It was graduation day at Paragon Academy. But no time to celebrate at the grad ceremony, I had work to do.

I got up and went out through my backdoor pet flap into my backyard, through the hole in the wood fence, across the Vegas’ backyard and through the backdoor petflap into their laundry room. Brandon had installed the pet flaps.

Tori made a bath in a small food storage container, and put it on her desk. I bathed in it while her shower ran in the next room. Finishing, I dried myself with a hand towel and put on my new Paragon-issue Hero Cadet costume, sent in a regular sized envelope. I wondered if they reduced my existing one, or had one re-made.

Across the room, a glass front cabinet showed my reflection in it. My costume was utilitarian, a pure white jumpsuit with black accenting, like a slim-fitting astronaut suit, to be worn under my dinner suit.

Most cadets’ costumes weren’t very original, but every imaginable design had been done before. Junior costumes tended to borrow designs from idolized Heroes: red like Carnotaurus, blue like Polaris, gold like Octane 99, black like the Flying Fox, white like Superblazar.

All male. For some quirky reason, female cadets costumed in feminized versions inspired by the costume of a bigger male Hero (except outright super fan favourite – and Superblazar’s mentor—Galetrix, but she had been MIA and legally dead, for several years now). Even Zamira’s costume (‘v2’ at least, v1 consisted of a cutoff crop top, Adidas trackpants and a baseball cap) borrowed from Superblazar’s red and blue racing stripes.

“I wish I was seven again so I could play with dolls. How random, right?”

Tori’s bare legs filled up the doorway. She was wearing a dress that pulled around her hips and a big grin. I tugged at my close-fitting costume and self-consciously noticed how it outlined my bulge.

Her stifled giggles came out at the sight of me.

"You're not supposed to laugh,” I said uneasily.

She strode past me, nudging my stomach with her big toe on the way to her closet.

"You are cuter than a l'il bunny! And I have the best idea, I just—”

“He’s on a case.” Brandon’s voice reverberated from the end of the hall. “You’re not going with him, Tor.”

She spun around and put her hands in the air.

“Never said I was! I was just…going to offer him a ride…Dad, he’s a spy, this is a top secret communication– stop listening in!”

“What part of it is secret? You told me five seconds ago you were going to go ‘deep party’ with Steve at a Hotel. Alexandria’s birthday, right? I’m sorry, sweetie, but that’s not happening. You were heading out with your friends tonight. Still are.”

She groaned at the ceiling.

“I’m just going to give Steve a ride to the Hotel. That’s it. Ya happy?”

“Jubilant.”

Tori’s huge foot stamped in front of my face as she spun on the spot and glowered down at me.

“Did you tell my dad about the party? – why?!”

“Why did you have to tell her, Steve?” Brandon lamented. “This is what happens.”

“I didn’t tell anyone!” I cried out. “Your daughter interrogated my artificial—read files on my pc—and compromised my plans.”

Tori rolled her eyes.

“I did not tell my dad. Promise! I was telling my best friend on the phone and dad overheard me! – and I only said I was going to the Hotel for a totes bourgeoisie ball! I didn’t say why.”

“I figured it out from there,” Brandon quietly. “Sorry, Hero guy.”

*

That evening, Tori’s bike was idling in the driveway when I went over to their house. It growled impatiently as she sat astride, waiting for me, her helmet on. Her party dress was covered up under some loose pants and a leather jacket.

I walked up to the grumbling monster sized bike, the wheels alone stretched over my head, and was impatiently snatched up. Her nails were done and dug a little into my diaphragm – the pincer of her fingertips always seemed to accidently find the softest parts of my torso – but then everything went black as I was tucked into a zippered breast pocket on the inside of her leather jacket. She kept the zip down, exposing her cleavage and also my face, so I could look out.

The bike vibrated into motion and her tremendous boobs jiggled against my spine as the street scrolled by in a whoosh of cool air.

From my house, Ankylorhiza was a twinkling pixelated grid. Across the bridge, it engulfed us as a shifting tablet wrapped in advertising, neon lights and faint haze.

As the bridge and the Harbor zoomed away, we passed a cluster of powerhouse corporate buildings: one for the news, Lux (where news anchor Kirk worked), the R&D hub of RightFit (where Kirk’s optics were designed), the Museum of Xeno-Archaeology, and then, for a brief instant, a modern chrome tower, the ‘Satellite Park’ or ‘SatPark’ building. On one of those floors was Zamira’s office.

A block down from the Hotel, Tori jumped the curb and cut the engine. As I stood on the motorbike seat, she stripped off her jacket and pants, revealing her ‘party’ clothes, a sleek dress, plus a pair of heels from her backpack.  

Still warm and half squashed from the ample spread of Tori’s butt, the motorbike seat gradually reformed under my feet. Then she swooped me up again, and I felt light as a feather. I was flying like a Soarer – I just needed a giant hand to provide the lift.

With her hand tightly around my middle, she took the street to the Hotel. The traffic flickered past in a stream, and then a congregation of chatter called even before the Hotel came into view.

In pairs, guests in suits and gowns were filtering into the tall building. Laughter spilled out, while finely dressed people stood outside, puffing on cigarettes.

Tori stopped to eye the Hotel. She was a high school girl and this was an adult party.

“Wow.”

A stranger emerged from the stony portico.

“Hello,” he said. He wore a suit. “I’m Frankie. Tripp told me you were coming. Bruno Warne, right? Intern with the Night Watch gang.”

I repeated the totally made up name in my head before realizing it was supposed to be my alias.

“Yeah…” I said. “That’s right.”

Meanwhile, Frankie bent forward and took in my entire length against the span of his outstretched thumb and pointer, which were pressed to my forehead and feet. Then he chuckled and straightened again.

Frowning, I gestured at Tori and added:

“This is—”

Frankie interrupted me, now gazing into Tori’s eyes.

“And you are…ravishing.” He took her hand – the hand holding me, turning me sideways – and kissed it. Her hand grew warmer and without meaning to, her thumb rubbed my chest. She made a sound of amusement while my insides were curled by her tightening grip.

“Georgina Bardot,” she said.

“I – uh – ” I stuttered. “Yes.”

Then Frankie interlinked his arm with hers; the one holding me – I was jerked a little – and guided us towards the entrance.

“Well, Miss Bardot – here’s hoping you’re a ‘Miss’ anyway – for the next zero-two hours, prepare to be dazzled. While we let Bruno do his thing.”

I pulled at my jacket sleeve to cover my Hero costume underneath.

Frankie glanced down at me for a fraction of a second.

“So you get paid to attend these.” His voice sparked with the faintest envy. Then his eyes locked onto the crowd and he was hostlike again.

“My guy, look at all these beauties.”

He nodded towards some girls in rhinestone chain dresses with plunging necklines, fixing their makeup before going on in. “But –shame! – you don’t see the beauty right in front of you.” He gave Tori another appreciative look. I narrowed my eyes.

A couple picked him out of the crowd. He waved and then we were striding over.

“Let me introduce you to Lux’s newest intern. Mr Bruno Warne. A cute little picture, ain’t he?”

“They have an…interesting hiring policy,” the man said.

“Actually,” I said, “I work for Night Watch.”

“A tiny joke, Bruno,” Frankie slipped in.

“Of course,” the man remembered aloud, “Lux want to eat up your ‘little fish’ company. And if the Andromedas have their way...Which they always do...”

My mouth had dropped open. The man didn’t finish.

“I hear they haven’t even arrived,” the woman said. “They’re coming from a UN CyberFit-Rehabilitation fundraiser.”

The man mumbled, shaking his head:

“This thing’s going long into the night.”

The woman looked down at me and gave me a lofty smile.

“So, Mr Warne, you say? My, aren’t you just a tiny sweetheart.”

I forced out:

“Nice to meet you.”

She reached down and unashamedly touched my face. Her fingertip trailed my hairline and brushed my cheek. It wasn’t flirtatious but as if she was checking that I was real, and not a talking toy. She seemed to want to say more, but the man was already ushering her towards the building. Her hand swept down again and quickly petted my head before they left. A pit grew in my stomach.

Inside the Hotel it was a fusion of ancient and modern, Roman, Renaissance, and Futuristic, domed ceilings and Venetian marbled surfaces with chandeliers, but also glass columns and steel arches with lasered inscriptions. The Andromedas owned the Grand Cheval and decorated it according to their own tastes, which were postmodern.

“That woman,” I said. “She… patted me!”

“She didn’t exactly lie.” Tori said.

Frankie chuckled:

“The Kleines are so wealthy they could practically buy him if they wanted.”

Past an archway, the foyer opened into a low lit hall casually arranged with some white clothed tables and leather sofas. Guests were still flowing in, and mostly stood, working the room.

I felt like I was floating around the foyer like a tiny ghost, or strapped into an on-rails ride that was slowly taking me around the premises. Frankie greeted some more guests, and many of them mistook Tori for his girlfriend, and me as Frankie’s eccentric Reducer friend who liked to power-on at a party for no apparent reason. And there were more head pats.

I listened for names and some kind of close business association with the Andromedas. Many weren’t even friends, but friends of friends of friends, much less business insiders.

We drifted across the room in increments, and into a darker area, lit by tabletop candles and LEDs projecting lava lamp patterns on the wall. A waiter passed by with a lifted platter of glasses and snacks, and Frankie took a glass. Tori put me down on a table to try some snacks.

“Have anything in size for my friend?” Frankie asked.

“I’m not hungry,” I said. “And I don’t drink. Not on a job, anyway.”

The waiter was already gone. Frankie knocked his drink back and then bent to my head level.

“Here on business, Mr Warne,” he whispered just to me, “you have to go native. Do what the Romans do. And the Romans drank wine. Over there, she’s making eyes at you. Don’t look.”

Over the sound of laughter, I glanced over. There was a man and two women on the sofa. The man was chatting and flirting. Red lava light oozed behind their heads, turning purple and then blue.

One woman was painstakingly outlining her lips with red lipstick. Her friend, a beautiful woman with strawberry blonde hair, had her arm comfortably along the low backrest. In the shadows her eyes were a blur of darkened eye makeup, but – Frankie was not mistaken – her gaze had wandered onto me. She leaned forward slightly and then seemed unable to tear herself away.

I felt as warm as the blushing lamp light. At normal size, I had never been looked at like this before. It was objectifying. And beauty was different now. Women were different. They weren’t less beautiful but rawly, powerfully beautiful. And they could walk up to me and seize me if they wanted.

Feeling uneasy, I looked away.

“It’s just your imagination.”

Frankie shook his head. Tori was getting curious.

“What are you guys talking about?”

When I next looked, the strawberry blonde had vanished from her seat. I wondered if she wanted to come over and pet my head too.

“Let’s keep it moving,” I said anxiously, hurrying over the table to keep close to Tori. She automatically swept a hand around me. We didn’t know each other well, but in this entire Hotel, we only knew each other.

Frankie’s phone began to vibrate and he answered it. I fidgeted on the table, trying to avoid more accidental eye contact.

Lowering the phone on the table, he said:

“Your editor.”

As the phone was pushed towards me, Tripp’s voice emanated:

“Agent, this is your handler reaching out for a status update.”

“I’m inside,” I replied, kneeling next to the phone speaker.  “No leads yet. So what now?”

“Lay low and listen in.”

“I’m tiny, not invisible. People have noticed me.”

He ignored this.

“Laura said if you have any trouble talking to people, she’ll talk for you. I’ll shunt her down the line, but she might make you giggle and flirt.”

“I’ll handle this,” I said firmly.

“Offer stands. Base out.”

While I was talking, Frankie had been making eyes at Tori over my head. Taking his phone back, he adjusted his tie and gave me a small poke in the chest.

“Don’t mind if I steal away your lady, Brooster?”

I glowered.

“I’ve got a job to do. So, I guess not.”

Tori gave a snort of feigned offence.

“Come with us, Bunny!” She reached down and wiggled my nose with her fingertip. I swatted her hand away.

“Bruno. Just Bruno.”

“Fine!”

Without warning Frankie picked me up and I was floating hurriedly across the room. Then the firm surface of a bar counter formed beneath my shoes. Frankie placed his hand on Tori’s arm, gently steering her from the table.

“All stand clear. Let the reporter do his job. Show ‘em a knock-out for the Pulitzer. And I’m going to take this knock-out and show her a good time.”

They went on past some pushed-together tables to the back of the room. I watched them. They stepped out onto a wooden patio viewing the river, as black as the sky, and the glimmering lights of the entire Hammerhead city strip. Tori giggled and gripped Frankie’s arm.

Her snort of offence had not been play-acting, I realized.

Live band music started up from another part of the hall. With no hope of overhearing an important conversation, I would have to talk to someone.

I sized up the woman waiting at the bar. She wore a shimmery chain dress with a V neckline that plunged to her navel, and boobs with almost too perfect projection, like boxing gloves. Maybe they were Fitted.

This part looked easy. It was just talking. People were mega-sized now, but they were still people.

Pushing out my chest, I launched forward, following the length of the bar and stopping at the woman’s folded arms.

“Hi,” I said, “I’m Bruno Warne, a reporter for Night Watch—”

Her head dipped to take in my tiny face, and one plucked eyebrow arched.

“You are?”

“—I’m writing a color piece on the party, featuring the Andromedas. Do you know them?”

“Another gatecrashing reporter,” she yawned. The warm air fanned my cheek.

“Well, my company was personally invited.”

At this, she switched gears seamlessly.

“Tell me about the Warnes, are they all Reducers, too? The family reunion must be hilarious.”

She reached for her tumbler of scotch, too eagerly, and her hand accidentally swept past me, knocking me off my feet. I got up and dusted myself off. She seemed to have had too much to drink.

Several more guests passed by the bar. More failed interviews and I started to realize ‘oh no, another reporter…’ was an act to make guests sound more important than they actually were, as if reporters had swamped them the entire night.

An important looking man approached. I walked up to him, preparing to ask a question. He pushed me aside with a giant palm to lean over the bar and take a bottle.

“Heads up, tiny.”

The woman in the fur scarf giggled and gave my shoulder a light tap. Then something big and fuzzy swept around my body. The woman had lassoed her fur stole around my neck and, holding either end, started reeling me in. My shoes slid over the polished bar surface. Her puffed up breasts were imminent.

“Mr Warne. I might have what you’re looking for…” a smile spread slowly over her face, “…for a price.”

“How much?”

“Guess again.”

Her lips blossomed into a pucker. When I didn’t reply, she smacked them.

I tried to ease myself. At least Frankie was distracting Tori.

“Okay.”

With the scarf holding me, she moved right in and gave me a big drunken smooch. Her moist tongue muscle swished around my lips, determined to enter into my mouth, but only the tip fit.

A voice called over. The woman drew back suddenly, swishing her head. I jumped away before her wave of hair smacked my face.

“Javier is crushing your boyfriend!”

I was snatched up and the party swirled by. Then my feet were dumped on wine red cloth. A poker table stretched around me in a circle, with piles of chips like big stacks of books. Some of the piles were taller than I was. Three hills bordered the edge of the table, the shoulders of the three guys playing, all clean shaven and suited, probably the kids of magnates and politicians.

One of them laughed.

“The pot just grew…by about six inches.”