They traveled passed the orbital elevator station and down a street of scant-repaired warehouses. At the pawn shop they turned left, and two blocks later, they saw it: the abandoned laundromat.

“This is it.”

The car glided to a halt, its door gently sliding open. A woman climbed out. Dark-skinned, short, and thin, she stepped onto the cracked sidewalk with an apprehensive glance. A black-haired man slinked after her, tall and pale.

An automatic streetlight flickered on overhead as if welcoming them to the dark alley that lay beyond. In reality, its outdated orange light was a response to the setting sun, and it danced with the creeping blue of night on the car's chrome exterior. The man poked his head back inside the car.

“Go back home and return here in three hours unless I tell you otherwise.”

“Confirmed. I will go home and then return to this location in three hours unless instructed
otherwise,” a robotic female voice spoke through the stereo. With the couple clear, the car shut its door and drove away.

“Are you sure this is the place?” the woman looked around, her sun-bleached, decrepit surroundings a far-cry from the polish and gild she was used to.

“Have I ever steered you wrong, Carissa?” the man replied. He produced a set of masks from his coat pocket; sleek, small, only just large enough to cover their identities. One he gave to his partner, the other he began to strap onto himself.

“These are enough?” the woman asked.

“It doesn't really matter. Everyone's here for the same thing. Besides, if they wanted to track us they could use my card, or our genetic signatures. These are just part of the fun.”

The pair paid no mind to the shattered entrance of the laundromat, instead walking to an unassuming door built into its side. The pale man whipped out his wallet, pulling from it an entirely white plastic card. He held the card beneath some kind of scanner that replaced the door's original knob.

“Verified,” an electronic voice stated. “Welcome back, Mr. White.” The lock clicked.

“I have a guest, as well.” A moment passed, the computer seeming to think about its response.

“Confirmed. Your Platinum Subscription now has three guest points left for this month. You can purchase additional guest points from our website or from the kiosk inside. Thank you for being a patron of The Den.” The man pushed the door in and gave his partner a self-satisfied grin.

“After you.”

They descended a set of stairs, the only illumination cut off as the portal was sealed behind
them. Deep beats and hypnotic moaning flooded Carissa's ears, such music no doubt originating in some underground diskothek in Berlin. She was entering a new world, completely distinct from anything she was used to. This was a place for the clean and opulent to tangle with the dark, primal grunge inside them all. These were no bankers, senators, or their progeny; here they were hunters, stalking only unrefined hedonism.

The stairway opened suddenly into the main chamber. Moving lights flickered across a dance floor where a dozen patrons pulsed in time to the DJ's selection. A railing, made from simple conduit painted black, kept the partiers from spilling into the rest of the room. Tables and chairs adhered to the rails, each illuminated by the holographic flame of an electronic candle. Along the perimeter walls were booths, separated into individual cells by black, transparent curtains. Peering through the cigarette smoke and aesthetic haze, Carissa could see that many of those sitting were poking and prodding at something on their tables. She surmised that they were partaking in the venue's unique form of entertainment.

“This is the vendor!” her partner called over the throbbing music, drawing her attention to a sleek, modern machine in laid in the wall only a few feet from where the two were standing. The cyan displays were a stark contrast from the orange and red lights beaming or flickering around the rest of the room. “There are a lot of options you can choose,” the man continued, “The baseline is instinct-only with generic features, but you can give them fake memories and customize their appearance! You can even make them edible!”

A light flashed across their faces as the entryway upstairs opened. Two women descended the stairs, their shimmering dresses, one golden and one a deep ebony, drawing the attention of anyone nearby. When they reached the bottom, the two scanned the club, their postures making them seem as two queens surveying their throne rooms. The one in black, as if to solidify the comparison, held her hooked nose high, nearly having to look across her silver-covered cheekbones to peer at the pair in front of the vendors. The gold-dressed woman, the shorter, more full-bodied of the newcomers, arched an eyebrow at the couple, the thin curve poking above her white mask.

“Are you in line?” she yelled, her voice barely audible over the DJ announcing a new song. White's eyes flicked up from her revealing dress.

“Uh, no, I was just telling-”

“Good!”

The pair of women pushed passed the couple, leaving a waft of expensive perfume in their wake.

“I want to go first, Hope! You always take too long!” the golden one stated.

“Fine,” the black-dressed one replied, “Patience makes the end sweeter anyway.”

The curvier woman seemed not to hear. She inserted her card in the machine, and the words “Welcome, Serenity!” flashed across the display. The woman swiped it away without bothering to read, and set to work. She tapped the “Bulk” option and typed a “ten” into the amount space. Then, she tapped “Instinct-only,”then “Random Features,” and “Edible,” and finally “Confirm.” The machine grumbled, and thirty seconds later, Serenity was walking away with her card in one hand and a metallic box in the other.

“I'll get a table!” she called back to her friend.

Hope stepped up to the vendor, repeating the same nonchalant motions as her friend, only selecting different options. She wanted two, one for now, one for later, and gave one the memories of a family man and randomized his facial features. The other she gave a lustful personality, and chose “Custom” for his appearance. She swiped passed all the presets, the politicians, and the celebrities, until she came to an image she had uploaded from home; the face of her most recent ex-boyfriend.

“I guess we're up next,” White said to Carissa, the couple watching as Hope joined her friend near the dance floor. “Do you want to pick them out, or should I?”

...

Serenity was already plucking her prey from the box when Hope slid onto the cushioned bar stool. Her fingers gripped a young, nude red-headed woman by the shoulders and nimbly pulled her from a casket-like indentation in the box. The stouter woman shook the small girl, as though the tiny were a string of crab meat coated with too much butter. When the redhead groggily blinked her eyes open, Serenity released her grasp, letting the woman bruise her shoulder as she landed harshly on the wooden surface. Only seconds later, Serenity was doing the same to a balding, gray-bearded man that appeared to be in his sixties.

“What do you think?” she asked Hope, her fingers hovering over the box.

“You bought them.” Hope swiped her card along the edge of the table, and a holographic display appeared before her. She tapped a few options and closed the projection. “Though I like the one with the mustache.”

Serenity dipped her fingers into the box once again, shaking a middle-aged man with bristling black mustachios when they retreated. He too was thrown into the mix, rolling between the other two as they flinched away. “You're not going to open yours?” The woman asked her taller friend.

“Not yet,” Hope answered. She watched the little people on the table, an arching eyebrow the only hint of interest on her face. The redhead was clearly the most roused; while the two men blinked their eyes and rubbed their heads, the tiny woman was on her feet. Her gaze darted from Serenity to Hope, and then back again. The loud, thumping environment rendered her minuscule ears near-deaf, and anything beyond the surface she stood on was a heaving whirlwind of ink and fire. On either side of her, two titans peered down their noses, intentions unknown.

“Agh!” She'd barely heard it, but it was obviously a cry of shock. Apparently her compatriots were coming to their senses. The little redhead spun around- THOOMB! She fell on her ass. A crystal obelisk appeared between her and the others. Inside, a bubbling amber liquid seemed eager to escape. The tiny woman kicked herself backward, her heart racing as she imagined the consequences if she'd taken a step. Strange sounds reached her ears from the heavens: the titans were communicating.

“Oops, sorry about that.”

Serenity peered at the waitress. “You almost crushed one of my tinies! It cost me what you make in a week to buy just that one!”

“I really am sorry.” The waitress pulled back the fur lining of her leather bikini. She produced a red card and swiped it along the table. “Please enjoy a drink on me.”

While Serenity swiped through the display and hassled the waitress, Hope observed the tiny people below. Through her glass, she could see the two men stumbling around, glancing from the giant women to the murky surroundings beyond the table. Redhead, however, had leapt up and was frantically turning circles. But, there was nowhere for her to hide. There was only the glass she'd just escaped from, and the boxes her kind were pulled from, and above it all was the holographic display, its cyan light a makeshift sky. If she could reach the edge, there may be a way down, but the giants above would need to be distracted...

A force from behind nearly knocked the tiny woman over. She stumbled and turned, but the force persisted. It pushed against her torso, forcing the redhead to backpedal. She wrenched open her eyes; a black-tipped finger, longer than she was tall, was shoving her. Passed the hand and the arm it was connected to, Redhead looked into a pair of bored, brown eyes peering from behind a silver mask.

Something solid halted her retreat. She recoiled, arcing her back as well as she could. The surface behind her was like a wall of ice. The finger persisted, pushing her flush against the frigid wall. A drop of water as big as her cheek rolled onto the small woman's shoulder. She shivered, and the drop flowed down her breast, leaving behind a trail like an icy slug. An obsidian axehead pushed into her chest- the giant woman was going to cut her in two! She shivered again, as much from pain as from cold. The frigid water engulfed her nipple, engorging it instantly, and then rolled onto the giant fingernail. The titaness arched an eyebrow, and pushed ever-so-slightly harder...

“Hey! You have yours-” Serenity slid Hope's glass away, letting the redhead fall into the previously occupied space. “And I have mine!” She gripped the little woman's legs with two fingers and threw her toward the other two tinies with a practiced flick.

“I was just bored waiting for you,”

“Now you know how I feel.” Serenity watched her purchases huddle together, no doubt an instinctual attempt at a defense. “What do you want to do? We could go down and watch the races or play darts.”

“Actually,” Hope stepped off her stool, “I think I'm going to head to one of the rooms.”

“Already?”

“Your toy got me excited,” she replied, throwing a quick glance at the cowering redhead. Without another word, Hope picked up her box and glass. Serenity watched as the thin woman stalked down a red-lit hallway and out of sight.

“So much for patience.”

...

The old man heaved, his stomach contorting painfully for what had to be the hundredth time that night. And again, for the ninety-eighth time, nothing came out. The blue nutrients he'd been endowed with upon creation had long since been cast into the ether of twisting bodies and smoke... either that, or into the heaving crevice of Serenity's own endowment. The tiny man kicked his legs as best he could, desperate to keep his head above the mass of sweating, quaking skin. The great thumping and racket his ears had been subject to ended abruptly. Slowly, his world stopped moving so much. Giant bodies came to shape, pumping their fists and clapping. His titaness roared in approval, and droplets of alcohol-laced spittle rained down onto the tiny man's spinning head. He retched again.

Serenity ambled back to her table, tossing her box and handbag upon it when she arrived. She plucked the old man from her jiggling cleavage.

“Did you like my dancing, little dude?” He flinched as a torrent of sweet-smelling breath blasted his face. Her expression soured when her eyes focused on the cowering man. “You're too dumb to talk, anyway.” She dropped him on the table. “But how are you two doing?” Serenity heaved herself onto the barstool and leaned until she could see over her knees and prodigious breasts. Below, strappy heels wrapped tightly around her calves, and shoved between her bulging skin and a thin strip of leather was a gasping Mustache.

This man's “dance” had been just as unpleasant compatriot's. Serenity's attempts to bust a move had left him thoroughly bruised and battered. Worse still, all the movement had wedged him further between the woman's shoe strap and shin. Now that it had all stopped, he laid his head against the hard leather as best he could, letting the world continue to spin around him...

“Hey, wake up!” Serenity shook her leg. Instantly, the man snapped back, his impromptu nap interrupted before it had even begun. “You weren't even born yesterday. What makes you think you deserve a rest? Come here.” Her fingers glided down and clamped themselves on each of his shoulders. Mustache tried to yell, but the only thing that escaped his hoarse throat was a meek gasp. The titan hand jerked... and the fingers flew clear off the man.

“What the hell? Let go!”

He heard the giantess roar, but couldn't understand. In truth, he wasn't holding on at all; the leather strap across his chest held him far more tightly than his own meager grip ever could. Again, Serenity's fingers squeezed the man's the shoulders. Mustache was compressed by flesh from everywhere but his front. The giant pads kept his arms uncomfortably tight against his torso. The minuscule man scrunched his brow and let his head hang limp. If he was lucky, he might be able to keep from retching again.

Serenity tugged.

“Agh!” Instantly, the mustachioed man's back straightened. His arms readjusted in their sockets. Pain shot through him from both his left and right as his bones dug through muscle and sinew. Serenity pinched tighter, and pulled harder. There was a vicious Crack! as the man's shoulders dislocated. His back popped in protest to the upward force being exerted on it. With one more tug, he was pulled clear in half, his chest sailing upward between the giantess' fingers while his lower bits were left strapped between leather and skin.

“God, you guys are weak,” Serenity grunted. She tossed Mustache's top, still trying its damnedest to scream, into her monster maw and ended him with a disgusting, wet crunch. “Y'know,” she said, mashing the squelching man-jelly around her mouth, “I'm glad they make you guys taste like gummy bears.” She looked down at the old man as he shielded his eyes from the horrific sight. “I don't think I'd be able to stomach you otherwise.”

The giantess continued chewing as she bent down. She pushed Mustachios' legs through her shoe strap, no longer having to worry about breaking or retrieving him. A single finger was all it took to send the tiny man's lower half to be forgotten among the dirt and grime of the floor. “At least there's still you, missy...”

Serenity exhaled as she bent down further, her belly hindering the motion. Sticking her foot forward, she scanned the appendage for her other purchase. Down her calf... over her ankle... up her foot... up her foot... down her calf... up her foot...

“What the fuck?” Her good humor evaporated immediately. Fury bubbling from the pit of her stomach, she shoved her head under the table, anger overcoming physicality. “You little bitch!”

Redhead ran as fast as her little legs would carry her, splashing across a puddle of spilled liquor. When the giantess sat, the small woman had managed to slip out of her sandal; the ankle strap had been somewhat loose all along. While the titaness danced, Redhead had only just managed to keep from being cast into the crowd of stamping feet. It had only seemed safe to escape once Serenity had settled. While the giant woman toyed with her other captives, the redhead had slipped from the bobbing foot and jumped to the floor below.

She couldn't hear the splat, but she'd seen the aftermath. The crumpled legs of the mustached man landed off to her right, a sickening mass of shattered bones and meat. No longer was Redhead's captor just a scary giant; now she was a monster, an inhuman murderer reveling in taking a life. Seconds later, a bestial roar barely rose above the thumping music. Or rather, below; the tiny woman chanced a look over her shoulder. Shockingly, her little legs had carried her under the next table, but still the blood drained from her face. Mountainous breasts spilled over a scrunched belly, and a craning neck ducked beneath a few globs of forgotten gum. At the end, Serenity's very furious head turned left and right, her jowls quivering as she searched for the escapee. As the giantess bellowed in frustration once more, Redhead darted behind the only hiding spot around: a white tree-trunk like structure. Cramming herself into as small a volume as possible, the little woman prayed to the universe that she was worth less than a moment of the giantess' time.

“Motherfucker!” Serenity snapped her head back above tabletop. The only tiny she'd seen down there had been a corpse stuck to the underside of the table with week-old gum. She raised a fist and slammed it onto the surface with a violent grunt. Exhaling deeply, Serenity felt her rage slip away through her nostrils... except... there was something wet beneath her hand. The giantess shifted her loosening fist. Splinters scratched at her sensitive tissue. She looked down as she raised her hand.

He'd been killed instantly. The pulverized mash was all that remained of the elderly man. The weight of a car is not kind to the human body, synthetic or not. Fury bubbled within the giantess' gut once again. She felt fit to scream... but let it pass. Serenity soberly took her card from her purse and used it to bring up the table's display. With only a few deft fingerstrokes, she'd ordered a Sea Breeze, some towelettes, and a reservation for one of the back rooms. The night had only just begun.

...

The second floor of The Den was a much different place from the below. Reserved for Platinum Card holders, the décor was nicer, and very little of the plebeian ruckus permeated upstairs. The floor began with a small waiting area where an attendant or two were always stationed. Leather chairs and hardwood tables sat pleasantly in front of a more advanced version of the downstairs vending machine. A chess table occupied a corner with its own accompanying furniture, though there were no drawers to be found; players were expected to purchase their pieces from the machine.

After the waiting area, a hallway ran the length of the building, only ending at a set of double doors marked “Employees Only”. Instead of the dark, hazy atmosphere presented below, here the air was clear. While still dim, orange lights shone upwards from either side of the hall, adding their warm glow to the blood-red paint. As with the walls, the floor and ceiling were a royal scarlet, with the expensive carpet having triangular geometric patterns designs of an even darker red. “An opulent Hell,” Hope remembered her ex-boyfriend calling it. “I'm glad I'll never be on the receiving end here.”

He was right, of course. Shrinking a person was impossible. But building someone small from scratch? Extremely doable, and Hope held the proof in her hands. Leaving her glass to be picked up by an employee, she stood up from the overstuffed chair. The muscles of her long legs stretched with a satisfying burn, and her vertebrae cracked pleasantly. She frowned. The room should be ready by now. She was the only patron waiting. It usually only took them twenty minutes to clean-

A sharp buzzing nearly startled her. Tapping her sleek bracelet, Hope smiled as the display showed her the message: “We're ready! Please enjoy Room #208.”

---

She snatched her box up from the floor where she'd set it near her feet. It was time. As Hope walked down the hallway, a familiar disappointment found her; she always disliked how the carpet muffled the sound of her heels. Before the thought could dishearten her, though, a door ahead opened. A clanging mass of brushes and pails emerged, pulling with them a short, wiry young man. He smiled as he passed her, and offered a swift, quiet “How d'ya do?” Hope curled her upper lip into a disgusted snarl. Unfortunately, The Den didn't allow miniatures of their employees.

She swiped her card at the door he'd come out of, and pushed it open without effort. She breathed a relaxed sigh as she entered her domain. The room was decorated much the same as the waiting area, though much of the furniture was built for lounging and splaying, instead of the contained, stiff-backed seating outside. A low, wide table took up the center, its dark wood the perfect companion to the reds and oranges around it. To the right of the door was a stocked bar, complete with bowls of nuts, vegetables, and chips, and a self-refrigerating tray of cheeses and meats. On either side, potted palms offered the only shades of green in the room. Before patience escaped her, Hope set her box on the center of the table and tossed the top into a fresh trash can by the door. She went to the bar; only a few moments longer.

Even with closed lids, Pete had to shield his eyes to relieve himself from the penetrating light. He pried his eyes into a squint. It was as if he'd suddenly emerged from a cave, or had been buried alive for some time. As he regained his sight, he found the latter was a more apt analogy. Silver walls rose up around him, and he seemed to be laying in a form-fitting hole. “What the fuck?” Pete sat up, feeling some kind of foam scrape his naked shoulders. He could see a ceiling far above him, but nothing else beyond whatever container he was in. He rubbed his forehead, and climbed shakily to his feet.

“Hello?” His eyes had to adjust to the distance. This was... impossible! He was in some kind of enormous room, and several city blocks away was an equally enormous woman. “Is this a trick? There's no way she can be so-”

“Beautiful.”

Pete jumped. He hadn't noticed the other man, only a few feet to his right. “Yeah, I guess she is pretty,” he replied, covering his genitalia as best he could. “But I'm more concerned with what the fuck-”

The woman moved. The simple act of shifting her weight was enough to silence the awestruck men. They watched as she placed a spoon onto the bar and turned around. Her cool gaze found them. The two men could only stare as her form grew before them, swishing her hips and drink in hand. She stopped just short of the table, but her tight body nevertheless loomed over them. “Climb out.”

Pete's mind raced, and yet, was completely empty. He'd seen her speak, but an eternity seemed to pass before he understood the words. Should he comply? His animal brain told him to run and hide from a creature so much bigger than himself. But she was a person, and the two million years of humanity condensed inside his skull implored him to at least speak to her. “You want me to-”

“Get out of the box,” her voice boomed again, this time even more authoritarian than before. Pete gulped. Meekly, and still trying in vain to keep his dignity hidden, he pulled himself over the silver wall and fell onto the wooden ground.

The other man, however, held little of Pete's hesitation. He'd watched the woman's swaying form as she'd approached, and he'd looked her up and down when she stood over them. Her lips danced as she'd spoken, so inviting yet so... foreboding. He shook himself free of this enchantment, as best he could, and followed her orders. Mere seconds after the words had left her mouth, the man was standing on the ground trying to keep from drooling over himself.

“Stand next to each other,” Hope commanded. “Line up.” The two little men complied, one far more eager to please than the other. The woman had to stifle a smirk. There was a reason The Den was her favorite: they'd commissioned some of the best personality programmers in the business. And this was just the beginning. She knew from experience that the wiring inside their little heads was much deeper than just “obey” or “hesitate.”

Hope took a sip of her absinthe, swirling the anise-sugar mixture over her taste buds as she considered her prey below. The family guy stood cowering, his overweight form trembling, and thin, frizzing hair betraying the state of his mind. He studied her every move, though his eyes darted away every time they found themselves looking into hers. Conversely, his partner observed her with entirely different emotions swirling behind his irises.

Puffed-up blond hair, storm-gray eyes, closely-cut stubble highlighting his razor jawline and cheekbones... The sight of him released a slurry of feelings within Hope as well. Though she maintained her cold, stoic exterior, she remembered how that same face had looked at her on that balcony in Milan... and how it had looked at that younger, curvier girl only a few short weeks ago. She swallowed those memories, and felt the sting of alcohol.

“You,” she said, pointing to the dumpier man. “What's your name?”

“Uh, um, Pe-”

“I can't hear you. Come closer.”

Pete took a step forward.

“Closer.”

The woman's giant form already loomed over him. Stepping closer, his horizon slowly became filled not by her whole body, but merely by her hips. He stopped, praying that this was as close as she would make him come. He could feel the handsome man's jealous gaze. “My name is Pete.”

Hope chucked. “Pete? Who named you?”

The little man looked at her, confused. “Uh... my parents?”

“Your parents?” Hope chuckled even harder, bordering on a true laugh, “Wrong, but I'll play along. Did they know they were naming a walking stereotype?”

Pete was... taken aback. This woman, this goddess he'd never seen before, had just suggested his parents hadn't named him. That Peter Benjamin Harper Jr. was not, in fact, named after Peter Benjamin Harping Sr. This had to be a dream, or a trick.

“I mean, you're middle-aged, obese, losing your hair... I bet you work as, what? A used-car salesman? Construction?” Hope continued, seemingly unaware of the confusion her offhand comment had caused. “How many kids do you have? How many wives have you had? Eh, Pete?
A pang of... something rang through the man's chest. “I am Peter Benjamin Harper,” he said, clenching his fists. “I have two brilliant kids, and one beautiful, loving wife I met at college. I own a successful car servicing shop over on Cherry where I treat my customers fairly and with respect.”

“Oooh,” the giant woman cooed. “I think I've struck a nerve.” She chuckled. “The programmers are getting better all the time.” She flopped down on the couch behind her, letting her facade of elegance slip for a moment. “Is all that true?” she asked, regaining her composure.

“I... uh... yeah,” Pete stammered. She was so up-front with her sarcasm, her condescension. Of course it was true, but somehow the sheer presence of the giant woman was making him question that. And rightly so, he supposed... after all, he was standing on a giant's table, talking to said giant. Questioning his own sanity was surely perfectly reasonable.

“What's your wife's name?”

“Aisha.” He knew that one instantly.

“What's her birthday?”

Pete opened his mouth to speak... but words escaped him. When was her birthday? He knew. He had to know. At least, he knew that he had to know. But the more he mulled it over, the less sure he was. She was only a year or two younger than himself. Which now that he thought about it... When was his birthday? Grasping his forehead, he couldn't even remember what season it was in.

Hope smirked. She'd heard that these little “plot-holes” in the implanted memories were oversights of the programmers, and they were going to patched out in an update or two. They usually allowed previous versions to still be used, which was good for her; she loved the little quirks. But, she could do for more of a challenge. She'd broken this tiny guy's illusions in less than five minutes. As if to celebrate her victory, Hope reached down and unhooked her heels, letting the shoes clatter to the floor. “There, see, you're noth-”

“Hey!”

Hope's eyes darted over to the blond. He'd stepped forward, nearly placing himself between her and the other man. Was he... rebelling? This wasn't the option she'd chosen for him.

“I just...” The giantess was staring at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but there was only a gasp. His world collapsed around the woman's eyes, the dark orbs a void that were peering into his soul. “I, uh,” He swallowed the lump in his chest and finally regained his nerve. “I just wanted to say that you are extremely beautiful.”

The giantess blinked. Without warning, her leg shot up and over the tabletop. Before the blond man could react, her foot was upon him, knocking him onto his back. The appendage planted itself before him, with her big toe looming menacingly overhead.

“I don't remember asking you a goddamn thing.” The toe dropped. Rough skin struck the man's face, forcing his head back to the smooth wood. Ridged pads pressed against his entire body, especially noticeable on his cheek, chest, and genitalia. The smell of sweat and citrus forced its way into his nostrils. But... he was touching her. No, she was touching him. His heart – and his loins – fluttered.

“Ask me to forgive you.”

“Please, forgive me!” he shouted.

“Ask me how you can make it up to me.”

“How can I make it up to you, ma'am?”

She pushed her toe deeper, a change nigh imperceptible to her but profound on the little man beneath her. “Lick.”

Without hesitation, his tongue darted from between his mushed cheeks, and found its way up to her skin. He wiggled it back and forth as best he could, trying to scrape it along the grooves of her toeprint in an effort to please.

“When I give you a command, you respond with 'Yes, Goddess'!” Hope dug her toe in even further.

“Yesh, goddesh!” came the muffled reply. Satisfied, the giant woman turned her attention back to Pete. The older man was watching the scene, so horrified that he'd forgotten his desire to cover his bit of honor. “See?” Hope asked, cocking her eyebrow. “You're a toy. I bought you less than an hour ago.” She nodded at the box he'd climbed out of.

His memories were so vivid... he remembered the laughing faces of his kids, sunshine darting across over their hair as he chased them beneath a big oak tree. His wife in her bridal wear, pursing her glistening lips as they joined together for their first kiss as man and wife. His little dog Scrappy, yipping at the light from a laser pointer. And yet... He couldn't remember where their wedding had taken place, or what grade his kids were in. He couldn't remember the name of his college, or what exactly a car looked like beneath the hood. Had the dog been adopted or bought? Had he been a superb student or a troublemaker? These questions and more ran together, begging to receive an answer from an overtaxed mind.

Hope slowly lifted her other leg, and extended her knee stately until her heel came to rest just before Pete.

“I know you're in the middle of a breakdown, but if you want to continue existing it would be in your best interest to do what I say. Lick.”

Her commands were suggestions striking at the subconscious core of his mind. What was real? His past or his present? He stumbled forward, as if half-awake. Had he died? Was this the afterlife? Did he ever exist at all? Unthinkingly, he knelt down, placing his face close to her calloused skin. Soiled lemon-scented lotion weaseled its way into his mind, the only thing he really noticed from his current situation. “Lick.” The word reverberated in his head, the only concrete thing bouncing around in the miasma; a command from universe itself.

The zombie touched his tongue to the salty flesh.

…

She collapsed against the pillar, her chest heaving, heart racing from the daring escape. She waited until her breathing normalized, and then mustering up her courage, she peeked around her hiding spot. Across the wooden expanse, the strappy heels of the tormentor stomped away. The redhead chuckled. She was going to live. At least, that's what her instincts told her; she'd gotten away from the big bad monster, and that was all that mattered for the moment.

She sat down and leaned her back against the column. The stability comforted her. Having a roof above her helped. Sloping down from the pillar, whatever this was formed a tan lean-to overhead, until it ran into the floor a dozen feet in front of her. A dark, curling design stood stark against the light material, making it visible even in the low-light environment. Except now it was gone.

Her shelter soared away, rising high before plummeting back to earth some distance off. The redhead looked to the sky, fearing she'd been found. Above, a flowing white material contained two brown orbs, separated by a strip of black. From each globe sprouted an enormous pillar of the same color, both of them far bigger than the column she'd been resting against. These pillars were planted on either side of her, and at their bases were the things she'd been sitting under. The other one moved, sailing over her head and carrying whatever was above her away. When it landed, the redhead shuddered, realizing what it was as the full object came into view. She'd been beneath the feet of a giant, dark-skinned woman.

Carissa stepped away from her table.

“He said he'd only be a minute,” she mumbled. Her date had left her wile he went to the bathroom. Or, that's what he'd said... twenty minutes ago. She clenched her thumb and pinkie together. At the motion, her bracelet projected a small, green display. She tapped on an image of White, and typed a passive-aggressive message “demansking” to know where he was. She released her grip, and the projection disappeared. “Fuck!” she hated this waiting.

All round her, murder and torture were being committed by smiling faces, the atrocities all part of the carousing. In one corner, a local business woman grinned as she touched her cigarette to the exposed tits of a tiny girl, while a Seychellois diplomat, not far from where Carissa stood, was preparing to bite into a whiskey-soaked miniature of indeterminate gender. No one here felt a single twinge of guilt. If they did, they deserved an Oscar. Coincidentally, she suspected the person forcing their toy to dance to the now super-fast, pulsing music had been nominated for one such award some time ago.

She turned to leave, but... something caught her eye. There, on the ground only a step away, a little redheaded woman staring back at her. The little thing jumped up, but it had nowhere to go. Behind her was the dance floor, tables on either side, and Carissa blocked her path to the vending machines, the only area where there might be a modicum of true safety. The larger woman glanced around. No one was near her. No one was looking at her.

“Come here,” she whispered, kneeling down. “I won't hurt you, I promise.”

The redhead backed away. The giant's face seemed kind, and her extended hand was open instead of grasping... but she was one of them. Without another thought, the little woman turned and sprinted, under the tables and across a walkway. As Carissa stood up, she just barely caught sight of a splotch of red disappearing behind a pair of dress shoes beneath one of the booths.

“Damn.” She couldn't blame the terrified creature. No doubt she'd do the same if the situation were reversed. Still, it was a pity. Hopefully the little woman could find a way out of here, just as Carissa hoped to do herself.

With still no word from her partner, she ventured down a corridor, following signs labeled “Restroom.” She passed many rooms, with modest throngs streaming in and out. Fur-and-leather clad employees wormed their way around the customers, holding their trays high to avoid ruining someone's night with an unwanted dousing. Raucous laughter, roars of approval, and even a moan or two echoed down the hallway, adding an appropriate ambiance to the jungle-inspired music being blasted from the dance floor. To complete the primitive atmosphere, none of the rooms were labeled, except one door marked “Employees Only.” But, as she passed by, a few offered clues as to their purpose: a set of stairs leading up, another leading down, a room with slot machines and a roulette table, another leaking the scent of not-quite-legal drugs. But the common thread between them all was something she no longer wanted any part of.

Finally, Carissa arrived at the bathrooms, and was shocked to find no lines. The door to the Men's room opened. She looked, half-expecting to see White, but instead the person exiting was her height and heavy-set.

“Excuse me, did you happen to see a tall man with dark hair in there?” she asked.

“Nope, just me.” He smirked, “Now, anyway.” As the man walked away, Carissa avoided thinking too hard about that last part.

The door to the women's restroom closed with a click, sealing the world inside from the chaos on the outside. The décor was the same, the same music played, though much quieter, but without the patrons this space seemed like it belonged in a middle class restaurant rather than a legally-ambiguous club on the edge of society. It was nice, until a “Yeah, that's right. Drink it you little bitch.” seeped from one of the stalls. Carissa chanced a look, cringing as she saw a pair of gladiator-clad feet pointed in the direction of the toilet.

The voice laughed. “Ew, fuckin' gross! You actually did it!”

There was silence. Carissa could see the legs moving, doing something behind the door. She heard trickling water, and couldn't help but wonder what was happening. The answer came when a glob of wet, yellow-stained paper was slapped down onto the floor between the pair of feet. A second later, a tiny dark-skinned woman broke free from the top of the soaking mess. She sputtered and coughed atop the pile, and wiped stinging liquid from her eyes.

“You're lucky I'm not afraid of my own piss,” the voice called down. “Anyone else would've flushed you then and there.” Carissa watched a sandaled foot rise above the bottom of the door. “But I guess you'll end up with the shit regardless.” The foot plummeted down, colliding with the mound of wet toilet paper near-instantly. Foul liquid sprayed in all directions, a halo of red and yellow droplets. Green-painted toes squirmed and scrunched as their heel lifted, applying as much force as possible. When the woman was satisfied with her mushing and grinding, she stepped back.

Carissa stifled a gasp. The bloody pulp was unrecognizable as human, now just a red splatter in the middle of a urine-stained circle. As if proud of their work, the feet splayed and fanned their toes before the horrifying sight. This truly was a den of monsters.

Paper ripped, and she watched as a feminine hand reached down with a shield of fresh tissue. The mess was scraped away and a very audible plop revealed its new location. A second later, the sound of the toilet flushing signaled that the other woman had spoken the truth about the tiny's final destination.

Whoosh! Carissa barely had to to spin around as the stall swung open. She hastily pretended to be checking her makeup, but through the mirror she caught sight of a young East Asian woman approaching the sink next to her.

“You, uh... got rid of it?” Carissa asked.

“Yep!” The young woman answered, before activating the sink's sensors.

“You don't want to save it? Y'know, uh... make it last longer?”

The water stopped, replaced by a jet of warm air. “Don't need to. I get my allowance tomorrow.” The young lady beamed at her. “Besides, crushing's my favorite!” Carissa cringed, but hastily managed to turn it into an almost-believable facsimile of a smile.

The door to the bathroom swung open when the other woman left. For a moment, the sounds of horror flooded back into the room, before the door closed solidly, leaving only a low-volume version of the dancing tunes being played. But, Carissa couldn't notice the music. She was too busy staring the mirror, watching the death she'd just witnessed replay again and again in the reflection of her eyes.