her,” he thought. His mind raced. “Dammit, Grayson, do something! Brace yourself, find a handhold! This is not how you go! A glorious battle, a world-threatening crisis, some lucky punk in an alley…not this!”

 

Crushing muscles tightened around his body, choking the air from his lungs. He slid further down. “At least I’m with you, Babs. In a sick, twisted joke of a way, at least I’m with you.” He closed his eyes and waited for the end.

 

Earth-shaking vibrations and sounds rumbled around him and he felt himself freefalling….upward! Blinding light pierced Nightwing’s eyes and he collided with a huge purple wall. The disoriented hero blinked twice and looked up at the smiling, upside down face of the Huntress.

 

“Hey there, handsome. Enjoy the ride?”

 

The little man somehow managed to turn his head and saw the distant figures of Barbara and Black Canary, the latter with her arms wrapped around the redhead’s midsection administering the Heimlich.

 

“Barbara, what were you thinking?!” Canary shrieked. “You could have killed him!”

 

The Huntress looked down at the tiny person sprawled in her glove. “So is this why they call us the Birds of Prey?”

 

Exhausted, Nightwing simply passed out.

 

* * * *

 

            The sun was just rising on Ivy University when an oddly colorful trio entered the grounds. Following their leader’s directions, Black Canary, Huntress, and Lady Blackhawk made tracks for the residence building where Dr. Ryan Choi was said to be living. If Choi was indeed the new Atom, as Oracle surmised, he was their best hope for restoring the miniature Nightwing.

 

            “So how is he?” Canary inquired, worried for their shrunken friend.

 

            “Still unconscious last I checked,” replied the Huntress. “Guess maybe Barbara wore him out. Speaking of which, how’s she handling this?”

 

            Canary frowned. “About like you’d think. Hasn’t left his side. It might have been an accident but she blames herself for what happened.”

 

            “Well, almost swallowing your ex-boyfriend will do that. Funny, I never pegged Barb as the man-eating type.”

 

            Lady Blackhawk gave her teammate a good-natured slug in the arm. “Yeah, that’s more your department, Huntress. Say, didn’t you and Nightwing have a thing going once too?”

 

            The leather-clad heroine flushed slightly. “It was a one-night-stand. That’s all. We both admitted it was a mistake.”

 

            Lady B cocked an eyebrow at her. “All the same, I think we ought not to leave you two alone. Wouldn’t want you gobbling him up when we ain’t lookin’!”

 

            “Zinda, I’d never—”

 

            On the path ahead, a few early rising students walked briskly by. They gazed curiously at the costumed visitors, leering slightly at their skin-tight attire.

 

            “Ugh, costume regret,” Canary said. “I never should have gone back to the fishnets.”

 

            “Yeah, not the most functional look for field missions,” Huntress laughed.

 

            The Canary scowled back at her. “Says the girl who used to fight gangsters in a bare midriff.”

 

            “Heads up, girls,” Lady B called. “This here’s where Dr. Choi’s supposed to be.”

 

            The old-fashioned college-town brownstone was directly before them, its door hanging open suspiciously. As the heroines entered, they found the rooms in shambles, furniture overturned, and bizarre scientific equipment strewn about the floor.

 

            “Looks like someone got to Choi first,” Black Canary observed. “That confirms it. Strange does have the Atom’s equipment.”

 

            “And maybe the Atom as well,” added Huntress.

 

            “I thought this Atom guy’s shtick was gettin’ all tiny-like,” Lady B asked. “How do we know he ain’t still here, hidin’ out or something?”

 

            Simultaneously, all three women checked the bottom of their shoes.

 

            “Uh, let’s hope this new Atom knows what he’s doing,” Canary said ruefully. “Ray Palmer would kill me if I squashed his successor.”

 

            “All right, fan out, ladies,” she continued. “Be on the lookout for Dr. Choi or any clue to where Strange might have taken him. And please….watch your step.”

 

            As her teammates scoured the building, Lady Blackhawk was drawn to a curious object sitting on a nearby coffee table. The palm-sized plastic device appeared to be in the shape of a skull and looked out of place among the various pieces of laboratory equipment that lined the room.

 

            “Ooo, creepy,” she said, picking up the unusual gadget. “Gotta be a clue.” Carefully, she slipped the device into a pocket of her flight jacket.

 

            Elsewhere, the sinister Scarecrow chuckled as a light came on at a nearby control board. He wondered what fool had found the little “gift” he’d left behind at Dr. Choi’s apartment…

Coherence hesitantly crept back into Nightwing’s mind and his eyes fluttered open with a bit of effort. Above, a pair of huge green eyes, each bigger than his head, was fixed directly upon him.

 

            “Ahh! Geez! Still not used to that…” Panic subsided when he remembered his situation but Barbara flinched at his reaction.

 

            “Dick, I am sooooo sorry,” she insisted. “I don’t know what came over me.”

 

            “It’s all right, Babs,” Nightwing said. “No harm done.”

 

            “No, it isn’t all right. I almost swallowed you alive! Like a damn oyster! This whole situation’s completely insane!”

 

            The miniature hero walked over to her hand and tried to stroke her index finger reassuringly. “Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. Really. I’m still here, aren’t I? Besides, you and I know from insanity. Comes with the union suits and the flashy codenames.”

 

            Barbara would have none of this. “It was irresponsible of me. You could have died. Can you…can you forgive me?”

 

            “Nothing to forgive, babe. Now how about a lift so I can stop shouting?”

 

            Oracle turned her hand over and let the tiny man climb aboard. Gently, she lifted him to eye level, still looking at him with a remorseful expression.

 

            Nightwing leaned casually against her thumb and regarded this vast landscape of a woman that had almost consumed him. Truth be told, he was still a little shaken but he knew he’d caused Barbara enough heartache already. “So how long was I out?”

 

            “Most of the day,” she answered. “I was worried I’d killed you.”

 

            “Nah, I probably just pushed myself a little too hard yesterday. I needed the rest. Did you know Dr. Death hit S.T.A.R. Labs last night?”

 

            “What, again?” Barbara asked. “That’s the fifth time this year!”

 

            “Tell me about it. I told the science guys they should start charging him rent.”

 

            This elicited a slight giggle from the giantess and Nightwing smiled up at her. “There’s my girl. See, we can handle this. Just let me admire that knockout mouth of yours from this side of the lips from now on.”

 

            Barbara swooped in and gave his little head a quick peck. “Deal.”

 

            Nightwing sat down, Indian style, in the center of her palm. “So where do we go from here?”

 

            “The girls couldn’t locate the Atom,” Barbara said.

 

            Nightwing sighed. “Great. Big brain speed dial it is, then. Who do we try first?”

 

            “Dick, we need to call Bruce. He has a right to know what’s going on.”

 

            Nightwing sighed again. An awkward silence passed. “….All right. Call him.”

 

            Placing the tiny man on her shoulder, Barbara picked up a headset and adjusted its settings. “Batman, this is Oracle. Please respond.” Dead air crackled through the earpiece.

 

            “Oracle to Batman. Over.”

 

            “Maybe he’s on a case,” Nightwing suggested. “He may have gone radio-silent.”

 

            “I’ll try the Cave,” Barbara said. She picked up her laptop and set it on her lap, opening the satellite uplink to the Batcave. Within moments, the kindly face of Bruce Wayne’s butler, Alfred Pennyworth, appeared on the screen. Beside him stood Cassandra Cain, the young runaway who’d been entrusted with the mantle of Batgirl. In embarrassment, Nightwing quickly hid himself behind the scarlet strands of Oracle’s hair.

 

            “Build to it slowly, Babs,” he whispered. “This will probably be a bit of a shock.”

 

            “Er, hello, Miss Barbara,” Alfred said, his genial demeanor attempting to disguise agitation. “What a pleasant surprise. I only wish your correspondence came under better circumstances.”

 

            “Why, Alfred?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

 

            “A most alarming turn of events,” the unflappable old gentleman answered. “The Manor had an unexpected and most assuredly unwelcome guest earlier this evening. One Prof. Strange.”

           

“Oh no…” Barbara muttered.

 

            “It’s wholly beyond my abilities to describe,” Alfred continued. “Miss Cassandra, perhaps a visual aid?”

 

            The pretty Asian girl slowly lifted a hand to the screen, revealing the minute form of Tim Drake (Dick’s successor as Robin) sitting in her palm.

 

            “Hi, Barbara,” he squeaked sadly.

 

            Nightwing parted the long red hair like a curtain and waved to the screen. “Looks like we’re a matched set, Tim.”

 

            “Whoa!” the tiny Robin chirped.

 

            “My word!” cried Alfred.

 

            “Strange has been a busy little beaver, hasn’t he?” Barbara said. “Please tell me he didn’t get Batman too.”

 

            “Well, that’s the rub, my dear,” Alfred declared. “I’m afraid Master Bruce is not at home. He was out of here like a shot pursuing that ruffian, Strange. The villain turned tail when Miss Cassandra disarmed him.”

 

            “She got the shrink ray?” Barbara asked, excitedly.

 

            “No,” Batgirl said. “It broke.”

 

            “I’m afraid it shattered in the scuffle,” said Alfred.

 

            “Well, at least Batman didn’t get shrunk,” Barbara reasoned.

 

            Alfred looked more concerned than ever. “Ah…that remains to be seen, Miss. Those dratted beams were firing everywhere towards the end. The silver closet will never be the same, I fear. But more importantly, Cassandra insists she noticed a change in the Master.”

 

            Though the young girl struggled with language, Cassandra’s unique training allowed her to read body language and study those around her intuitively. Barbara’s heart sank. “What’d you see, Cass?”

 

            “Different,” insisted Batgirl. “Smaller.”

 

            “Master Tim’s transformation was instantaneous,” Alfred added. “But Master Bruce may be slowly dwindling as we speak. We’ve been trying to reach him via radio.”

 

            “Us too,” said Barbara.

 

            The proper English gentleman rubbed his chin. “Oh dear. This is a conundrum. I wonder where he could—”

 

            Just then, a police scanner in the background squawked to life, sounding out its doleful news. “All units, hostage situation at the Gotham Horticultural Society. Suspects believed to be Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. Should be considered armed and extremely dangerous.”

 

            “Harley and Ivy too?” Barbara said. “What is this, a full moon?”

 

            “If I know Batman,” Nightwing called to the screen. “That’s where he’ll be.”

 

            “You’re probably right,” agreed Barbara, rubbing her temples wearily.

 

            “Eh? What’s that, Master Dick?” Alfred said, leaning closer to the speakers to hear the tiny man’s voice. “You think he’s there? Surely not. Not in his condition. What do you think, Miss Cassandra?”

 

            The roar of a motorcycle was his only answer. Batgirl was gone, already in hot pursuit…and the miniaturized Robin with her!

 

* * * *

 

            The members of the Gotham City Horticultural Society sat nervously in their meeting hall, trussed up in tendril-like vines and brambles. Before them stood a tall, voluptuous redhead in a green, leaf-covered leotard. With a wave of her hand, Poison Ivy caused the vines to tighten around her prisoners, holding them fast to the spot.

 

            Only the heavy-set, balding Society president seemed unconcerned. “Nice to see you again, Miss Ivy.”

 

            The deadly villainess paused. “Uh…likewise, Herbert.” Much as she didn’t want to admit it, Poison Ivy had indeed formed something of an awkward rapport with this man. After all, this was hardly the first time she’d held the Horticultural Society hostage. Such was the peril of being a theme villain with a penchant for plants—eventually you run out of viable targets.

 

            “So what is it this time?” Herbert inquired curiously.

 

            “Just after some rare seedlings and pods from South America and the Philippines,” she replied.

 

            Herbert nodded. “Doing a little cross-breeding?”

           

“Yes,” said Ivy. “I’ve been working on a new species. Some kind of hybrid mutant to guard my secret lair. You know. The usual.”

 

            “Right, right. Well, best of luck with that.”

 

            Behind them, a slender woman in a red and black jester’s uniform came bounding into the room carting two large sacks.

 

            “Hey, Red!” came Harley Quinn’s distinctive high-pitched squeal. “Got your seed-thingies!”

 

            “Thanks, Harley,” Ivy answered. “Now let’s get out of here before any unwanted company arrives.”

 

            As if on cue, a small, dark shape descended from the ceiling and began spiraling about Harley’s body. In its wake, it left a thick cord that clung tightly to the clown-girl’s curvy form, tangling her up completely. As she tried to wriggle free, Harley lost her balance and tumbled forward, landing face-first on the floor with a crash.

 

            “Yipe!”

 

            The lady clown blinked and shook her head slightly, trying recover from the fall. She wondered if she had hit her head harder than she thought. That almost looked like a Ken doll-sized Batman standing before her face.

 

            “Having fun, ladies?” it snarled.

 

            “I don’t believe it,” Ivy said, staring down at the tiny figure in incredulous shock. She reached out to touch this apparition and was stung by a hail of batarangs the size of rice grains. The miniature Batman darted into the shadows.

 

            Poison Ivy quickly rushed to Harley’s side and began to loosen her bonds. “Come on, Harl, help me catch it!”

 

            “Holy smokes, Red, what is it?!”

 

            “I…I think it’s Batman,” Ivy stated.

 

            Harley closed one eye and looked at her friend bewildered. “Batman? But isn’t he…y’know, taller?”

 

            The two women began hurrying about the room, searching for the bizarre human doll. Furniture was flung this way and that as their quarry continued to elude them.

 

            “Are you sure it’s Batman?” asked Harley. “Maybe it’s someone new. This town’s crawling with heroes. Maybe this is, um…a Bat-Mite or something.”

           

“Ask questions later, just catch it!”

 

            As the creature came into view once more, the villainesses dove onto their stomachs, trying to tackle it and missing by inches. The Bat-doll squirmed through their slender fingers, tossing tiny, explosive smoke pellets directly at their faces. Harley and Ivy began to cough and hack uncontrollably as their victim scurried away once more.

 

            At last, the agile Harley launched herself into a flying cartwheel and careened over the small figure below. She landed nimbly in his path, blocking his progress with a frilly boot. She dove down to snatch him up greedily in her hand.

 

            “Red! Red!! I got ‘im!”

 

            The little Batman struggled in Harley’s grip but the giant girl was too strong for him. She gave him a quick squeeze to ensure his obedience and marched proudly over to her partner.

 

            “Ivy, look at him! He’s so small! Can we keep him?”

 

            Poison Ivy examined the stoic face of Harley’s captive, recognizing that unmistakable scowl. “Keep him? Harley, this is Batman. Our mortal enemy, the constant thorn in our sides. You tried to shoot him with a bazooka last year.”

 

            “But he wasn’t all cute and little then!” Harley protested, nuzzling the Dark Knight with her nose.

 

            Ivy looked at the helpless figure trying to free himself from Harley’s fist. By all rights, she knew they ought to crush him then while they had the chance, rid Gotham of its caped avenger once and for all. But seeing their foe this size did present some…interesting possibilities.

 

            “Okay, Harl. We can keep him.”

Robin was not having a very good night. An evening that begins with an adversary breaking into one’s house and reducing said person to the size of a grasshopper is sure to rate poorly in anyone’s book. But being manhandled, shown off like an oddity, and finally stuffed into a small, confined space like a discarded tissue was not making the situation much better.

 

            When the police band made its report, Batgirl had instantly leapt into action, certain that their rapidly shrinking mentor would need her help. In all the excitement, she had quite forgotten the tiny teen held awkwardly in her hand as she charged for the vehicle bay. The Boy Wonder had clung tightly to her fingers as Cassandra pulled her mask into place and jumped aboard the closest “Bat-Cycle.” He’d shouted to her in his embarrassingly squeaky voice and this alone saved him as those fingers curled about the handlebars of the motorcycle, nearly crushing the life from him. With no time to double back and leave him in Alfred’s care, Batgirl quickly shoved her little partner into a pouch on her belt.

 

            It was here that Robin spent the duration of their journey, lost amid a stash of batarangs, smoke capsules, rope, and other equipment that dwarfed his tiny form. Thankfully, the leather pouch helped to muffle the thunderous roar of the cycle.

 

            Though Robin’s world was nothing but darkness, Batgirl could see the situation all too clearly. Within minutes, the suped-up motorcycle had delivered her to the Horticultural Society. Slinking in through a window and keeping to the shadows, she observed the sight of Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn playing with their latest “toy.” Desperately, she waited for the right moment to steal him away.

 

            “Boingy, boingy, boingy!” Harley laughed as she dangled the miniature Batman by his cape like a yo-yo. “Look, Red! He’s still getting smaller! He’s down to about three inches! This is so neat!”

 

The shrunken crimefighter was positively livid and flung another ineffectual volley of batarangs at the giantess.

 

            “Ow! Hey, that’s not very nice, Mr. Bat! Tell Auntie Harley you’re sorry.”

 

            “Still being a disobedient little man, is he?” Ivy asked. “Give him here, Harl. I think I can change his tune.”

 

            The clown-girl hugged the little Batman to her bosom protectively, nearly smothering him. “You’re not gonna hurt him, are ya?”

 

            Ivy sighed wearily. “No, Harley. I’m not going to hurt him. I just want to give him…a kiss.”

 

            The curvy jester’s face lit up excitedly and she handed him over to her partner-in-crime. “Okie-dokies. Now, little guy, give your Auntie Ivy a big, sloppy, wet kiss!”

 

            Batman was unceremoniously dropped into Poison Ivy’s waiting palm, which closed tightly around him in a vise-like grip. The colossal redhead brought the tiny man closer to her vast, beautiful face, her blood-red lips curling into a wicked smile. Ivy slowly ran her tongue along her upper lip unconsciously and squeezed her prisoner tighter, bruising a few ribs. Batman grunted in pain and continued to struggle futilely.

 

            “Don’t fight it, little one,” she told him huskily. “You know no man can resist me.”

 

Ivy pressed her full, cushiony lips against the diminutive hero’s face, covering it completely. Batman’s struggles intensified then immediately ceased as the villainess’ mind-altering pheromones stripped him of his will. When she pulled her hand away, the tiny crimefighter was as docile as a lobotomy patient. A blank stare emerged from his mask and cowl and infinitesimal drops of drool slid down his face.

 

            “There now, pet,” Ivy whispered. “That’s much better.”

 

            Batgirl could endure this no more. Casting caution to the wind, the heroine jumped into the fray, ready to decimate the two criminals and free her mentor. With movements swifter than the eye could see, the gifted martial artist struck Harley with a skillful maneuver. A judo chop to the arm and a rapid succession of roundhouse kicks sent the clown-girl sprawling. She next turned to face Poison Ivy.

 

            “Not so fast, young lady,” the sexy ecoterrorist said. Batgirl froze. Just ahead, Poison Ivy was dangling the three-inch Batman tauntingly above her open mouth. The brainwashed Dark Knight hung limply over this fearsome chasm, helpless against the deadly woman’s charms.

 

            “Take another step and Daddy-Bat goes down the hatch.” Ivy extended her tongue and lapped at the little hero in flitting bursts, causing him to swing precariously back and forth on the end of his cape. “Think I can get him down in one gulp? I’d be willing to find out. How about you?”

 

            Ivy lowered the minute figure into her mouth and let him land with a plop on the center of her tongue. With her lips still parted, she pushed his body back and forth like a flaccid rag doll, mocking Batgirl with a show of power. Slowly, she began to tilt her head back.

 

            “Okay!” Batgirl cried. “You win! Don’t hurt him.”

 

            With a look of satisfaction, Ivy pushed Batman into her cheek until he was wedged between a wall of soft, wet flesh and perfect teeth. “There’s a good girl,” she mumbled with a little effort. “Now help my friend back up or I bite down. Hard.”

 

            Batgirl turned and grudgingly offered the dazed Harley Quinn a hand. She suddenly felt a sharp pain in her shoulder and turned to see a thin, wooden barb of some sort embedded there. Behind her, Poison Ivy stood with arm extended, having just fired a small crossbow device mounted on her wrist.

 

            “A little extra insurance,” she muttered through a mouthful of hostage. As poison seeped into Batgirl’s veins and strength drained from her body, Harley uneasily climbed to her feet and staggered to Ivy’s side.

 

            “Whew,” she said. “Kid packs a wallop. Anyone get the license number on that boot? Say, where’s Batsy?”

 

            Ivy opened wide like a patient in a dentist’s office to show her the helpless little man within. “Ahhhh…”

 

            “Red, no! Don’t eat him! You promised!”

 

            Poison Ivy rolled her eyes and let out another exasperated sigh. Reaching into her mouth with two fingers, she removed the dampened Dark Knight. “You are such a child, Harley.” She carefully lowered the petite crimefighter down into her ample cleavage. Batman’s tiny form was swallowed up completely by this cavern of flesh.

 

            “Come on. Grab the seedlings and let’s get out of here.”

 

            The two villainesses walked casually past the writhing shape of Batgirl, curled into fetal position by the painful poison. Picking up the items they’d come for and ignoring the captive club members still bound by constricting vines, they exited into the night.

 

            Tears were forming beneath Batgirl’s mask. She’d failed. Batman was in the clutches of two murderous psychotics who could easily stomp out his life or make a meal of him without a second thought. Trained by some of the world’s greatest martial artists, Cassandra had always relied on physical action. Strategy was not her strong suit, particularly when the slightest movement of a throat muscle could have ended her mentor’s life.

 

            “Fight, Cass,” she told herself. “Fight the pain. No. Count—what’s the word?—counteract it! Batman gave you, um, he…what did he call them? Anti…anti-toxins! Yes! Find the anti-toxin!”

 

            Frantically, Batgirl reached for her utility belt, ignoring the pain that shot up her arm with every movement. She opened the flap of the nearest pouch and began fumbling around for the antidote to Ivy’s poison.

 

            Light burst into Robin’s world, followed directly by huge gray tree trunks that assaulted him and every object within the pouch. He tried to dodge but had nowhere to go within the cramped confines. The huge grasping fingers closed around his midsection, squeezing him tightly and yanking him into the open air.

 

            Batgirl looked at the object she’d removed from her belt. Her vision was clouding and her body was in agony. This didn’t appear to be an anti-toxin vial. In fact, it looked like it was squirming in her hand like a little bug.

 

            “R-Robin…” she croaked.

 

            “Batgirl?” he called. “Cass, what happened?”

 

            Cassandra’s grip had loosened slightly and she could barely lift her head. The poison was acting too fast. “F-find…anti-toxin…” Her hand fell limply to the floor with a slap, landing almost an arm’s length away. The collision rattled every bone in Robin’s body. Pulling himself together, he knew instantly what he had to do. Springing to his feet, Robin scurried up the length of Batgirl’s arm and onto her shoulder. With a slight blush, he darted through the narrow valley of Cass’ modest bust (a fairly impressive set of hills from Robin’s perspective nonetheless) and over the wide plane of her belly.

 

The ground slowly rose and fell beneath Robin’s feet, threatening to upset his balance. Her breathing was labored and getting worse by the second. At last, he reached her waist and dove headfirst back into the open pouch, burrowing about in an attempt to find the antidote. Finally, he located the desired object.

 

The small syringe was nonetheless as tall as he was and dragging it from the leather alcove proved challenging. Pulling the shot along behind him, he jumped from the edge of Batgirl’s stomach and onto her other arm. With great effort, Robin hoisted the syringe above his head and jabbed it down into her like a spear.

 

At first, he feared he had acted too late. Batgirl lay motionless, her huge body stretched across the floor like a leather-colored desert. No movement came from that distant chest and Robin began to despair. Suddenly, the giant girl sat bolt upright, gasping for air and sending the Boy Wonder hurtling from his perch. He landed in a heap on her lap as Batgirl at last sat up.

 

The young woman quickly fished around for him, grasping the tiny teen as he slid down the incline of her thigh. She lifted him to her face and rolled up the lower quarter of her mask to give her miniature savior a quick kiss.

 

“Thank you, Tim.”

 

“N-no problem, Cassie,” he said, a bit flustered. “You all right?”

 

“Fine now.”

 

“Great. So…where’s Batman?”

 

Batgirl lowered her head. “Harley and Ivy have him.”

 

“Damn. What do we do now?”

 

The two sidekicks stared at one another with uncertainty.

 

* * * *

 

Meanwhile, in Ivytown, the Birds of Prey had at last given up the search. No one on the campus or in the town itself had seen Dr. Ryan Choi—or the Atom—all day. With heavy hearts, they filed back onto their helicopter and took stock.

 

“Things look grim, ladies,” Oracle said. The tiny Nightwing was still sitting comfortably on her shoulder. “Nightwing, Robin, and Batman are now miniaturized. The Atom is nowhere in sight. Hugo Strange remains at large. Er, no pun intended.” She glanced at her little passenger. “Sorry, Dick.”

 

Nightwing sighed. “Everyone looks large on this caper.”

 

“You want I should fly this old girl over to Gotham?” Lady Blackhawk asked. “Maybe round up the other tinies?”

 

“Wouldn’t do much good,” Oracle answered. “Batman’s run off half-cocked and has probably gotten himself into a world of trouble. It’d be like trying to find a needle in a haystack. A very big, very polluted, crime-infested haystack.”

 

“Batgirl’s searching for Batman as we speak,” she continued. “It’s up to her now unless he tries to make contact. Our best bet is to concentrate on finding a cure. I’m going to see if I can reach Mr. Terrific or Steel—someone who stands a chance of figuring out how the Atom’s tech works.”

 

“Still can’t believe Strange didn’t leave so much as a clue,” Black Canary said in annoyance. “We’re better than this. We ought to be able to figure out where he took Choi.”

 

Remembrance dawned in Lady Blackhawk’s eyes. “Wait, I did find something earlier!” She reached into her jacket pocket and removed the small plastic skull. “This mean anything to you or do you think Dr. Choi was just gettin’ ready for Halloween?”

 

Oracle studied the bizarre object for a moment and gasped. “Zinda, get rid of it! Quick!”

 

The empty eye sockets of the skull lit up an eerie green. Far away in his hidden lair, the Scarecrow smiled as the women’s pretty faces appeared on a view screen before him.

 

“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” he chortled. “I thought that bubble-headed bimbo would never go back to the chopper. It will be so much sweeter to kill four ‘birds’ with one stone. Now then, ladies, let’s see what you…fear.” With a mad cackle, he pressed a button on the control panel.

 

Jets of hallucinogenic gas began to emerge from the skull, filling the inner chamber of the helicopter. The heroines began to cough uncontrollably and tried to cover their faces but it was too late. The Scarecrow’s gas went straight to their heads and the visions began to appear.

 

Oracle cringed as the leering face of the Joker manifested in thin air, his ghoulish white hands clutching a loaded gun. Black Canary watched her lover, Green Arrow, so recently returned from apparent death, gradually decompose before her eyes. The Huntress clawed at herself as thousands of spiders, scorpions, and rats swarmed over her body. And Lady Blackhawk could only scream as she felt her plane going down in flames for the last time.

 Thrown from Oracle’s shoulder by a sudden jerk, Nightwing fired a grapple at the back of her chair and gracefully descended to the floor. At his small size, he was below the height of the spreading gas and thus unaffected. But as the ground rumbled violently, he found himself faced with the prospect of several towering giantesses staggering around in blind panic. He scurried about as the massive feet crashed down on all sides.

Calling on all his acrobatic training, Nightwing leaped from side to side, barely evading the panicked giantesses. The ladies were in a state of abject terror from the gas-induced visions before them and the presence of the miniature hero had quite slipped their addled minds. Feeling herself falling through space in an imagined plane crash, Lady Blackhawk collapsed to the floor with a deafening rumble, almost crushing the little man beneath her mountainous body. Nightwing sprinted away from this staggering collapse but soon found himself in danger’s path again.

 

Black Canary backed fearfully away from her own hallucination, unaware of the tiny man underfoot. Nightwing was cast in shadow by the gray tread pattern above and quickly jumped to the side. The gigantic boot-clad foot came down with a crash and he was cast forward by the sudden displacement of air.

 

His minute body was tossed like a leaf on the wind, bringing him into a sudden collision with the dark purple boot of the Huntress. Before this terrible instrument could shift position, the little hero jumped atop it. Fighting to keep his balance, Nightwing fired a grapple line high into the sky, catching the edge of her collar and pulling him upwards. He clung tightly to this black leather wall, trying to get the woman’s attention.

 

“Huntress! Helena! Snap out of it! You have to get rid of that skull-gadget! The gas will—”

 

The normally fearless Huntress could not see the agitated little man just below her neck. In her eyes, he had become one of the countless spiders and insects that were crawling over every inch of her. With a shriek, she slapped her hands against her body in a futile attempt to drive back the swarm.

 

Nightwing ducked and weaved from his dangling position as enormous feminine hands crashed against her towering form like meteors falling from space. With no desire to end up a smear on her costume, he hastily sought refuge beneath the folds of fabric. The constant onslaught of her front was too dangerous so the tiny figure quickly slipped under the back of the Huntress’ collar. He tried to maintain a handhold but a sudden movement from his hostess sent him sliding down the smooth skin of her back and into a world darkened by a canopy of black leather.

 

Nearby, the Black Canary continued to stagger away from the object of her visions. The skeletal shape of her lover, Green Arrow, reached out to her with a beckoning gesture. Bits of rotting flesh clung to his bones and his tattered green Robin Hood costume was in rags.

 

“Dinah,” the Arrow said to her with a guttural croak. “Join meeeee…..”

 

Shaking violently, Black Canary could stand no more. With all the force she could muster, she let loose a shrill, ear-piercing scream. The chamber trembled and the windows of the helicopter shattered as the Canary’s metahuman sonic cry burst forth from her altered lungs. The destructive sound waves swept forward, blasting a hole in the side of the aircraft. At once, the pall of gas that hung over the group began to disperse through this opening. Within moments, the fearful hallucinations ceased.

 

Oracle uncurled from her defensive position in her chair. The terrible grin of the Joker disappeared and the murderous villain himself vanished into thin air. Regaining control of her senses, Barbara Gordon turned to her team.

 

“Everyone all right?”

 

Lady Blackhawk groaned and painfully propped herself up on her hands. “Urrgh…fine and dandy, Skipper,” she said, unconvincingly.

 

Pulling herself together, the Black Canary picked up the skull device and tossed it out the opening after the gas. “I guess it’s a fair assumption that the Scarecrow is involved in this case,” she declared. “This was a lucky break, guys. I could have killed someone with that blast.”

 

Oracle’s eyes shot open in alarm. “Oh God! Nightwing!” She looked at her shoulder and found it empty. Nervously, she felt about her person and scanned the immediate area. “We have to find him! He could have been…we might have…oh no…”

 

The Huntress’ heart was still pounding and she sat down in a nearby chair, waiting for her breathing to return to normal. At once, she bolted to her feet again in shock.

 

The others stared at her. “Helena?” the Canary said.

 

With a look of embarrassment, Huntress covered her posterior with both hands. “I, ah, think I found him.”

 

“Where is—”

 

“Give me a minute, okay?!” Stepping backwards, the Huntress slipped into the cockpit of the helicopter while slowly unzipping the back of her costume. She shortly returned, having removed Nightwing from his precarious location.

 

The miniature figure seemed a bit bruised and definitely shaken but was otherwise intact. “I have no idea how he got in my clothes, Barbara,” Huntress said, handing him back to Oracle. “I was not trying to steal your man, I swear to God.”

 

“I’m just glad he’s okay,” said Oracle, stroking the frightened little hero with her finger.

 

“Bad news, girls,” Lady Blackhawk called, after peering up through their new “skylight.” “This old bird’s grounded. Canary’s scream took out the rotors. Looks like we’re stayin’ in Ivytown a bit longer.”

 

As if sensing this rotten turn of luck, the com-link on Oracle’s laptop began to flicker. When the woman opened the connection, she was greeted by the masked visage of Batgirl. Robin sat upon her shoulder.

 

“Barbara, it’s bad,” Batgirl said. “Need help. Harley and Ivy have Batman.”

 

Oracle closed her eyes and rubbed them with sudden weariness. “Dammit. We had a little run-in with Scarecrow, Cass. We’re stuck here for the moment.”

 

“Unless,” she continued, “you can get us to Gotham another way…”

 

* * * *

 

“Left! No, your other left! Pull up, pull up!”

 

White-knuckled and terrified, Batgirl clutched the controls of the Batplane. With her mask pulled back, the tiny Robin sat halfway wedged in her ear, trying to guide the novice pilot through the motions. The dark, black jet careened wildly through the skies.

 

“You’re doing great, Cass, you’re—” The aircraft suddenly lurched to the side, sending Robin hurtling out of the young woman’s ear. He reached out and grabbed hold of her earlobe, dangling in the wind like a fashion accessory. With a bit of effort, he scrambled back up into the small alcove.

 

“Sorry,” said Batgirl.

 

“No problem,” Robin answered amiably, ignoring the chill that ran up his spine. “It’s hard to see the control board from here but I think we’re almost to Ivytown. Babs will know what to do. She always does.”

 

Batgirl certainly hoped so. They had no leads, no idea of where the villainesses had taken Batman. Oracle’s resources and contacts might be their best hope of locating their captured leader. Batgirl could only imagine what horrors he might be enduring at that very moment.

 

* * * *

 

            “More tea, Miss Battingsly?” Harley Quinn giggled as she loomed over the tiny doll tea set. In her shadow below, the shrunken Batman (now little more than half an inch high) glared up at her in rage. His dark costume was obscured by a red and white polka dot dress several sizes too big.

 

            “When I’m back to normal, Quinn,” he growled, “I’ll break every bone in your body.”

 

            Harley gave a mock gasp and clucked her tongue at him. “Such manners! That’s the last time I invite you over to the hideout! And here I was going to serve cucumber sandwiches later. Well,” she said with an impish grin. A giant hand reached down and plucked Batman from his seat, bringing him closer to Harley’s painted black lips. “I suppose there could always be a change on the menu…” The maniacal clown opened wide, guiding the tiny man into the warm, wet cavern. Batman steeled himself as he stared down the yawning abyss of her throat.

 

            Poison Ivy strolled over to where her partner was playing. “Now look who’s trying to eat him,” she laughed.

 

            Harley quickly removed the little man from her mouth. “I was just trying to scare him!”

 

            “Give him here, Harl,” Ivy said, holding out her hand. “I’ll show you how to really scare someone…”

 

            “By all means, do, dear lady,” a man’s voice said behind them. The two curvy criminals spun around to see the bearded face of Prof. Hugo Strange.

 

            “Hey, who’s the egghead?” said Harley.

 

            “What the hell are you doing here?” Ivy spat. “Professor…Weird, is it?”

           

“Strange,” the psychologist answered. “Hugo Strange, at your service. You look upon the man who has made this unique opportunity possible.”

 

“You did this to Batman?” Ivy asked. “So, what, you want a thank you or something? How about I not douse you in deadly nightshade for invading our home? Sound fair, little man?”

 

“I want nothing, Miss Isely,” Strange claimed. “I am guided by curiosity alone. Your escapades were all over the police bands and I determined that my escaped quarry was certain to be in your vicinity. And lo, there he is. I’m afraid red is simply not your color, Batman.”

 

“When I finish with Quinn,” Batman said through gritted teeth, “you’re next, Strange.”

 

The professor laughed. “My, listen to the little bat chitter. Was that a threat? I couldn’t hear him.”

 

“How’d you know we wouldn’t just kill him when we found him, Strange?” Ivy inquired.

 

“Please,” the scientist said. “I know the way your twisted mind works, Ivy. A woman with your penchant for extremist feminism and sadistic domination could never resist flaunting her superiority over an agent of the patriarchal order.”

 

“What’d he say?” Harley asked, bewildered.

 

“He said I like putting men in their place,” said Ivy. “I thought you were a psychiatrist before you went kooky, Harl.”

 

“Pfft,” Harley scoffed. “Like I ever had to study with a body like this. Teacher’s pet, baby!”

 

“Charming,” Prof. Strange deadpanned. “I must confess my disappointment, ladies. An arch-foe captured by two infamous criminals such as yourselves and the best you can come up with is a tea party?”

 

“That was Harley’s idea,” Ivy said, snatching Batman from her partner and taking off his ridiculous doll dress. “I had…other uses in mind.”

 

“Do tell,” said Strange. “Then please proceed. I’ve been anxious to learn the physical and psychological effects of miniaturization. This will make an excellent case study.”

 

Poison Ivy slowly sidled up to Strange and thrust out her chest seductively. “So…you like to watch, Professor?”

 

Hugo Strange tugged at his collar nervously. “Er…in so many words.”

 

Ivy licked her lips and smiled. “First, however, I’d say it’s time we find out who the Dark Knight really is,” she said.

 

“Child’s play,” said Prof. Strange. “I’ve known for years.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Harley challenged. “Then who is he, smarty-pants?”

 

“Such knowledge must be earned, Miss Quinn.”

 

“Well,” Ivy added, removing the minuscule man’s cowl, “we’re about to earn it. The Batman is really…”

 

A reverent silence passed as the two women peered at the struggling figure in Ivy’s fingers. Then they leaned closer. And squinted.

 

“…really tiny,” Ivy concluded. “Damn it, he’s too small! I can’t make out his face!”

 

Strange chuckled. “And thus, I remain among the elite. Only a select few foes are privy to the Batman’s identity. Ra’s al Ghul knows,” he said mockingly. “Bane knows. Hell, I think the Riddler found out once before he lost his memory…”

 

“Shut up, you!” Ivy shouted at the smug professor. “You want to watch me torture this pointy-eared freak? Take a seat, baldy! Harley, go find a magnifying glass for later!”

 

With fire in her eyes, Poison Ivy stuffed the half-inch Batman into her cleavage until he was buried up to his shoulders. She placed a hand on either side of her generous bosom and squeezed.

 

Colossal walls of soft, flagrant flesh closed in around the Caped Crusader, almost crushing him. Ivy squeezed tighter and the little man vanished entirely into this deep crevasse. The enormous breasts continued their assault and Batman was entombed in the depths of her décolletage. The air was forced from his lungs and he felt something snap within him. Just as he feared he would be mashed to pulp, the fleshy mountains receded slightly. Before the tiny prisoner could climb to freedom, Ivy began to shake her chest from side to side, jiggling her considerable assets freely. Batman was tossed to and fro off the soft barriers to either side. This unending motion threatened to give him whiplash. It was then that Ivy began to bounce.

 

“Fascinating,” came the muffled voice of Hugo Strange from above. “Overpowering him with the very symbols of your femininity. Your psychoses are simply delicious, Miss Isely. I could study you all night.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll bet you could,” Ivy agreed, sarcastically. Her voice reverberated throughout her chest, causing Batman’s prison to tremble.

 

As she paused to consider her next torment, Batman wasted no time. He pushed off the cushiony walls, sliding downward through Ivy’s leaf-covered bodice like an athlete competing in the luge.

 

Down the smooth surface of her belly he slid, bouncing slightly as he crossed her navel. At last, he came to rest at the bottom of her leotard. Ignoring for the moment that Poison Ivy was apparently not in the habit of wearing undergarments, he wriggled his way into her green tights and began to slide down her thigh.

 

Outside, Ivy began to squirm. “Ahh, it tickles, it—wait. Where’s he going?”

 

Drawing a batarang from his belt, Batman used the sharp edge of the weapon to slice through the lining of the stocking during his descent. He leaped out into the open air, freefell into a crouch onto Ivy’s boot, and sprung from atop her foot. Firing his grappling hook at a battered, discarded sofa serving as furniture in the villains’ lair, he was pulled away faster than the giantess could react. Enraged, Ivy watched him scurry underneath the couch like a cockroach.

 

“Why, you little worm!” Ivy shrieked. “That’s it! Screw the magnifying glass! When I find you, Batman, I’m going to squish you like a bug and spread what’s left on toast!”

 

Batman lurked in the shadows below the sofa and affixed an electronic tracer to one of its legs. He hoped the signal given off by this gadget would be strong enough. Much as he hated to admit it, he needed help.

The Batplane roared through the night sky, speeding towards Gotham City. Within its cockpit and rear compartment, five heroines (and two tiny men) were cramped close together like colorfully-clad sardines in a can. Not the most luxurious conditions but their time was too short for the grounded helicopter to be winched to the larger aircraft. The situation was dire and all secretly feared they would be too late to save the Batman. Thankfully, the Dark Knight’s distress signal had flared to life the second they entered the plane. If nothing else, they now had a destination.

 

Batgirl had gratefully swapped places with Lady Blackhawk, allowing an experienced pilot to take the controls. “Yee-hah!” the uniformed blonde had said. “I get to fly me a real, live Batplane! Hot diggety dog, look at all them buttons!”

 

Oracle wheeled her chair to the co-pilot position, hoping she remembered enough of her training to inform the other woman just what those myriad buttons, lights, and levers were for. The Batplane was not exactly a standard aircraft. Behind her, Batgirl, Black Canary, and the Huntress sat shoulder to shoulder, wincing as every bank and weave of the plane squeezed them all tighter against one another.

 

The miniature Robin and Nightwing were seated together on Batgirl’s lap, relieved to be in the company of someone of less monstrous proportions. Had they so desired, they could have crossed from one giant set of legs to the next, traversing their allies’ laps like a gently rolling landscape. Robin in particular had blushed more than once when he caught a glimpse of the creamy fishnet-covered plateau of the Canary’s thighs. Though their minds were on other business, the journey was tempting.

 

“I’m still not used to this,” he told Nightwing. He found it refreshing to be able to speak to someone without shouting his lungs out. “Everyone’s so damn huge!”

 

“Tell me about it,” Nightwing replied. “Babs almost swallowed me.”

 

“What? Get out!”

 

“Yeah. And Huntress sat on me. Long story.”

 

Robin shivered. “I keep getting these images of what Ivy might be doing to Batman. Biting off his head, ripping his little arms out, who knows what? Dick…do you think we’ll be in time?”

 

“I’m…not sure, Tim,” Nightwing admitted. “But if I know Batman, he’s probably already gone all ‘Jack the Giant-Killer’ on her. You know how Bruce’s mind works. He probably had a contingency plan for this situation the minute the Atom first joined the Justice League.”

 

* * * *

 

In fact, Batman had several contingencies worked out in the event of miniaturization by white dwarf radiation or other scientific/metaphysical means. But on paper, such a plan was one thing and in practice, it was a whole different animal. Instead of outwitting and escaping his giant captors right away, he’d been subjected to numerous humiliations and now hid himself among the grime and dust bunnies below Harley and Ivy’s couch.

 

Batman cursed himself for not finding a way out of this and winced in pain from what were surely several broken ribs and fractured bones. His deductive mind reasoned that the size and mass-altering effects of the Atom’s invention had increased his durability by a small margin. But the wounds he sustained within Poison Ivy’s constrictive décolletage were significant nonetheless.

 

A massive female hand reached below the sofa and began grasping blindly for him like a huge spider. Batman removed several mini-bombs from his belt and flung them at the offending digits. Poison Ivy quickly pulled her hand back from the tiny blasts. Though the explosions had no greater effect than a cigarette burn, they had still hurt. What’s more, they had made her angrier than ever.

 

“I’ll pop you like a grape, little man!” she snarled at him, sucking on her singed fingers. “Harley, help me move this couch!”

 

The clown-girl stood at her partner’s side hesitantly. “Aww, don’t hurt him, Red! Can’t he be our pet? I was gonna get a cage and an exercise wheel and some food pellets and everything! And just think of all the…fun we could have with him,” she said, smiling wickedly. “Like Richard Gere and his hamsters!”

 

Ivy answered in a sing-songy voice. “I’ll let you use the mallet…”

 

“Ooo, goody!” Harley squealed, jumping up and down and abruptly changing her mind. “Just like Wac-a-Mole!”

 

As the women bent over the sofa to lift it up, Hugo Strange admired the sight of their rumps protruding into the air. Ivy looked back over her shoulder in annoyance.

 

“You know, you could make yourself useful, Professor.”

 

“A scientist merely observes,” Strange replied. “To act upon an experiment would inevitably alter its outcome.”

 

“I’ll alter your outcome, you beady-eyed creep,” Ivy muttered.

 

With the sofa now relocated, Harley and Ivy peered down at the dirty floor but found no sign of their prey. At once, a series of pre-planted mini-bombs exploded like a line of firecrackers, causing the women to stumble backwards in surprise.

 

“Oh, that’s it,” said Ivy. “I’m gonna EAT that son of a bitch! Why did I let you talk me into keeping him alive this long?”

 

“Hey, you were having fun playing with him too, Red,” Harley insisted. “It’s like Geek-Boy over there said. You got all dom on the petrie-urkel oppressor.”

 

“Patriarchal.”

 

“That too.”

 

Batman, meanwhile, had scurried to another corner of the room (he hoped it never got out that the fearsome Dark Knight Detective had in fact “scurried” at one time). His keen eyes searched the hideout for somewhere he could conceal himself until help arrived. The vast jungle of potted plants was right out. This was Poison Ivy’s lair. Even an innocuous house plant was likely to be a carnivorous flesh-hungry mutant. Similarly, he hurried past one of Harley’s discarded bras, the curve of which now towered over him like a geodesic dome. Such a hiding spot would only court disaster. He finally slipped unnoticed into a crack in the wall.

 

The tiny Batman slunk into the shadows, clutching his injured side and acclimating to his new surroundings. In the darkness behind him came a low hiss and a bone-chilling shriek. He spun around to find himself in the path of a (relatively speaking) ten foot rat.

 

“It’s just one of those nights…” the miniature vigilante groaned, preparing for battle.

 

Meanwhile, unnoticed by the villainesses, a large, black object had come to a silent stop above the building, hovering ominously in the open air. The Batplane’s hatch opened and its passengers piled out onto the rooftop, relieved to be able to stretch once more.

 

“Gee, an abandoned building,” the Huntress whispered, inspecting their location. “That hasn’t been done before…”

 

“Well, where do you want super-villains to stay?” asked Black Canary in a similarly hushed tone. “The Hilton?”

 

“All right, ladies,” said Oracle from the open hatch of the plane. “Be on your guard. There’s no telling what those two nuts are up to or how small Batman is at this point. I’ll stay here to look after our Toy Wonders.” Batgirl stepped forward and dropped the shrunken Robin and Nightwing into Oracle’s upturned hand. The tiny figures tumbled over each other and rolled down the slope of her fingers.

 

As the other women sought an entrance to the villains’ lair, Oracle looked down at her little friends, leaning her huge face unnervingly close. A curtain of scarlet tresses surrounded them on both sides and her warm breath swept over them like a summer breeze. Robin and Nightwing could only focus on the movement of those massive, pillowy lips directly above their heads.

 

“How you holding up, boys?”

 

“Just dandy, Babs,” Nightwing called, projecting his voice once again. “I was just thinking about what Zinda said earlier about a bird in the hand.”

 

“Me too.” Oracle smiled. “Looks like I have a couple of them now.”

 

“Indeed,” the little man said. “But don’t get any ideas about the second part. You know, how it’s worth ‘two in the bush?’” Nightwing and the giant woman shared a chuckle but at these words, Robin was once again blushing like a school boy.

 

“Aww,” Oracle cooed, tickling the tiny teen with a fingertip. “I think we’re making Tim uncomfortable.”

 

Robin pushed the enormous finger aside in frustration. “How can you guys joke at a time like this? Batman could be nothing but a greasy stain or an undigested lump in Ivy’s stomach by now!”

 

Above him, Oracle’s expression immediately resumed a serious tenor. “I know, Robin,” she sighed. “We’re trying not to think about it. It’s out of our hands at the moment. Let’s just hope Canary and the girls come through.”

 

This aforementioned group had made its way to the skylight at the center of the roof and was preparing to stage an invasion as they spoke. “Since we’re about to rescue him,” said Black Canary, “how about an homage to the big guy? Dramatic skylight entrance in a shower of glass.”

 

“Careful where you land,” Huntress added. “We’re trying to save Batman, not squish him.”

 

“Woohoo, subterfuge,” Lady Blackhawk whispered. “So who’s first?”

 

Batgirl pushed past the older women. “Watch and learn,” she said.

 

The costumed teen leaped onto the center of the skylight, shattering the glass with her boots and shooting down into the building like a stone. Extending her arms, she spread her dark, gray cape to both sides with a near-silent flutter, casting the shadow of huge wings upon the criminals below. The cape billowed elegantly, slowing her descent like a parachute and allowing her to drift dramatically into the startled villains’ midst. She landed gracefully and immediately assumed a battle-ready position.

 

“Show-off,” Black Canary smirked as she lowered a rope down for herself and the others.

 

“Playtime’s over, girls,” Canary called to the villains. She soon noticed the presence of Hugo Strange. “Why, Prof. Strange! Just the demented misfit of science we were looking for!”

 

“Nice to be popular,” Strange answered with a sinister grin.

 

“Not so big without your shrink ray, are you, Prof?” Huntress sneered.

 

Behind Strange, Batgirl was already making mincemeat of the decidedly outclassed Harley Quinn.

 

“Ahhhh! Not in the face, not in the face!”

 

“All right, where’s Batman?” Canary continued.

 

Poison Ivy made a slight flourish with her hand, awakening the various genetically-altered “darlings” in her garden. Canary, Huntress, and Lady B were soon assaulted by slithering vines, flying spores, and toothy Venus flytraps from every side.

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Ivy scoffed.

 

“Uh, Red? Ow!” Harley called between beatings. “Wouldn’t we—ow!—like to know as well?”

 

“Shut up, Harley,” her partner snapped.

 

Seeing her allies in danger, Batgirl sent the clown to the floor with a well-placed kick to the stomach and bolted towards Ivy, hoping to break the woman’s hold on the deadly plants. She stopped in mid-stride as a familiar beam struck her body, causing it to rapidly dwindle. Within seconds, Batgirl had been reduced to three inches in height.

 

“Always carry a spare,” Strange said, producing a second shrink ray from his coat.

 

“Aw, crap,” said Canary. “Scatter!”

 

Strange swung his arm in a strafing maneuver, pointing the lens of the device and projecting beams left and right. Tables, chairs, plants and other assorted objects began to lose mass and assume an assortment of sizes. As the scientist laughed madly, the room became littered with miniatures and began to take on the appearance of an oddly scaled funhouse. A wayward beam struck the Huntress and reduced her to the proportions of a cricket. Another shrank Lady Blackhawk, turning the buxom blonde into a three foot dwarf. Black Canary attempted to evade but soon found herself a convincing double for her own action figures, little more than six inches high.

 

“Mmm, tiny ladies,” Poison Ivy purred. “Kinky.”

 

The voluptuous villainess stepped confidently towards the shrunken heroines, a sadistic gleam in her eyes. Lady Blackhawk instantly attacked the giantess’s shins but, lacking the combat training of her now smaller associates, proved ineffective. Ivy placed a hand on the small woman’s forehead and pushed her aside forcefully. The midget pilot landed in a heap.

 

“Watch it, hobbit,” said Ivy. “Or I’ll give you a spanking.”

 

The giant redhead loomed above the smaller members of the group, darkening their world in shadow. The ground rumbled and shook with each approaching step. This time, Ivy intended not to make the same mistake as with Batman. Lifting her foot high, she attempted to stomp the tiny women out of existence. The heroines darted away in panic, scurrying from Ivy’s feet like mice.

 

At an inch and a half tall, Huntress’s tiny legs could only carry her so far. Her blood ran cold as the huge shadow enveloped her again and Ivy’s vast boot hovered menacingly above. She closed her eyes and fingered the cross at her neck, whispering a prayer to God. Tears streaked Helena Bertinelli’s face and she hoped her sins would be forgiven.

 

As the massive green juggernaut descended, Batgirl charged forward and tackled the smaller Huntress, pushing them both out of the way. Ivy’s foot came down behind them with a deafening crash. She soon pivoted and made ready for another attempt.

 

“Hey, bubble-butt!” Canary shouted up at her, striking Ivy’s leg in a flying kick. “Why don’t you pick on someone who’s at least ankle-height!”

 

Ivy spun around in fury and dropped into a crouch, sweeping the doll-sized woman into her fist. She stood upright and squeezed the Canary tightly.

 

“Scream for me, blondie,” Poison Ivy snarled, tightening her fingers around the little woman’s waist.

 

Black Canary winced in pain and choked out her answer. “If…you…insist.”

 

Opening her tiny mouth, the Canary released another powerful sonic blast, striking her captor square in the forehead. Ivy’s head snapped back and her balance abandoned her. The curvaceous killer stumbled and fell backwards, cracking her head on the floor. Nearby, Batgirl and Huntress were thrown off their feet by the tremors of Ivy’s impact. A low groan escaped Ivy’s lips and the Canary pried the tree-trunk fingers apart, slipping out of her hand.

 

“Eat it, bitch!” the miniature blonde cried triumphantly.

 

From a few feet away, Huntress called out to her teammate. “Madre del Dio! Don’t tell her to eat anything until we’re sure she’s unconscious!”

 

Seeing that Ivy had failed, Prof. Strange stepped forward to try and collect some new “specimens.” Before he could reach for the tiny women however, the dwarfish Lady Blackhawk jumped onto his back and wrapped her arms about his neck.

 

“Don’t even try it, poindexter!” she yelled. “Gimme that shrink ray!”

 

“Miserable urchin!” Strange cried. “Release me at once!”

 

The two struggled back and forth for a time until Lady B managed to pry the shrinking device from his fingers. As Strange tried to recover it, the diminutive woman tossed it like a girl playing keep-away.

 

“Hey, Canary! Catch!”

 

Black Canary jumped to meet the falling gadget in mid-air but found it to be almost half her own size. The ray collided with her torso and sent her tumbling onto her back.

 

“Oof!”

 

Huntress and Batgirl ran to her side, helping their friend back to her feet. While Lady B continued to wrestle with Hugo Strange above, the tiny women hurried away. “Thank goodness you broke its fall, Dinah,” the Huntress said.

 

“Ugh…that’s not all I broke,” Canary replied. “Now how do you change the settings on this thing to grow us all back?”

 

Huntress, not even knee-high to the now-standing Canary, studied the bizarre device her friend held. “Can’t you, I don’t know, reverse the polarity or something?”

 

“Reverse the polarity?” Canary balked. “What is this, a Saturday morning cartoon?”

 

“What about this?” Batgirl said. She tapped a button on the controls and the device hummed to life. From where she lay sprawled nearby, the injured Harley Quinn opened one eye in curiosity.

 

“Nice work, kid,” Canary said. “But how do we know what that’ll do?”

 

“Test it on something first,” Huntress suggested. “Like that plant over there.”

 

Black Canary pointed the lens towards one of the miniaturized plants and fired. Before the beam could reach it however, Harley rolled into its path.

 

“Oooo….tingly,” she giggled. A few tense seconds followed and the women stared at her in horror. Within moments, Harley began to grow.

 

“Run!” Canary shouted as the women retreated from Harley’s rapidly expanding form. Strange and Lady B ceased their struggle and peered up at the soaring stature of the lady clown in awe.

 

“Oh dear…” the professor murmured. Both he and the pilot looked at each other and bolted for the door.

 

As Harley’s body reached the ceiling and began to fill the entire room, the shrunken heroines ran for cover, seeking refuge in a hole in the wall. The Barbie-sized Black Canary was the last to follow, crawling on all fours and nearly wedging her hips in the narrow opening. She soon squeezed through and joined the others in gawking at what they saw. A half-inch Batman, his costume tattered and blood spattering his face, sat astride a giant rat with a “bat-rope” threaded through its mouth like a pair of reins.

 

“Uhhh….hiya, Bats,” Canary said.

 

“Status update,” the Dark Knight barked with urgency.

 

The sound of a cracking ceiling, falling debris, and a booming giggle caused them all to turn. Huntress peeked out the hole, sheepishly. “Well, Harley Quinn seems to be about fifty feet tall and, um…you’re riding a rat, apparently.”

 

Batman sighed. “Definitely one of those nights…”

The ever-expanding Harley Quinn burst up through the roof of the building, sending debris crashing down on all sides. Her massive head rose like a leviathan, taking Oracle and the tiny occupants of the Batplane completely by surprise. Twenty-foot-long tassels projected forth from either side of her jester’s cap, springing upward with dangerous speed as they slipped through the opening in the rooftop. Harley’s cute button nose (more a boulder than a button at this point and decidedly less cute as a result) bumped the front of the plane as she emerged, shaking the hovering object violently. A vast painted white face with dark, black lips as big as a VW Beetle filled the aircraft’s windscreen.  

                                                  

“Wheeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!” the thunderous voice of the giantess squealed.

 

“Oh hell,” said Oracle, staring in astonishment at this surreal vision. She wasn’t sure what had just happened but they had to get out of there fast.

 

“Sorry, boys, I need my hands.” Unsure what else to do with them, Oracle closed her fingers around the miniature Robin and Nightwing and quickly stuffed them down her top, stowing them safely in her bra. Ignoring their ticklish squirming, she used all her upper body strength to pull herself from her wheelchair into the captain’s seat nearby. Oracle took the controls of the plane and prepared to beat a hasty retreat.

 

“Ooo, lookit!” Harley boomed, spotting the jet black craft. A gargantuan red-gloved hand burst out of the building, taking another section of the roof with it, and pinched the Batplane between thumb and forefinger. The plane’s turbines whined and screeched as it tried to free itself from the giant woman’s grasp.

 

Harley brought the tiny jet close to a huge, blue eye. She attempted to peer inside but was thwarted by the impenetrable tinted windows. “Who’s in there?” she said. “Can’t be Batman, he’s downstairs still. Unless I squished him just now. Hee hee! Maybe it’s the bird-boy. Or his big brother, Night-brat. Well, whoever you are….wanna play?”

 

The giantess spun her arm about in a wild looping pattern, simulating the flight of the miniature aircraft in her fingers. Oracle clutched the sides of her chair as the jet tilted violently from side to side, turning and banking erratically and forming exotic figure eights in mid-air. Within her bra, Robin and Nightwing were tossed back and forth, half-crushed as their redhead companion’s breasts slapped together with each turn.

 

“Zoom! Zoom!” Harley giggled. “Bat-Jet to tower, permission to land requested!” Harley made a fist with her other hand and covered her mouth, muttering like a garbled radio broadcast. “*click* This is Harley Tower (hee hee!), you are cleared for landing, Bat-Jet-One!”

 

At last, Harley brought the tiny plane to a halt in front of her huge face. “You know, when I was a little girl,” she told it, “and I wouldn’t eat my vegetables, Mama used to play a game with me called ‘airplane.’ Went something like this, as I recall…”

 

The demented titaness opened her lips wide, giving Oracle an unobstructed view of a staggeringly vast mouth. Rows of sharp, gleaming white teeth framed the entrance to this spacious cavern and several thick strands of glistening saliva stretched from floor to ceiling. Harley’s tongue undulated below expectantly, flattening itself out to form a slippery runway. In the distance, a rounded uvula the size of a man dangled above a gorge of blackness. The Batplane’s windows fogged up from the humidity of a hot, wafting breath. With a childlike “Aaaaahhhhh,” the giant woman slowly brought her toy closer.

 

“Oh, I don’t think so, clown,” Oracle said, depressing a small, green button on the plane’s dashboard. Instantly, two guided missiles blasted from the front of the jet and shot into the darkness of Harley’s throat. The colossal mouth was illuminated by the glow of an explosion.

 

“Yoww!!!!” Harley shrieked, losing her grip on the plane. Oracle grabbed the controls and turned the aircraft around desperately, taking off into the sky.

 

Harley gently massaged her throat as gray wisps of smoke drifted out from between her lips. “Wow. Spicy,” she said. She looked for the little plane but found it had eluded her. “That’s okay,” Harley giggled, looking out at the miniature buildings that surrounded her. “I have so many other toys to play with.”

 

Once her heart rate had calmed, Oracle flipped on her com-link and tried to contact her agents. “Canary, Huntress, Batgirl! Anyone alive down there? What the hell happened?!”

 

The radio crackled and a small, distant voice replied. “We’re all right for the moment, Babs,” Black Canary said. “And we found Batman.”

 

“Thank God,” murmured Oracle.

 

“Umm, we got the size-ray but there was a slight mishap.”

 

“Ya think?!!” Oracle shouted back to her.

 

“Hey, at least we know the growth setting works!” Canary said, trying to be helpful. “I always thought Atom’s gizmo just shrank things and changed them back. Either Harley got a really big dose of the radiation or Strange has been making some alterations.”

 

“Worry about that later,” declared Oracle. “Can you reverse it?”

 

The sound of crumbling mortar and brick cut into their conversation as Harley burst through the wall of the building and out onto the street. With a few mighty strides, she’d traversed a city block and was far outside the range of the weapon held by the miniaturized women below.

 

“Damn it,” Oracle cursed under her breath. “I’ll try to distract her. But one of you needs to either shrink this crazy down or get up here and fight on her terms!”

 

Oracle’s brow knit with concern as she watched the still growing giantess lumber away. The immediate area was mostly empty warehouses and condemned buildings, the perfect hideout for criminals on the lam. But a few giant steps to the north was the residential section of Park Row, Gotham’s so-called “Crime Alley.” Unless they acted now, people were going to die.

 

Far below, the shrunken heroes had climbed out of their mousehole sanctuary, as the structural integrity of the building was no longer certain. An entire wall and most of the roof was now decimated by the giant Harley’s improvised exit. The remaining segments of the hideout groaned ominously and masonry periodically tumbled to the floor. Somewhere in the wreckage, Poison Ivy lay unconscious or dead, though there was neither the time nor inclination from the group to look for her.

 

The tiny champions scurried along behind the Batman, who was skillfully steering his rat steed like he’d been born for it. He led the animal out the gaping hole where a wall once stood and onto the dirty city street. Harley towered in the distance, squeezing her wide hips through the gap between the buildings and laughing with manic glee.

 

“Make me bigger,” Batman growled.

 

The doll-sized Black Canary stared at the half-inch man in shock. “Batman, you’re bleeding,” she said. “That rat nearly killed you. I don’t think you’re in any condition to—”

 

“Make. Me. Bigger,” he said again. Gotham’s guardian jumped from the rodent’s back and staggered towards her, stumbling a bit on his tiny legs. His costume was in shreds and a sudden cough spattered his chin with blood. Batman lost his balance and nearly tumbled to the ground. Closest to his scale, the inch and a half tall Huntress quickly rushed forward to catch him in her arms like a small child.

 

“Screw this,” Canary said, taking the lead. “Here’s what’s happening…” As she was an Amazonian six inches high compared to her tiny companions, no one was about to argue.

 

“Batgirl, point this doohickey my way and make me as big as Harley,” the Canary insisted. She handed the size-altering device to the three inch girl beside her, who bent at the knees and strained to hold the large object aloft. “Then get to safety and figure out how to set it for normal size.”

 

“The rest of you, stand back,” said Canary. “I’m about to move up in the world.”

 

As Batgirl pressed the button, a beam shot forth and bathed Canary in its rays. Her body began to rapidly rise into the heavens, sending her miniature friends scurrying for shelter. In seconds, Black Canary loomed above the street enormously, a blonde colossus in fishnets and leather. She quickly turned to find her opponent.

 

Several blocks ahead, Harley Quinn was having the time of her life. The pavement cracked with each mighty step she took and many a parked car and newsstand disappeared under her feet. At this late hour, the streets were mostly deserted but the appearance of the giant woman had sent every night owl, street walker, and drug dealer of Crime Alley into a panic. Miniscule people ran from the massive jester, their fear filling Harley with delight.

 

The Batplane buzzed about her head like a dragonfly but the giantess merely swatted at it, slapping the little nuisance with the back of her hand. The jet was sent into a violent tailspin and spun wildly away. Harley giggled and went back to her games.

 

Stooping down, she reached out and grabbed a little man. Harley rose back to her full height and held this poor devil in her vast palm. With a giggle, she began turning her hand over, watching as the man desperately scrambled up her fingers. Just as he clambered up onto the tops of her knuckles, Harley tilted her hand back the other way. Like a trapped insect, he could only crawl for safety. At last, the giantess ceased her game and leaned dangerously close to get a better look at her petrified prisoner.

 

“Say, you’re cute!” she boomed. “How’s about a kiss?”

 

Gigantic lips as black as midnight descended onto the screaming man, pressing his body into her gloved hand. When Harley pulled away, he had vanished. Quizzically, her tongue flicked out and traced its way along her upper lip. Sure enough, the man was stuck to the soft, moist surface like a cereal flake. He now adhered to the tip of her tongue however and as that huge muscle retracted, he was drawn with it into the humid cavern of her mouth. Harley squealed as she felt him, nearly deafening her new plaything. She thrust out her tongue and plucked up the little man.

 

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” she demanded. “Trying to French me on a first date? Naughty-naughty, little guy! You go squish now!”

 

“Put him down!” a voice thundered behind her. Harley turned to face the now-giant Black Canary and arched an eyebrow in surprise. For a moment, a tense silence hung in the air.

 

“…’Kay,” Harley said at last with a shrug. She held out her hand and released the man into a freefall. The Canary gasped and lunged forward to catch the plummeting figure. The tiny man landed safely in her palm and she breathed a sigh of relief. Naturally, Harley chose this moment to kick her square in the head.

 

Black Canary shot backwards and collapsed onto the pavement, causing a minor quake to the area. Her fist tightened around the man in her hand, almost crushing him. Once she’d landed, her fingers uncurled and she peered at the little person with clouded vision.

 

“Get outta here,” she told him. The terrified man whimpered but jumped off her palm and dashed into the night. Canary smiled weakly. One life saved, only a few million to go.

 

Harley lumbered forward and stood over Black Canary’s fallen form, straddling her triumphantly. “Well, look who’s a big girl now! You shopping at the Big ‘N Tall too, Canary?”

 

In answer, the Canary brought her foot up and kicked the other woman right between the legs.

 

“Yeep,” Harley squeaked. Canary swept her other leg to the side, knocking Harley off her feet and sending her crashing backwards onto her butt. The city shuddered around them.

 

Both women grunted in pain and climbed back up to a standing position. “Oh, it’s ON now, sister!” Harley cried, leaping forward.

 

A flurry of giant arms and legs almost as long as the street soon followed, colliding into one woman or the other. Under normal circumstances, the ditzy clown would be no match for the Canary’s martial arts ability. But in the narrow space between the buildings of Park Row, both combatants found their movement severely limited. With each attack, their hips and elbows brushed against the buildings, knocking loose bricks and shattering windows left and right.

 

Harley got in a lucky punch only to have her enemy grab a tassel on her hat and tug it like a schoolgirl pulling hair. Canary yanked on the headgear and used its leverage to slam the woman down onto the pavement. Recovering quickly, Harley scooted under the Canary’s legs and kicked her in the back. The giant blonde fell forward onto her stomach and crushed a Studebaker under her sizeable chest. Dusting herself off, she spun around in rage.

 

“Oops,” said Harley sarcastically as she punched a gaping hole in a nearby building.  She scraped her fingers along the side of an old tenement, leaving long gashes in the wall with her nails. “How clumsy of me!” She kicked at the foundations of another two buildings, leaving huge boot-shaped depressions and causing the structures to collapse in on themselves.  “Dear me, I’m such a klutz!”

 

Harley grinned like a Cheshire cat as the Canary’s face contorted with anger. Some of these buildings were certain to be occupied. The heroine lunged for her, ready to stop this destruction.

 

“Ah ah ah, sweetie,” Harley mocked. She clasped her hands together and held them like a sledgehammer over another building. “You wouldn’t want me to fall and crush all these po’ wittle people, would ya? Now just back up nice and slow, prom queen.”

 

Black Canary paused, considering her options. If this battle continued, they could take out half the city before Harley was stopped. And she knew this madwoman wouldn’t be as cautious with her movements as Canary had attempted to be (emphasis on “attempted.” Her right breast still stung from the car squashed beneath its weight and she prayed to God the vehicle had been empty at the time). Canary’s sonic scream was not a tactic she was even prepared to consider. At this scale, its destructive force would be catastrophic. This left only one alternative: Outsmart Harley Quinn.

 

Not the most challenging task, all things considered.

 

“All right, Harley,” Black Canary said, lifting up her hands in mock surrender. “You win. But at what cost? We’re both stuck being freakin’ ginormous.”

 

“Yeah, I know!” the clown girl laughed. “Isn’t it awesome?! I can’t wait to show Mr. J! I’m gonna dunk my Puddin’ in a vat of puddin’ and lick him clean!” Harley stuck out her tongue and lapped at the air excitedly.

 

As tempting as the thought of a giant Harley tormenting the Joker was, Canary continued her ruse. “A vat of pudding? Seriously? But look at all the weight you’ve gained. I mean, your butt must be the size of the Gotham Knights stadium!”

 

“What?! It is not!” Harley peered back over her shoulder, trying to get a look at her derriere. When she faced forward again, the next sight she saw was Canary’s fist hurtling towards her like a rocket.

 

Black Canary’s knuckles connected with the clown’s face at full force, sending Harley tumbling swiftly backwards. The dazed Harley hit the street behind her at top speed, cracking the asphalt and bursting an underground water main. The impact of the giant woman’s body caused a massive tremor the likes of which were unknown in the region since the Gotham Cataclysm of ’98. Buildings shuddered, pavement cracked, babies wailed, and people flocked to doorframes hoping to save themselves. But at last, mercifully, Harley Quinn lay unconscious.

 

Stepping over the slumbering giant, the Canary rushed to the collapsed and damaged buildings. As carefully as she could, she dropped to her knees and began sifting through the wreckage, looking for survivors. She gently scooped out the dead and wounded with her long, slender fingers, depositing them on the street beside her.

 

Glancing down at the bystanders and the still-conscious victims, Black Canary began barking directions. “What, you’ve never seen a 100 foot blonde before? Quit gawking and help these people! Move those girders, check under everything! Someone call 911!”

 

“Y-yes, ma’am!” a miniature citizen stammered. “W-What about that crashed plane a block from here?”

 

Canary frowned. “Crashed plane? Oh God! Oracle!”

 

Further down the street, the tail end of the Batplane protruded from the side of a building, smoke and fire rising up from its crumpled, black form. Harley’s casual swat had sent it careening into the fourth story of a tenement, nearly killing the surprised inhabitants of the squalid apartment. With growing dread, Black Canary stepped over the tiny rescue efforts and hurried to the site of the crash. She pulled the plane out of the wall and blew out the fires with a mighty breath.

 

“Please be okay, please be okay,” Canary whispered as she peeled open the top of the broken jet. At the controls, Oracle’s miniature body was slumped forward over the steering wheel. No movement was visible. As gently as possible, Canary lifted the still form of her best friend and held her up to her face.

“C’mon, Barbara, don’t do this to me,” she said, fighting back tears. “Sweetie, I can’t give you CPR, you’re the size of a Jujy Fruit. Barb….please….”

 

The little redhead lay motionless in the giantess’ palm. Moments passed. At last, the tiny woman gave a faint cough and halfway opened her eyes, staring up at her enormous savior.

 

“From now on…” Oracle muttered, “…I leave…the flying…to Zinda.”

 

“Oh, thank goodness,” said Canary, planting a delicate kiss on the little woman’s face.

 

Oracle rubbed her throbbing head and tried to sit up. This was a decision she immediately regretted. Resting her head back on Canary’s palm, she took in the sight of her friend’s gargantuan body. “You look incredible, Dinah.”

 

“You should try it some time,” Black Canary giggled.

 

“Been there, done that. Relatively speaking,” said Oracle. “On that note, let me check on my passengers.” She tugged at the neckline of her shirt and searched for her shrunken friends. “You guys okay in there?”

 

As Oracle reclined, the miniscule Nightwing popped out from under the fabric and slid down the curve of her breast, landing on her collarbone. “We’re okay, Babs,” he called up to her. “The impact was cushioned in there.”

 

“Where’s Robin?” she asked.

 

“I think he’s…gone spelunking.”

 

Oracle’s eyes widened and her face flushed slightly. She dug her fingers into her cleavage and fished around for the lost little one. She finally pulled him out by the end of his cape and dangled him before her.

 

Robin looked panicked. “I…uh…Barbara, this isn’t what it looks like!”

 

“Never mind, Tim,” she told him. “Say hi to the nice giantess.”

 

“Umm…hi?” Robin said, waving at her.

 

“Not me!” Oracle laughed. She pointed up at Black Canary. “Her.”

 

The looming shape that filled the horizon was incomprehensible to the tiny Robin and Nightwing. At their scale, they couldn’t even recognize this upright continent as their friend Dinah Lance. Canary squinted and leaned closer, trying to see the near-invisible figures in the already-tiny Oracle’s hands. “Hiya, boys,” said the sonorous voice of a goddess. The minute figures shrieked and clutched their hands to their ears.

 

In a few giant strides, the group was reunited with their other allies, who had at last resumed their natural size after some trial and error. Lady Blackhawk was sitting on Hugo Strange’s chest, pinning the winded scientist to the ground.

 

“Hawkaaaah!!!” she shouted, pumping her fists in the air with her triumphant Blackhawk battle cry. “Poindexter here gives up,” she said. “He told me where Scarecrow’s keepin’ that Atom fella. Ain’t that right?” She pinched Prof. Strange’s cheek and shook his face side to side.

 

“Yes, yes. Just get off me, you simpering twit,” Strange answered in annoyance.

 

From the shadows nearby, the rat-ravaged Batman regarded the group and injected himself with a Rabies shot from his belt. Fighting back his pride, he at last addressed the women. “Strange and Harley are down and I found Ivy unconscious in the wreckage. All things considered…nice work, ladies. But I’d prefer we never speak of this incident again.”

 

“Which part?” asked Huntress. “When Poison Ivy tried to eat you? Or kept you prisoner with her boobs? Or maybe that bit where you were fighting the giant rat?”

 

Batman scowled.

 

“We should, um, make everyone…normal again,” Batgirl said in her halting manner.

 

Black Canary smiled down at her friends with mischief in her eyes. A devious smile curled her lips. “Don’t change me back just yet,” she said. “Got some unfinished business before this case is wrapped up…”

 

* * * *

The Scarecrow hovered over a small cage on his desk, peering at the despondent little man sitting in the corner. He tried to manage a half-hearted cackle but the joy had gone out of him. Torturing his tiny prisoner had long since grown tiresome.

 

“I do wish Strange would get back,” the bored arch-villain muttered.

 

“You and me both, ugly,” Atom sneered.

 

Just then, the walls of the hideout creaked and groaned and a giant hand pried open the roof. A huge feminine face framed by a curtain of silky, golden hair filled the opening above.

 

“Boo,” said Black Canary. The Scarecrow screamed in terror, tasting his own medicine once again.

 

The Huntress jumped down from Canary’s shoulder and proceeded towards the cage on the desk. “Dr. Choi, I presume?” She opened the latch and gently lifted the tiny man out.

 

“Thanks, lady,” the Atom said, sitting in her hand. “If I had to listen to this guy whine for another day, I’d have gone crazy.”

 

“Let’s get you back to normal, Dr. Choi,” said Huntress. “Then the girls and I have a proposition for you.”

“Does Little Hugo want some cheese? Huh? Huh? You want some cheese, little guy?”

 

Dr. Ryan Choi (now restored to his natural height and once again in control of the size-altering ray) peeked down into the maze at the center of the laboratory table. Scurrying through its corridors were the tiny, mouse-like figures of Hugo Strange and the Scarecrow.

 

“You insolent cretin!” Strange bellowed up at him. “I am Hugo Strange! The greatest criminal genius of this age! I’ve brought the Batman to his knees! I demand you restore me at once!”

 

The Scarecrow tossed a moldy piece of Gouda at the scientist’s head. “Shut up and eat your cheese, Hugo.”

 

The End