"Thirty minutes until you're on." Courtney cringed as the toneless screech of her manager carried through the closed door, grinding her teeth in annoyance. The young star's head was pounding from the night before, a result of copious amounts of alcohol and not enough sleep, and the last thing she needed at the moment was the ear piercing squawk of some middle-aged sow. Running her fingers through her short, black hair, the guitarist let out a sigh, leaning back against the leather cushions of her chair.

"What's wrong? Party too hard?" Beth's words lacked any degree of concern, instead carrying a note of cattiness as per the norm. While Courtney, dressed in the black garbs of a Goth, was referred to as the "Devil" of Shotgun Lollipop, Beth's moniker was that of the "Angel," though things couldn't have been farther from the truth. The fans would have been devastated to learn that, despite her kind and quiet facade, she was as loud and bitchy as the best of them. However, her most damning secret was that, despite her ample bosom and feminine curves, the parts between her legs were not that of a lady.

"Mind your own damned business drag queen. Why don't you go beat your meat or something." Irritable and hung-over, Courtney lashed out at Beth, her voice cracked and raw. Beth brushed aside a stray strand of her blond hair, her pale cheeks flushing red with anger at the mention of her sex.

"Don't you fucking dare mention that in public. We've got to go onto live television in thirty minutes. You hear me? Thirrrrty Minnnnutes. Yet, here you are with a fucked up voice, again!" Beth's nails dug into the arm of her chair as she spoke, the soft creak of straining leather punctuating her words. Courtney took a sip of her water, clearly ignoring the group's singer. She knew from experience that by engaging with the sharp tongued blond, she would only end up on the losing side of the argument. Besides, it wasn't as if there were any real risk of her spoiling the singer's secret. They were in a private room after all. The best course of action was to remain silent and allow her coworker to work herself into a tizzy. Before things could escalate too far, their third intervened.

"Hey, cut it out. You've had this argument over a dozen times, and each time it ends the same. Heather strains her voice yelling, and Beth doesn't change. This time, can we just skip the drama, do our jobs, and get this over with?" Despite the softness of Heather's voice, it carried with it a weight of authority, and immediately both fell silent. Dressed in a suit and fedora, the drummer was the least outstanding of the three, wearing her short brown hair in a plain fashion. She was quiet, reserved, and according to Shotgun Lollipop's fan base, she was the least popular of the three idols. However, despite this, her role was irreplaceable. Of all the people in the world, only Heather could mitigate Beth and Courtney's infighting. Without her, there would be no Shotgun Lollipop.

"Fine." Both of the girl's grumbled in unison, darting a glance towards one another. There was something about the unshakable nature of Heather that intimidated them, as if there was always something she knew that they didn't and to disagree with her was stupid. Then again, maybe it was true. Every time either of the girls had gone against the drummer's advice, something bad had happened. Sighing at the throbbing pain in her temples, Courtney reached into the pocket of her leather jacket, producing a small bottle.

"Really? You're going to do that here?" Beth scoffed in disgust as she sighted the innocuous bottle.

"What? You were just complaining about how hung-over I was. Now you're complaining about my remedy?" Courtney rolled her eyes as she twisted off the cap to her bottle, ignoring the other woman's glare.

"What remedy? You're just popping more pills."

"Enough." Once more, Heather's broke in, tossing a knowing glance with Beth and putting an end to the argument. As Courtney leaned her head back to swallow from her water bottle, a small gleam caught the corner of her eye. Turning, the guitarist found herself staring at a small end table, its only decoration a small lamp.

"What?" Heather's voice peaked in interest as her coworker continued to look, refusing to break her gaze.

"I don't know. I could have sworn I saw a flash."

"You probably see a lot of things." Once more, Beth's catty voice broke in. However, Courtney merely waved her off. Standing up, the dark haired girl made her way towards the table.

"No, I'm serious. There was something there. I don't know what..." As Courtney reached the table, her voice trailed away, a look of astonishment crossing her face. However, after a moment, her face changed to one of panic. Reaching downward, the starlet quickly dove for something, knocking over the lamp in the process and nearly smashing her face against the table.

"What the fuck is this?" A mixture between surprise and horror, Courtney cautiously rose, holding her cupped hands outright as she turned to face the other two. Curious, Beth and Heather both leaned closer.

"Is that..." Beth's voice trailed off as she got a good look at what lay within Courtney's palms.

Quivering and clearly shaken, something resembling a small doll rested within the guitarist's hands, no taller than her middle finger. He looked to be male, though at that size it was hard to tell, wearing a long sleeve shirt a jeans of some sort. Various pieces of climbing gear were interspersed upon his person, and a large backpack clung to his back. A camera dangled from a strap around the man's neck.

"Is that a camera?" Heather's voice was flat as she examined the tiny man, her tone unrecognizable. At her words, the man fumbled with his strap around his neck, seeking to conceal the device.

"Oh shit. A journalist." Beth's voice was tight with panic. Immediately, she reached forward, pressing her finger into the man's chest, seeking to take his camera.

"Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! He snapped a picture of my pills. You don't think he got a clear picture, do you?" Courtney's voice was shaking, her uncertainty clear. With a few quick strides, Beth was at her side.

"Hand it over." Heather's words were sharp as anger colored her tone, an uncommon sight for the normally unshakable brunette. However, rather than comply, the journalist immediately dropped to cradle his camera.

"Son of a..." Courtney flushed red, her temper rising.

"Oh shit, you stupid cunt, he heard." Beth's face paled as the realization hit her, and Heather's head snapped sharply towards the blond. Courtney's eyes widened.

"Oh god. I'm so sorry." As realization of what she'd done washed over Courtney, Heather extended her hand forward. The Goth passed the man over without hesitation.

"The camera, NOW!" Heather's normally stony composure continued to crack as the pressure began to mount. As the cameraman continued to refuse to cooperate, the brunette shifted tactics, tightening her fist around him.

"What are you doing?!" Courtney's voice was a mixture of shock and horror, but Heather paid her no mind, focused on her task.

"I'm getting the camera."

"You can't just squeeze him. What if you injure him?" The room grew silent as the Heather released her grip, opening her hand once more.

"The camera." Where before, Heather's voice had been close to breaking, it now seemed cold and emotionless. A shiver went down Courtney and Beth's spines. Sensing the shift in mood, the journalist complied, handing over his camera.

"Do either of you have a pocket?" Heath's eyes panned across the other two women, taking in their outfits. They were all in costume, tight jeans and silky pants, ready for their interview on live television. However, any pockets were merely for show. After a moment, Beth walked over and picked up her bag.

"There's a side pocket on my purse." The blond held her bag outstretched, exposing the open pocket. In a single, smooth motion, the drummer quickly deposited the camera inside.

"Now, should we hand him over to security?" Much of the tension had left Courtney's voice, now that she was sure her pill popping wouldn't be exposed. However, an anxious expression still hovered on Beth's face.

"We can't let him go yet. He knows my secret. What if he has a recorder?" Heather looked over at Beth as she spoke, her voice tight with worry. A moment later, her attention snapped back to the camera man. However, before she could act, their manager's voice called out from the hallway once more.

"You girls have fifteen minutes until you're on." The girls paused for a moment, their faces paling.

"Oh shit. What do we do?" Courtney was once again at a near panicked state.

"He's so small. It's not like we can search him. We'll have to strip him naked in order to make sure he doesn't have anything." Heather's voice was tight, her nervousness clear.

"We don't have time. We have to be out in fifteen minutes. We'll need somewhere to put him so we can deal with him later." Beth was breathless, her head light.

"What about your purse?" Heather wiped some sweat from her forehead as she spoke.

"It buttons. It doesn't zip. He'll be able to climb out. Yours?" At Beth's question, both of the girls shook their heads.

"Oh shit. What are we going to do?" Courtney looked as if she were going to be sick. Once more Heather turned her attention back to the shrunken journalist.

"Your phone. Now." Despite the menace of her command, the journalist didn't budge. Heather's brow furrowed.

"Hand it over or I'll break your arms." To show she meant business, the drummer gave the man a quick flick, knocking the air from his lungs.

"What the hell are you doing?" Courtney's voice rose in shock.

"We don't have time to play around. I'm certain he didn't get into this room without at least one other person helping him, and if he has a phone he can call for help. This is serious. If he does have a recorder and he does manage to get away without us having destroyed the recording, this could very well be the end of Shotgun Lollipop. We can't let Beth's secret get out." Heather gave a pointed look at Courtney, daring her to protest.

"This isn't right. He's a person. We can't just hurt him." Despite her protests, Courtney's voice was weak and unsure. Seeing her co-star somewhat cowed, Heather turned back to the journalist.

"You have one more chance before I start crushing limbs. Hand over your phone." Heather's voice was cold as ice as she stared down at the shrunken man. He didn't hesitate to comply. With a deft motion, the phone joined the camera in Beth's purse.

"Fine, we've got his phone. Now let's put him in a cup or something and let's get out of here." Courtney was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of holding another person captive and was eager to get things over with. However, once more, Heather chimed in.

"No. We have to take him with us. If we leave him here, someone might find him or he might even end up in the trash."

"Then what do we do? None of our purses zip and none of us have pockets." Courtney seemed as if she were about to break down completely.

"Um, I have something that might work..." Beth's face flushed red as she spoke, uncertainty coloring her tone.

"We don't have the time to be shy. Just say it." Heather's voice was sharp and to the point.

"A...a condom." Beth's voice was nearly unintelligible, barely more than a whisper.

"What do you mean?" Though news of a potential solution had somewhat calmed the guitarist, uneasiness still colored her voice.

"Well, I have a spare set of earrings in my purse. We could use them to poke a whole bunch of holes in the rubber. Then, we could simply put him and tie off the end and leave him in one of our purses." Beth's voice was quiet, as if admitting she used a rubber was paramount to giving away her secret.

"That won't work. We can't bring our purses with us on stage, so we'd still have to leave our bags in the dressing room. If his partner comes look for him and can't get in contact with him, the first place he'll check is our bags. He needs to stay on our person." Heather's words were delivered with a flat tone. The room fell silent, pregnant with anticipation.

"What if we... keep him on our person? You know, like, in our bra?" Beth's voice finally broke the silence, her face going completely crimson as she spoke. Courtney's face flushed a little, and even Heather's face was turning a bit red. The girls all remained silent as they considered the thought. Finally, Heather broke the silence.

"A bra won't work. The weight of our breasts could compress his chest, preventing him from inhaling... We all know what needs to be done. The only question is, who will do it?" Heather ended her words with an ominous tone.

"No fucking way. That's sick." Courtney's disgust was palpable as she spoke.

"You were the one who blabbed in the first place. You should be the one to do it." Beth's voice dripped with accusation, but Courtney simply shook her head.

"I can't and I won't. I'd rather go to jail." Rather than defiant, Courtney's expression was sad. She knew she'd messed up, but she couldn't bring herself to make things right. Sensing she would make no progress, Beth turned towards Heather. A shake of the head was her only reply. Beth quickly wiped the tears from her eyes, careful not to ruin her makeup.

"I hate you!" Her anger was directed towards Courtney. The guitarist shied away as if physically struck. Using her anger to drive away the disgust, Beth snatched a condom from her purse, tearing it open before proceeding to poke it full of holes.

"Ten minutes left." Once more their manager shouted through the door, unaware of the mood.

"I'm afraid it gets worse." Heather's voice was flat as she hesitated to continue. Beth looked up in alarm.

"How can it get worse?" Before Beth could even voice her concern, Courtney voiced hers.

"If you just put him in your underwear, you'll end up sitting on and killing him. You'll need to do something more."

"No." Beth's refusal was soft and sharp, but no less forceful. Tears began to trail down her cheek, ruining her makeup, but she no longer cared. What did it matter? Her career might very well be over. After a moment, she began to sob. Tears began to well up in Courtney's eyes as well.

"Fine. I'll do it." Heather's voice was soft and resigned. After a moment of stunned silence, she continued.

"Leave. Go get your makeup touched up and tell the manager I'm having some trouble. Say that I'm on my period or something. If I'm going to do this, I'd rather not be watched." Heather's voice was soft and fragile.

"Thank you. Oh God, thank you so much." Tears continued to fall down Beth's cheek, though this time they were tears of joy. Courtney remained silent, feeling miserable.

"Hurry up. We haven't got much time." Heather shooed away the other two women, and soon enough she found herself alone.

"Five minutes." At the sound of her manager's voice, Heather turned to face the journalist.

"And here I'd thought I would have gotten to see something fun. Too bad." In a moment, her demeanor changed. The mask that was Heather, the remorseful girl willing to take one for the good of the group, was gone and in its place was that of Heather, master manipulator, sociopath, and sadist.

"You really are stupid, you know that right? Shrinking yourself down to snap some pictures? One of a thousand different things could've gone wrong, ending in your death, and nobody would've been to blame. You could've been stepped on by accident, tossed in the trash, or even accidentally sucked up by a vacuum cleaner had the janitor decided to stop in for some last second cleaning. Even if you were to go missing, nobody would report what had actually happened. Shrinking a person is a felony with a minimum sentence of twenty-five years." Heather paused, allowing the meaning of her words to set in.

"At least something worthwhile came of this mess." In a single, casual motion, Heather lifted her hand to her mouth, popping her struggling victim onto her tongue. The acidic taste of clothing and body soil struck her taste buds like a fragrant bouquet of fear and desperation, the doomed journalist's struggles stimulating the sensitive tissue of Heather's mouth. With sadistic pleasure, the drummer began to twist her tongue, flipping and prodding the flailing victim resting upon its surface and savoring his panicked struggles. A hand crawled its way into Heather's pants, finding her clit in a matter of seconds and giving it a gentle prod.

"Heather, it's time to go on." With a remorseful sigh, Heather swallowed.

"Alright. I'll be right there." Paying full attention to the struggling in her throat as it steadily crept downward, Heather walked her way to the door of the dressing room, greeting her manager on her way out.

By the time she and the other members of Shotgun Lollipop reached the stage, the squirming sensation that was the journalist had reached her stomach, sending chills down the drummer's spine. Like a lover's caress, his frantic struggles tickled the inside of her belly, intense in their desperation. It was intoxicating, having so much power over another person. Oh, what she wouldn't have given to see the man's face as desperation faded to desolation and he realized his fate. What she wouldn't have given to be able to taunt him, describing in great detail his final form and the way he would leave her body. However, surrounded as she was by cameras, she was forced to resist the urge.

Wanting to prologue the sensation for as long as possible, Heather proceeded to swallow air, endeavoring to prevent a death by suffocation. However, as the struggles began to intensify, she knew her fun had finally reached its end. She could prevent asphyxiation, but not death by acid. If only she'd brought an antacid.

"Heather?" With a start, Heather realized that Courtney was whispering to her, her hand placed over her microphone so as to block the sound. Was it her facial expression? She gave a quick nod to reassure the girl. A few minutes later, the struggles stopped, much to Heather's disappointment.

After the show, Heather would excuse herself from the rest of the band, explaining that she'd take care of the matter of the journalist on her own despite offers of support and companionship from her co-stars. Jumping in a taxi, she explain that she was heading back to the hotel to make sure that she retrieved any recording devices before she handed him over to someone who could make sure this whole incident was handled discreetly. Of course, she didn't.

Instead, she drove a ways out of town and rented a cheap motel. There she spent the afternoon fondling herself and fantasizing about all the things she would have liked to have done with her shrunken captive. Maybe she had been too hasty in swallowing the poor man? No matter. She was a celebrity after all, and there was very little that money couldn't buy in this day and age.