THRILL OF THE HUNT

By NFalc


The suburban summer night was quiet. It was a few hours before dawn, and even the insects were hibernating. The night was pitch black, the moon absent. The small, identical houses with their white picket fences and neatly clipped lawns lay dark and unaware. Their occupants were all fast asleep.

There were no insomniacs on this quiet street, nothing out of the ordinary. Every day was virtually identical, but the pre-dawn hours were exact facsimiles of each other; no sound, no movement, nearly no light. A short way from the town was the university campus, but even most of the frat boys had returned to their homes. All was quiet.

The silence was shattered by a blast of sound and light so deafening that it could easily destroy someone's hearing. Luckily, it wasn't audible on any frequency range available to human ears. Likewise, the light was completely imperceptible to the sleeping residents of Grovetree Lane.

A woman stood in the middle of the road, hands on hips thrust seductively forward. She was wearing very little. A shiny red leather skirt barely reached beyond the top of her thigh. Her jacket was completely open, revealing the fact that she was wearing nothing but a matching red bra underneath. Her lips were glossed to perfection, long corn-blond hair streaming down in two perfect waves on either side of her face. She had a loose grip on a small red purse which swung as she walked. The outfit fell just short of tasteful. She could have been one of the more expensive hookers, trying to woo an unsuspecting college kid, but for the circumstances.

As the circumstances were, the woman was sixty-five feet tall.

She dominated the street. None of the houses reached above her skirt line. She could easily crush any of the cars in their driveways beneath her tremendous foot. The sum of all the police forces in the town would not have been enough to take her down, or even put a dent in her.

The huntress moved quietly, all the same. It wouldn't be wise to make a fuss, she knew well from her training. Too much fuss and this planet would no longer be fit for use, it would be too dangerous. She would get fired if that happened, or possibly worse. And she would hate to lose her job. She loved her job.

Pulling out the small data tablet, she pored over her info once more. The target lived at 320 Grovetree.

Bending down carefully, making sure to keep her limbs from smashing into any of the tiny objects littering the street, she eyed the mailbox next to her. Number 6, The Harshaws. No good. She had a lot of walking to do.

The walking was her least favorite part of the job. Her high heels would make foot placement risky, although they were necessary for the outfit.

She remembered, back when she was just starting the job, asking incredulously why she had to wear something so slutty. The costumer had simply given her a smile. "Picture what would happen if you told the police you'd just seen a giant prostitute walking down the street at 4 AM." she'd said.

So the high heels stayed. Now came the tricky part. She raised her left foot and slowly, painstakingly brought it down to the tarmac, twisting it carefully to avoid a car parked on the side of the road. So much for the first step.

Then, with a deep breath, she raised her right and brought it crunching down onto a car. Cursing under her breath, she raised her massive foot, only to hear blaring noise coming from the partially crushed vehicle. Car alarm.

The huntress quickly weighed her options. The alarm could wake everyone up in the neighborhood, instantly revealing her presence. Furthermore, if the owner of this car woke up next morning to see his car nearly flattened, there would be some questions raised.

The giantess went with her gut instinct. She quickly stomped down the car with all her weight, until it flattened like a soda can. No more car alarm. Then she daintily plucked the ruined vehicle off the ground, placing it in the purse. The car owner would simply think his ride had been stolen.

She resumed walking towards her destination. The street got a little wider, and soon she was able to move with less anxiety. She began to take long, confident strides, hips swinging as she walked. Occasionally she bent down to check the street number. 60, 110, 220 Grovetree Lane. She was getting close.

The giant woman saw something in the distance that made her squint. No, it couldn't be. It was too late for anybody to be out. But there were headlights getting larger by the minute...


Chris took his eyes off the road for a minute to check his friend Sam. The guy was wasted beyond belief. At the party he'd downed at least twenty shots and smoked at least one joint for good measure. He'd be fine in the morning, but right now his roommate's eyes were glazed over, and he was babbling incoherently. Chris chuckled. He himself was feeling the effects of the several mind-altering substances he'd consumed over the last two hours, but at least he was still conscious.

Even though they were both smashed, they'd still managed to pick up two chicks. Chris eyed the rearview mirror. They were two good-looking girls, probably sophomores, the giggly type, a little preppy maybe. They were whispering to each other, probably talking about how fortunate they were to be with two guys as hot as the ones in the front.

Chris smiled lecherously as he turned his eyes back to the road. His smile was still frozen on his face when he slammed on the brakes.

None of the car's occupants were wearing seat belts, and they were all jolted forward as the car came to an abrupt halt. "What the f -" yelled one of the girls, until she saw what was in front of them.

A woman's toes filled Chris's vision. He stuck his head out of the window, trying to see just how far her leg reached into the sky. He craned his neck, but was only able to see up to the hem of her skirt.

Sam was awake, the sudden stop having shaken him out of sleep. "Holy... Jesus..." he searched for words, breathless. Not even twenty shots of liquor could stop him from being amazed.


The giant woman was able to think through the situation, and found herself pleased with the turn of events. This new twist would only make the mission more entertaining. But she would have to deal with it quickly.

She tried to focus on what the Hunter's Manual had said about emergencies. There were a number of options. She could crush the car with the people still in it, or take the people out and dispose of them as she pleased, crushing them or eating them or even using them sexually. The only thing the manual stressed was that all the evidence of the encounter had to be destroyed then and there.

But the huntress was never one to play by the rules, and was equally dissatisfied with quickening what could so easily be prolonged. She saw the best possible solution quickly.

She picked up the little car, holding it to eye level. The occupants mouths were open wide, and they were banging their tiny fists against the windows. She thought she could hear their pathetic screams. Two men, two girls, all four doll-sized. Being off the record, and technically illegal she'd have to keep them secret, but she could sell them on the blackmarket. Alternatively, she could also use them for her own purposes. Or she could do both. People on the blackmarket didn't ask questions, they were desperate.

She planted a full kiss on the car's windshield, even using a bit of tongue, but spitting right afterwards. People clearly didn't clean their cars enough in this town. Then, after being mildly amused by the glossy lipstick covering the car's windshield, she carefully tucked it into one of her purse pockets.

She squinted once more at a tiny mailbox. 300 Grovetree Lane. She was very, very close. Taking out her data tablet, the huntress pulled up the picture of the house. It was a small one-level, a mild blue color, fairly conservative. Looking up, she saw the picture's real life equivalent just a step away from her.

The huntress softly lowered herself completely to the ground, her body covering a good stretch of the street. Then she stealthily crawled forward until her head was right next to the tiny house. Even after two years' work at the job, she was still amazed by just how intricate these doll's houses were, with so many cute details.

She tilted her head so her eyes were level with what she knew to be the bedroom window, second on the side of the house facing the sunrise. It had a large window, which would make the job much easier.

The huntress reached into her purse, giant fingers brushing past the car and its hollering occupants. Then she slowly began to remove her tools. Pliers. Tweezers. A small aerosol can. Handheld monocular 'scope.

As she set up, the huntress thought about her target. Brian S. Jagerman, college senior. Only son, whose father was dead and mother was institutionalized. He wouldn't be missed, which must have eased the consciences of the selection council. A sweet, caring young man, hard-working, loyal, and submissive. He had just enough individuality to market as a luxury item, instead of one of the average slaves.

She picked up the 'scope, and aimed it at the bedroom window. A small laser sought out her target, who was fast asleep. She looked him over. A good-looking one, this. She sighed, thinking about just how lucky his owner would be. Someday she'd save enough to get her own. Even one of the crudes, a simple slave would be enough for her. She would bring out the good in him, or at least force him into submissiveness.

She picked up the pliers and began to tease the window open, first wedging it in the open crack then applying steady pressure. She remembered her first blundering days on the job, when she'd smashed windows in the process, once waking her target up. She'd managed to spray him with a strong dose, which deprived him of some higher mental capabilities that lowered sale price, but saved his life and kept him marketable. Most of the time, however, a smashed window was forgivable. The police would investigate, assume a break-in and kidnapping, find no more evidence and close the case.

The window was now fully open. She raised the aerosol can, gave it a quick shake, and sprayed it directly into the room, measuring out a careful stream for just one second. Use too much, and the target's brain was damaged. Too little, and you ran the risk of it waking up, which always caused problems.

Once she had given the sedative an adequate amount of time, she put the tweezers in one hand and the scope in the other, and maneuvered the tiny man out of his bed, across the room and out of the window. She was especially skillful at this part of the routine, able to position the instrument just so to cause minimal damage. She knew some huntresses who banged their targets about something awful. Even though she knew all but the most severe damage could be repaired, she didn't like taking risks.

Then the tiny man was in her palm, warm and limp, a look of blissful peace on his face. Depending on who he was sold to, he may never have that look again, she thought. This was the hardest part of her job. Seeing them like this, delicate and so helpless within the vastness of her hand, they became human. When they were screaming, she could ignore them, when they were whimpering or brooding, she could scorn them. But when they were asleep, her heart melted.

But she pushed those thoughts out of her mind. This mission was work, her job, not a time for sentimental soul-searching. Cradling her catch, the huntress signaled the ship's auto-teleport. A minute later, the suburban night's peace and quiet were restored.


Chris had been quickly withdrawing from his drug-addled state ever since he had found himself in the giant woman's purse. The stupid girls in the back seat were still bawling, however, and Sam was still drugged out of his mind. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he leaned over and smacked one of the girls, quickly shutting both of them up.

"Bastard," one of the girls muttered, rubbing a hand against her cheek.

"Screaming isn't going to help anything," he said harshly. "So you bitches shut the hell up, or I'll smack you unconscious."

"Dude, chill out," his still-stoned friend croaked from the passenger seat. "It's all good."

"No, it definitely isn't all good," Chris growled. "That titanic bitch picked us up and dropped us in her purse."

"Wha?" Sam said, amiably moronic. "We're in her purse? You must be tripping, man." He began to giggle inanely. Chris felt like strangling him.

"We need to get out of here," he shouted, his voice unnecessarily loud. "We stay here and we're doomed."

"Hel-lo?" One of the girls said in her obnoxiously high and preppy voice. "Girls' purses are always full. We get out of this car, we're as good as dead."

"Yeah man," Sam joined. "We should just chill here."

"Fucking idiots," Chris grumbled, then his voice rose. "If you three want to die, be my guest! I'll go it alone."

He got out, slamming the car door shut. Just then, the purse began to move wildly, and Chris was bashed against a steel implement. He lost consciousness.


The huntress was back aboard her ship. She placed the little man in the revive chamber, and put him in for thaw. He'd regain consciousness in a few minutes, hopefully in as good a condition as before.

She set down her purse, and was checking the preliminary status report for her target when she saw movement at the corner of her eye. Turning quickly back to the purse, she saw the little man drop over the edge and scurry off behind it.

Moving quickly, she slid the purse to the side, revealing the tiny man cowering behind it. Damn, there went his sale value. The escape artists never sold well, who would want a pet that was constantly running away?

She quickly lowered herself to his level, a scowl on her face. "Well, well, look what we have here," she thundered, putting on her best authoritative voice. "A little attempted runaway."

The small creature was making little noises... getting closer, she realized that it wasn't even screaming, just sort of mewling pathetically. She reached out a hand which it tried helplessly to escape from. Snatching the tiny man up, she held him directly before her much larger face.

"Get offa me!" The man was squeaking in indignant rage, wriggling in a pathetic attempt to escape her grasp. "Get your hands off me you stupid slut!"

Now he was in for it.


Chris yelled and shouted at the top of his lungs, filled to the brim with misogynist rage. Stupid fucking bitch thought she could just do whatever she pleased, picking up his ride, messing up his night, ruining his life, goddamn slut... his mind raced in vulgar circles.

Then he saw the look on her face. Her eyes were narrowed, and she bared shiny white teeth in a ferocious grimace. All of a sudden Chris's anger was gone. And he began to be very, very scared.

He was falling towards the floor, so fast that everything became a vertiginous blur. Then, when he was about ten feet from the smooth metal ground, her hand opened. Chris almost fell off, but managed to cling stubbornly to her soft palm, clawing to keep his purchase. With a quick, violent shake, she knocked him to the ground.

There was a splintering pain in his left leg, almost intolerable, ten seconds after he hit. He figured it was broken, possibly shattered, and bawled in pain. Then he looked up and saw her massive foot, with its pale smooth sole, raised high and directly above him, ready to squash him into nothingness. Tears of sadness and desperation ran down his cheeks, and he waited for the end.

"You made a number of bad decisions," said the thunderous yet feminine voice from above. "First, you tried to escape." She moved her colossal foot aside so he could see her beauteous angry face. He hadn't taken the time to notice how pretty she was, not that it mattered now. "Then, you insulted a lady. Not just any lady, mind you, but a woman who was much bigger, smarter and more powerful than you will ever be."

What crushed his soul, even more painfully than his broken body, was the fact that she was right. He tried to tell her this, but all that came out was a croak, and then a sob.

"Now, in the time you have left, you will learn from those mistakes." And with that, her foot began to slowly lower itself towards him.

"Nooo!" Chris screamed. "Please, please no!" The sole continued to descend, blotting out the woman's face. It was hopeless, she couldn't hear him. "PLEEAASE!" he cried out one last time as loud as he could.

The foot stopped. It was just ten feet away from him, and he could already smell the sweat. But it wasn't lowering any more. "What did you say?" came her voice from above.

"PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!" he cried as loud as he could.

Then the foot was gone, and he was racing up to her face once more. "You've learned your first lesson," she said sharply. She slid him back onto the table, and he didn't protest. "I'll let you heal in a day's time. It will let you reflect on your errors."

Chris lay down as best as he could without further exciting the stabbing pains in his leg, and felt truly grateful to be alive.


The huntress turned away from her small victim and back to the thaw chamber, brooding. Still a few minutes left.

She was getting soft, she decided. There used to be a time when she would have crushed the offensive little bastard flat, no preamble, no mercy, then moved right on to the next one. There used to be a time when she'd taken so much more joy in it.

But those days were gone, and she was losing the pleasure from destroying the tiny lives. Maybe it was the sight of this one, peaceful in her palm just minutes before. Maybe it was that it had just gotten old, or she had grown mature. Whatever it was, she was done hunting. She'd always done it for the thrill, and it seemed there was almost none left.

She gazed at the little man in the thaw chamber. Perhaps it was time. Time for her to settle down, get her own little man and enjoy life while it was there for her. She'd done her job faithfully, maybe she could get a position on the selection council. She was certainly qualified, with her years in the field.

The thaw was done, and the chamber popped open, steam issuing from it. The little man looked startled, just like all of them did. His head swung back and forth for a second, then he toppled out of the chamber, falling to his knees, then gradually getting up again. She let him go through the routine.

Finally, he was able to stand up, and he walked towards her slowly, his tiny face filled with awe.

"Hello, little one," she said softly.

"Hi," he answered hesitantly, voice small even for the tiny people. "I'm Brian."

"Hi, Brian," she said warmly. "Don't be afraid, I'm here to look after you."

The little man smiled shyly. "Where am I? How did I get here?" he asked, pausing to make sure they were the right questions.

"You're aboard my ship, and I've brought you here. There are about to be a lot of changes in your life, but most of them will be for the better. Your life will be a lot more interesting."

"I'm sure it will, with someone as wonderful as you here for me." he said.

Normally, she would've thought his words sentimental, and silly. But there was something so sincere about this one. She felt warmly towards him, more tender than she had in a long time. "I'll give you a little while to get your bearings. Don't wander off too far. I'll be over at the ship controls." She flashed him a quick smile, and he bowed awkwardly, which almost made her giggle. Then she walked over to the other side of the room.

The huntress looked out at the stars. Yes, settling down was in the cards for her, sooner than she planned. This little man - little Brian, had changed her. He was the one. And there was nothing she could do to help herself.

She plotted the course to the nearest major trade post. There'd be representatives there she could talk to, after she'd been debriefed. She'd get a battery of tests run on the three still in the car, put the injured one in for care and obedience training, although she'd already set him on the path to submissiveness. She'd be able to get some decent change on all of them.

Then she'd place a reserve order on Brian, until she had all the credits. She'd need to collect some debts and call in some favors, but she felt certain that she would have enough. She'd be able to get him.

She turned slightly, and watched as Brian looked around his new surroundings. Someday, little man, she thought, I'm going to make you mine.