When I came to my mind was still clouded from the sedative, and I was laying on a hard, cold surface.  I tried to get up, but a thin, transparent film was laid across me, pinning me to the floor.  My shrinking and capture had not been a bizarre nightmare after all, then, and I was stuck to the floor with a single piece of tape.  There was no telling how long I had been here already, nor how much longer I would have to wait before Tatiana’s boss showed up.

To keep my mind occupied I looked around, hoping to find somewhere to hide in case I got free.  Prospects were not good.  I was in a bare, concrete room with no windows, the only door sealed shut and plated with steel.  It looked enormous, but I doubted it was larger than the typical eight by eight holding cell in a basement.  Aside from me and a single dim, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, the room was empty: there was not even a table and chair for a typical interrogation.  Every surface looked like it had been recently cleaned, and there was not a speck of dirt or debris on the floor.

Two loud knocks on the door drew my attention and cleared the remaining cobwebs from my mind.  A clang echoed throughout the room, and with a squeal the door opened.  In walked a woman tall enough that the top of her straw-colored hair, loosely pulled back in a ponytail, brushed against the door frame, a fact which made her bright blue eyes briefly light up.  Her thin lips were pulled to the side in a smirk, the perfect accessory for her swagger.  The dark brown uniform was draped over her slender frame, with several medals and rows of ribbons proudly displayed on her chest.  Shined, black leather riding boots thudded on the concrete with each step, their rhythm acting as the harbinger for the arrival of a terrifying beast.

One boot swung down, its toe lined up with me, and made a deafening crash that accompanied the tremor which followed.  She brought her other foot up to be perfectly in line with the other so she stood astride me, both boots equally distant from me.  I gazed up the monolithic woman standing over me, a skyscraper of brown fabric, blond hair, and pale skin with a mix of awe and fear.  Her hands rested on her hips, dimpling her uniform while looking down at me smugly.  Even had I not been shrunken she would still make me feel puny.

“Good morning,” she greeted, her voice a low rumble with a thick accent, “and welcome to Moscow.  I am called Major Yuliya Andreyevna Smirnov, special interrogator, 839th intelligence brigade, Main Intelligence Directorate.  You are called bug.  If you have chance to address me, you may use Yuliya, or ma’am.  Did you have good time with Tanya?”

“No, I really –“

“Shut up,” she demanded, cutting me off.  “Save your voice to answer real questions, not rhetorical.  Do you need me to explain how this will work?”  I stayed silent, not wanting to give her another chance to berate me.  Yuliya scoffed and said, “That was real question.”

I gulped.  If I had misread that, this was going to be a rough experience.  “I could use a little clarification,” I admitted.  There had been precious little training for enduring interrogation when smaller than your interrogator’s finger, and I wanted to know what to expect.

“Very well,” Yuliya started.  She sounded annoyed, even though she had asked.  “You are bug.  You will be crushed like bug if you do not answer questions.  Even though you are bug, I promise I will have no problem hearing you.  It is simple.  Do you have questions?”

“Yes, actually,” I said.  “How do I know you won’t crush me once you’re done asking questions?”

Yuliya grinned.  “I did not have that thought.  Honestly, though I will not hesitate, I do not want to crush you.  I am looking forward to keeping you as plaything when done.  You will be good toy for me, I think.  Other questions?”  Her smile turned back to a smirk while she considered me helplessly pinned to the floor between her boots.

“No, nothing else,” I croaked.  My options were a grisly death beneath her sole or a lifetime in her hand as a trinket.  Neither option was too appealing, and I could not help but wonder how much it would really hurt to be squished like she threatened.

“Good, then we start,” Yuliya purred.  “Easy things first.  What is your name, rank, number, and organization?”  I balked, since while none of this information would be new for them it was not publicly available.  Her eyebrows twitched inward with impatience, and I decided to acquiesce.  My name was not worth getting splattered under her boot, and I mechanically told her everything she had asked for.

“Very good,” she replied.  “Perhaps I should start getting shoe box ready for you.  Would you like to live where my heels have, or pair of flats?  Maybe running shoes more your speed?”  She arched an eyebrow and chuckled at her teasing.  “But before you move in, how many of our operatives do you know of?”

Answering this honestly would be harder to justify.  “All of them,” I offered, hoping that would suffice.  Yuliya made it clear that it did not by lifting her boot off the ground and sliding it toward me, placing the heel some distance away.  Her sole, however, lingered over me, poised to swing down and flatten me.  The longer I waited the closer it got, the flat, gray surface blocking out more of my vision.  I broke before it made contact and I proclaimed, “We’ve been tracking 37 of your operatives across a dozen cities.”

“That is far from all of them,” Yuliya chided, “and you will name them later.”  The way she rolled her r’s was like the perfect cross between a growl and a purr and made me think for a moment that life as her living doll might not be so bad.  “But right now you will tell me about your operatives, starting with numbers.”

This was edging toward information which could harm my comrades, and I had to decide whether saving my life was worth risking theirs.  Yuliya anticipated my hesitation, and her boot assumed its previous position after a second.  It resumed its descent, and the tremendous length of cold, hard leather laid across my skin quickly reordered my priorities.  The pressure compressed my body, and I felt my bones creak under her.  My breathing quickened as panic set in, and I knew that I would not last much longer.  “112!” I cried out, and the compression stopped.  I was not sure if that was the real number, but it was close.  “They’re in or trying to get into your organizations at every echelon.”

Yuliya removed her boot from atop me, and I saw her pleased, smug grin atop her mountainous body.  “You make this harder than it needs to be,” she chided.  “The faster you answer questions, the faster you get off floor and into my hand.  Now.”  Yuliya’s demeanor changed as she got ready for her next line of questioning.  “You are station chief, and my Tanya was in Prague.  This means you are Prague station chief, yes?”

“That’s right,” I confirmed. 

“See?  Easy.”  Yuliya grinned, though all I did was confirm her deductive reasoning.  “I think when you are my toy I get you tiny uniform, like mine.  Then you parade on my desk while I work.”  She paused before getting back to the questioning.  “We know there is mole in Prague.  Who is it?”

If I gave a name it would be just as good as killing them myself, and all I would be doing is extending my life as Yuliya’s plaything.  “I don’t know,” I lied, “they were in place before I got the position and I’ve only seen the code name.”

“I do not believe you,” Yuliya shot back, her voice devoid of amusement.  “That would be gross incompetence on level I cannot grasp.  Once more: who is Prague mole?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” I repeated.  “I never met with her personally, and we only communicated through anonymous drops on Wenceslaus Square which my agents picked up.”

Yuliya arched an eyebrow.  “So now you know it is woman?” she asked.  Fuck, letting that slip was an amateur mistake.  “I think you know more, so last time: who is Prague mole?”  She raised a boot in the air until her thigh was parallel with the ground, letting the sole hang over me.  Then she brought it down in a calamitous stomp, making a crash so loud my ears rang.  It felt like an apocalyptic earthquake emanated from the impact point, hitting me so hard my eyes watered.  Her lips moved, and though I could not hear her over the ringing in my ears she had said all she needed with her foot.

“Her name’s Anna Williamson,” I shouted, “her cover alias is Zhofie Landa.  She’s been working as the ambassador’s secretary for three years and makes semi-monthly drops, after which she makes a single mark on the bronze statue.”  My mind raced to come up with more facts to spill, but the words collided before they could pass my lips.  As I stammered for something to add I looked up the length of Yuliya’s knee-high boot to her stony face.

She glared down at me, and her boot creaked when she shifted her weight onto it.  Trepidation built up inside me, and my imagination took over.  In a split second it would all be over when she lifted her boot and rotated it over me before swinging it down again.  I would be smashed instantly, reduced to nothing more than a red spatter of blood that was then ground to mush.  Worse still, I had already given her want she wanted, so my death would be completely pointless.

Instead a smile spread across Yuliya’s face and she dragged her foot back, scraping her worn sole against the concrete.  “You are playing dangerous game, little man,” she teased.  “If you keep this up, instead of living comfortable life as toy you go splat.”  For emphasis she quickly stomped her boot on the ground beside me, then lifted her heel and ground the sole against the floor, smiling wickedly.  She might enjoy smashing me more than she would reporting the information I was giving her to her superiors.

She dropped into a squat, keeping her heels resting on the ground while she laid her arms over her knees.  Yuliya was even more imposing from here than when she was standing: her face was closer, and I saw the joy dancing in her blue eyes when she looked down at me.  Her colossal body squatting over me drove home our immense difference in size, and it seemed like no matter where I looked she was there.  I understood now that it did not matter if Yuliya stepped on me, my life was over the moment Tanya shrank me.  It was only a question of whether she broke her new toy.

“This next one is no-brainer,” she began.  Her voice was louder and more threatening, and it felt like it alone might shake me apart.  “But it is also not question.  Tomorrow you check in with home station using new signature block.  Everyone who opens e-mail gives us back-door access, is simple.  If you refuse, I leak everything you tell me and send you to Anna Williamson in box of chocolates.  You do this, yes?”  Before I could answer, she added, “Let me rephrase: do you want to be my doll, or tortured by woman you sell out?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” I agreed.  I was not sure if the blackmail tipped the balance or the constant mortal peril had broken me, but there was no fight left in me.  Tomorrow I would play a crucial role in compromising my entire organization, and in return I’d get to spend the rest of my life at the feet of a foreign intelligence officer.

Yuliya’s eyes lit up and she slapped her knees, creating a clap that made me wince.  “Wonderful!” she proclaimed, smiling from happiness for the first time since the interrogation started.  “And now you are mine.”  She reached down and picked at the tape stuck to the floor with a fingernail, pulling up enough that she could pinch it.  The tape came up with a firm jerk, lifting me off the ground too.  Yuliya wedged a sharpened pencil between me and the adhesive, then pried me off it.  I landed back on the concrete and she tore up the rest of the tape, rolled it into a ball, and shoved it into her pocket for later disposal.

A thumb and forefinger seized my body and Yuliya plucked me off the ground.  She gently placed me in the middle of her open palm and made sure I was situated securely before carefully lifting me toward her face.  This was the first time I had seen her face clearly, and while it might have been the onset of Stockholm Syndrome, I thought she had an almost ethereal beauty.  Yuliya was beaming with joy and seemed to be enraptured with me now.

“Okay.  So.”  She was so excited that she could scarcely speak.  My stomach sank when she stood, but Yuliya’s hand was solid as a rock and kept me a steady distance from her face.  With her other index finger probed her palm, softly stroking me twice before pulling away.  Yuliya smiled and let out a rumbling giggle that shook my insides.  Her demeanor had switched from a stolid intelligence officer to that of a nervous schoolgirl.

“First, I get you measured for uniform,” she finally managed.  “My precious doll must be dressed sharply while he adorns my desk.”  Yuliya was doting on me like a newborn puppy.  “Then you give me names for numbers you said.  After that, uniform should be done, and I get you dressed properly.  Finally, when day is over, you come home with me and I pick out shoe box for you.”  She paused and audibly thought, then added, “I think you will get high heels box, they are… roomier.”  As though she were bashful her eyes slid down off me, and in the awkward silence she leaned forward to nuzzle me.

“Yuliya, do I…”  I paused to swallow hard, fearing I had misread the situation.  “Do I get a say in any of this?”

She audibly pondered again, tapping her sharp chin with the tip of a manicured finger.  “We will see,” she answered.  “You are toy, not child.  Maybe pet.  If you are good toy, maybe you get choices.  I have not decided yet.”

Yuliya pounded on the steel door twice, and with a clang it opened.  She exited the interrogation room but kept her eyes firmly on me as she walked.  I kept my focus on her bright blue eyes: not only were they nice to look at, but it minimized the disorienting effect from her walking.  More than that, as I gazed into them I felt oddly safe.  From now on I was her toy, and though I did not show it I was just as excited about it as she was.