In the early morning light that filters through the curtains, the world outside seems at peace, a stark contrast to the chaos unleashed by the recent pandemic — a cruel disease that targets only men, shrinking them to a mere four inches tall. The room is quiet, save for the soft, rhythmic breathing of Alexis, sleeping soundly under the covers of her vast bed. Lying in his miniature bed atop her nightstand, Chase awakens to this serene scene, his new perspective on life both a source of wonder and a bitter reminder of his vulnerability. He harbors a deep-seated resentment for the shrinking virus, cursing the day it robbed him of his stature and, in the eyes of society, his rights. Despite the drastic changes to his life, mornings like these offer him a semblance of normalcy and peace. Yet, the tranquility of the moment can't fully mask the turmoil within him, a constant battle between acceptance and a fervent longing for the life he once knew.
Gazing at Alexis, her blonde hair cascading over the pillow like rays of sunshine, Chase feels a surge of affection and gratitude. She has been his protector, his advocate, and his unwavering support in a world that has become increasingly hostile to men like him. The government's decree, stripping shrunken men of their rights, has turned many into victims or commodities. Yet, in this room, with Alexis, Chase finds sanctuary.
Determined to embrace a bit of independence and not disturb her tranquil slumber, Chase decides to start the day on his own. He slides out from under his miniature covers, carefully crafted by Alexis to mimic their own bedding, and stands up. The nightstand, once a simple piece of furniture, now looms like a skyscraper above him. But Chase is undeterred. Their foresight in installing a special elevator for him to navigate the vast distances of their home has given him a measure of autonomy he cherishes deeply.
As Chase makes his way to the elevator, this ingenious contraption borne out of necessity and love, he's momentarily filled with pride. It stands as a testament to their resilience, a bridge spanning the vast gulf between his diminutive world and Alexis's unchanged one. Yet, this pride is tinged with a bittersweet undercurrent, a reminder of the adjustments they've been forced to make.
He steps onto the platform and initiates the descent. What used to be a mere three-foot drop in his former life now feels akin to a skyscraper's plunge. Above him, Alexis remains enveloped in sleep, her peacefulness a stark contrast to the tumult in Chase's mind. As he watches her from his descending vantage point, a mix of emotions swirls within him—love, gratitude, and an inescapable sense of loss.
Touching down, he finds himself eye-level with Alexis's slippers, objects that once seemed so mundane, now monolithic in his eyes. The immediate confrontation with these giant artifacts of everyday life jolts him with the raw reality of his size. It's an early morning reminder, stark and unyielding, of how profoundly his world has shrunk, a reminder that greets him with the dawn of each new day. Despite this, he steels himself, stepping off the elevator and into the day's uncertainties, bolstered by the knowledge that Alexis's unwavering support is a constant in his drastically altered existence.
With a deep breath, Chase steps off the elevator, his feet landing softly on the plush carpet. The enormity of Alexis's slippers, standing like silent sentinels, serves as a stark reminder of his new scale in this vast world. Yet, Chase is determined not to let it daunt him. Each step he takes away from the elevator is a small victory, a testament to his resilience in the face of a reality that seems determined to remind him of what he has lost.
The journey to the bedroom door feels longer than it is, every inch a mile in his reduced stature. The world around him looms large, filled with objects and furniture that now seem as though they belong to another realm entirely. Despite this, there's a path carved out for him, a testament to the adaptability and love that have come to define his and Alexis's life together.
Arriving at the bedroom door, Chase is greeted by a remarkable sight: a miniature door, meticulously carved into the bottom of the larger one, standing as a gateway to the world beyond. This small portal, crafted with care and precision, symbolizes a bridge between his world and the larger one that surrounds him. It's a reminder that, no matter how daunting the world may seem, there are always paths forward, always adaptations that can be made to navigate the challenges that life throws our way.
He opens the miniature door, its hinges whispering softly as it swings open, revealing the hallway beyond. Stepping through, Chase enters a corridor that, to him, feels as grand as any hall of a palace might. The light from the kitchen spills into the hallway, beckoning him forward, guiding his steps as he makes his way towards the heart of their home.
As Chase makes his way through the hallway, the silence of the morning is abruptly shattered by a sound that sends a shiver of dread down his spine. It's a sound he has come to associate with fear and unease—the creaking of a door that heralds the presence of Delaney. The sound grows louder, echoing ominously in the vast corridor, until the door to Delaney's bedroom swings open.
There, emerging from the shadows of her doorway, Delaney looms, adorned in a stark white tank top paired with a forest green skirt that falls gracefully around her legs. Her bare feet make soft contact with the cool, tiled floor, a silent testament to her comfort within this domain. Her gaze, sharp as a hawk's and twice as calculating, zeroes in on Chase's minuscule form with unerring precision. The corners of her mouth curl upwards into a smile, not of warmth or welcome, but of sheer amusement and malice. The laugh that spills from her lips is chilling, devoid of any genuine mirth, aimed with surgical precision at Chase. It's a sound that encapsulates her disdain and the delight she finds in his diminished state, a cruel herald of her intentions and the power she wields in this moment.
In this harrowing moment, the full weight of Delaney's longstanding animosity crashes down on Chase with renewed force. This hostility was not new; it had been a dark, pulsing vein in the fabric of their interactions long before the world was upended by the shrinking virus. Delaney's disdain for him had always been an unmistakable undercurrent, a relentless force that now, in his diminished state, took on a terrifyingly tangible form. Reduced to the size of her two enslaved men, Chase confronts a chilling reality: in Delaney's eyes, he has been utterly dehumanized, transformed from an individual into an object of amusement and control, as vulnerable and defenseless as the others before him.
Delaney represents the worst of those who have wholeheartedly adopted the twisted ethos propagated in the wake of the pandemic—that shrunken men are less than human, mere chattels to be dominated and exploited at will. Her treatment of her shrunken captives is not just well-documented; it's a spectacle she seems to relish in. Chase has witnessed, more times than he cares to recall, the casual cruelty she inflicts on her slaves. Scenes of their degradation and torment played out in the open, moments of sadistic glee derived from their utter powerlessness, are etched into his memory. These were not just stories; they were vivid, brutal realities that Chase had observed from the safety of his former size. But now, standing before Delaney, that distance has collapsed. He is as exposed and powerless as those he once pitied, his vulnerability magnified under her gaze.
The realization hits him like a physical blow. The fear and uncertainty that bubble up are not just for his immediate predicament but for the realization of what his future could hold under her influence.
To Chase's mounting horror, Delaney shifts her towering presence toward him, initiating a deliberate advance down the hallway. Each step she takes sends a tremor through the ground beneath his feet, a physical manifestation of the power she holds in this moment. The once-familiar hallway transforms into a daunting arena, with Delaney's approach resembling that of a looming predator closing in on its prey. Chase's heart races, his instincts screaming at him to flee, yet he knows there's nowhere to run that could possibly offer sanctuary from her towering figure.
As she draws closer, the disparity between them is stark, her every step a thunderous declaration of her dominance. Finally, she halts, positioning her two gargantuan feet—each more than twice his size—dangerously close to his fragile form. She towers over him, an imposing figure of authority and malice, as she places her hands on her hips and peers down at him. The scale of her relative to his own, the sheer massiveness of her being, is a harsh reminder of how drastically his circumstances have shifted.
"Well, well, if it isn't Alexis' pet cockroach she keeps around," Delaney taunts, her voice dripping with contempt. The words, laced with a venomous glee, cut through Chase, each one intended to belittle and demean. Her laughter, a sadistic cacophony, echoes down the corridor, a sound that Chase feels in his very bones. It's a laughter devoid of warmth, filled instead with a cruelty that seeks to reduce his existence to that of a mere pest, an unwanted creature living on the fringes of her world.
In this moment, Chase is acutely aware of his vulnerability, the precariousness of his position. Delaney's shadow engulfs him, her form blotting out the light, casting him into a metaphorical darkness that mirrors the despair creeping into his heart. The disparity in their sizes, once a matter of mere physicality, now represents a gulf in power and autonomy, with Chase painfully aware of how easily Delaney could crush him, either physically or through the continued erosion of his dignity.
Delaney's shadow looms large over Chase, her figure a menacing presence that fills his entire field of vision. With a cruel gleam in her eyes, she launches into a tirade, her words venomous, each one laced with malice and a disturbing sense of pleasure at his predicament.
Delaney strides closer, her smirk wide and filled with malice. "Oh, Chase," she drawls, her voice dripping with contempt, "I've gotta say, seeing you catch that virus was a fucking highlight. Couldn't have nailed a more deserving guy," she snickers, the word 'guy' sounding like the ultimate insult from her lips.
She leans in, her sneer deepening. "But let's be real, calling you a 'guy' now? That's a fucking joke. You're what? A bug now? Yeah, that's about right. A pathetic, tiny little bug that I could squash anytime I feel like it. And the hilarious part? The only shit I'd have to deal with for crushing you is dealing with Alexis's tantrum."
Her laughter, sharp and mocking, fills the space, making Chase's skin crawl. Delaney's face hovers closer, her eyes gleaming with a cruel delight. "Imagine this, Chase," she taunts, her tone mockingly conspiratorial, "One day, after I've kicked my own ass at the gym, I might just scoop you up for a post-workout snack. How's that sound?" Her laughter grows louder, more derisive. "Swallowed fucking whole, buddy. Sliding down my throat, then nothing but a memory in my morning shit. Would serve you right, wouldn't it?"
Her words are a brutal reminder of her complete disdain and the terrifying reality Chase now faces, all delivered with the cruel, flippant ease of someone utterly unbothered by the gravity of her own threats.
Delaney's twisted grin widens as she observes the fear etched into Chase's face. With a sudden, deliberate movement, she lifts her foot, positioning it ominously just inches above him. Chase is frozen, terror rooting him to the spot as he's forced to confront the horrifying sight above. The sole of Delaney's foot becomes a grotesque canopy, a "living ceiling" etched with lines and imperfections, each detail a terrifying promise of the potential destruction she wields. The power to end his existence with a mere shift of weight hangs palpably in the air between them.
"Oh, Chase," Delaney purrs, her voice a sinister melody, "You should see yourself right now. Fucking priceless." She savors the moment, the absolute control she has over him, and the palpable fear emanating from his tiny form. "It's funny, you know? Just one little step," she muses, her tone deceptively light, "and 'pop'—your itty-bitty body would just... explode. Like stepping on a bug, only way more satisfying."
She lets the threat hang in the air, a dark promise, as she marvels at the power she holds with such casual ease. "And the best part? After, I'd just go on with my day. Maybe scrub off a little... Chase residue," she chuckles darkly, "and that's it. Back to my routine, like nothing happened. Because, really, what's the loss? Just a tiny, insignificant bug getting squashed."
Chase's heart pounds against his chest, a rapid drumbeat echoing the terror coursing through his veins. The sight of Delaney's sole, a threatening mass of skin and might suspended just inches above, distills a primal fear in him, a reminder of his insignificance in this new, terrifying world order. The thought that something as mundane as a foot could wield such existential threat over him is a stark, chilling realization.
As the seconds stretch on, with Delaney's dark laughter filling his ears, something shifts within Chase. Despite the overwhelming dread, a spark of defiance ignites, propelling him beyond the paralyzing fear. With a burst of desperate courage, he makes a decision—rather than cower in fear, he would act, even if action meant facing the unknown.
With a sudden sprint, Chase dashes from beneath the shadow of Delaney's foot, his small legs carrying him as fast as they can toward the relative safety of the kitchen. His heart races with the fear of pursuit, but also with a thin thread of hope—maybe, just maybe, he can escape her clutches.
Delaney's laughter rings out, cruel and mocking, a sinister backdrop to Chase's desperate escape. "Oh, fucking hell, Chase! Running, really? Like that's going to fucking save you?" she jeers, her voice dripping with disdain and malice. "You seriously think you can outrun me, you pathetic little bug?" Her tone is thick with sadistic pleasure as she revels in the power she wields over him, watching with a twisted sense of amusement as he tries to flee.
But the freedom Chase tastes is short-lived. Delaney, with the effortless ease of a predator toying with its prey, decides the game has gone on long enough. She takes a single, leisurely step, covering the distance Chase had desperately put between them in an instant. With precise cruelty, she slams her foot down right in front of his path, her heel/ankle becoming an insurmountable wall that he crashes into at full speed.
The impact is jarring, sending a shockwave of pain through Chase's tiny body as he collides with the unyielding flesh of her ankle. The force of the collision knocks the wind out of him, leaving him dazed and hurt on the floor, a tangible representation of Delaney's power and his own vulnerability. In this moment, the harsh reality of his situation crystallizes—no matter how fast he runs, no matter where he tries to hide, the threat of Delaney's dominance is ever-present, a looming danger that he cannot escape.
Delaney, having demonstrated her power and instilled fear with chilling efficiency, seems momentarily satisfied with the outcome of her cruel game. She casually turns away from the scene of Chase's pain and vulnerability, her footsteps resounding in the hallway as she makes her way toward the kitchen. Over her shoulder, she tosses a parting shot, a reminder of the precarious thread on which Chase's safety hangs. "You're fucking lucky Alexis has a soft spot for you," she sneers, her voice laced with disdain. "Or else, you'd have been part of my collection weeks ago."
As she disappears from view, her words hang heavy in the air, a sinister echo of a threat that chills Chase to the core. Left alone, nursing the physical pain from the collision and the deeper, gnawing fear of Delaney's warning, Chase can't help but let his mind wander to the dark reality of what being part of Delaney's "collection" would mean.
Chase's mind, in its search for clarity amidst the turmoil, drifts to the specific, harrowing memories of the two men Delaney had swiftly ensnared as her slaves following the government's chilling declaration. He had been a bystander then, towering at his full height, yet feeling utterly powerless as he witnessed their ordeal. The vivid recollections of their suffering under Delaney's tyrannical rule are etched deeply in his consciousness.
In a particularly degrading display of her control, Delaney once orchestrated a perverse competition that Chase finds impossible to erase from his mind. She demanded the shrunken men race each other, their objective harrowingly demeaning: to lug her well-worn flats—a task nearly Herculean given their diminutive stature—to her, waiting with a smirk that spelled humiliation. The flats, heavy and cumbersome relative to their tiny forms, were a symbol of their subservience, making the task not just physically taxing but deeply humiliating.
Delaney's declaration of the stakes added a cruel twist to the ordeal. The loser, she announced with a gleeful cruelty that chilled the room, wouldn't just face the usual punishment of skipped meals. Instead, they were to be confined within the very object of their struggle, trapped under her toes within the dank, oppressive interior of her flats for the entire day. This punishment was not just a physical discomfort but a psychological torment, reducing them to nothing more than an insignificant piece of her wardrobe, subject to the whims of her feet.
The panic that erupted in their eyes at the pronouncement, the desperate scramble that followed, was a vivid display of their complete degradation. As they strained against the weight of the flats, their tiny bodies trembling with the exertion and the dread of the impending humiliation, the scene was a grotesque testament to the depths of Delaney's cruelty and their own loss of dignity.
Chase's thoughts linger on a particularly disturbing incident, one that replays in his mind with a chilling clarity. He remembers hearing faint screams one afternoon, a sound that led him to a horrifying discovery. Looking toward the coffee table, he saw a small head poking out from between the pages of one of Delaney's large books. She had jammed one of her tiny captives inside, using him as a makeshift bookmark while she casually went about her day. The casualness of her cruelty, treating a living, breathing person as nothing more than an object, a tool for her convenience, struck Chase with a deep sense of horror. It wasn't just the physical entrapment that chilled him; it was the laughter and indifference that accompanied it. This moment, like a snapshot of callous disregard, underscored just how much the shrunken men had been devalued, turned into mere playthings for amusement and convenience.
As Chase's mind weaves through these grim recollections, it lands on one last, vivid image that encapsulates Delaney's tyranny: the glass dollhouse. This wasn't just any dollhouse; it was a clear, transparent prison where she kept her shrunken slaves. The choice of glass, with its lack of privacy, was deliberate, ensuring that the men inside were always visible, always vulnerable. It was a constant reminder of their exposure and Delaney's watchful, controlling gaze.
The placement of this glasshouse was equally symbolic and cruel. Positioned directly on the floor in front of the couch, it served a dual purpose. For Delaney, it was a convenient footrest, a place to casually prop her feet up while lounging or watching TV. For the men trapped inside, however, it was a constant, looming reminder of their diminished status. Every time Delaney rested her feet on their transparent roof, it reinforced their helplessness and her dominance. The message was clear: they were beneath her, both figuratively and literally.
Chase forces the dark thoughts from his mind, pushing away the images of cruelty and domination that threaten to overwhelm him. He needs to focus on the present, on navigating the dangers that lie in the path between him and relative safety. With a deep, steadying breath, he continues his journey down the hallway, each step a testament to his resilience in the face of fear.
Eventually, the kitchen looms ahead, a vast expanse of tile and appliance that feels more like a landscape than a room. And there, at the heart of it, stands Delaney. She's casually stationed at the kitchen island, absorbed in the simple act of eating something and sipping her coffee. To her, it's just another morning, but for Chase, it's a treacherous passage he must navigate.
With a surge of determination, Chase moves to skirt around her presence, doing his utmost to go unnoticed. His goal is the tiny elevator next to the island—a marvel that would carry him up to the safety of the counter, far from Delaney's reach. Yet, as he approaches, a wave of dread washes over him. To access the elevator, he must pass alarmingly close to Delaney's foot—the very instrument of his recent terror.
Gathering every ounce of courage, Chase hastens his steps, his eyes fixed on the elevator. He reaches it, his heart pounding in his chest, and hurriedly presses the button, eager to ascend away from danger. But, to his growing horror, the elevator remains stubbornly still. It doesn't budge, not even a whisper of movement to indicate it might whisk him away to safety.
Panic flares within him as he frantically presses the button again and again, each attempt as futile as the last. The realization that he's trapped, standing vulnerably by the foot that had threatened to end his existence moments ago, sends a chill down his spine. The kitchen, once a place of nourishment and community, has become a landscape fraught with danger, with Delaney, oblivious to his plight or perhaps ignoring it, continuing her morning routine just steps away.
Delaney, catching sight of Chase's futile attempts to escape, looks down at him with a mixture of amusement and contempt. Her laughter, cold and mocking, fills the kitchen, echoing off the walls and underscoring her absolute dominance in this moment. "Oh, did you really think you'd be getting up here today?" she taunts, her voice dripping with scorn. "I unplugged that little elevator of yours. Didn't think it was particularly hygienic to have cockroaches like you crawling all over the place where I eat."
She leans in, a smirk playing on her lips as she observes Chase's frustration. "All this," she gestures grandly to the array of coffee and food on the counter, "is for humans. And let's be real, you're nothing close to that anymore."
Chase, despite the lump of fear in his throat, tries to retaliate, to find some words that could pierce the armor of her cruelty. But Delaney cuts him off, her laughter pealing out once more, crueler and more dismissive than before. "Save your fucking breath, Chase," she sneers, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "All I hear when you open that pathetic little mouth of yours are squeaks. Might as well be the sound of a mouse begging for mercy."
The gnawing hunger in Chase's stomach becomes impossible to ignore, a physical ache that compounds the emotional turmoil he's already enduring. Despite his desperation, he knows that pleading with Delaney would be futile; she delights too much in his suffering for any appeal to her humanity to be effective. His predicament seems hopeless until Delaney, with a twisted sense of benevolence, decides to offer him what she considers a favor.
With a cruel smirk, she tears off a tiny piece of her bagel, an act that initially sparks a glimmer of hope in Chase. The crumb, insignificant to her, is a feast in his current state. He watches, heart racing with a mix of desperation and cautious optimism, as the morsel falls to the floor near him. But Delaney's sadistic nature isn't satisfied with merely providing sustenance.
"There's a catch, though," she announces, her voice oozing malice. Before Chase can react, her foot comes crashing down on the crumb, her toes closing around it, effectively smashing it into the floor. When she lifts her foot, the crumb is caught between her toes, now a part of the sweaty residue that clings to her skin. "You want it? You can have it," she taunts, "But you're gonna eat it from my toes. Consider it a reminder of where you stand in this world—or, should I say, where you crawl."
Her laughter fills the kitchen again, a sound that now seems synonymous with Chase's degradation. The very thought of retrieving his meal in such a demeaning manner is abhorrent, yet the gnawing hunger and his diminished options weigh heavily on him. Delaney watches with evident pleasure, basking in the power she holds over him, forcing him into a situation that underscores his helplessness and solidifies her dominance.
As Chase, driven by an insatiable hunger, lowers himself to the demeaning act of eating from Delaney's toes, her response is immediate and viciously gleeful. "Holy shit, you're actually going for it!" she cackles, her voice laced with a sadistic pleasure that sends chills down his spine. "God, that's fucking gross. Did I mention I went running this morning? Yeah, imagine all that sweat and grime, and here you are, just licking it up. You're more desperate than I thought."
Her laughter is sharp, piercing, as if she's deriving immense joy from witnessing his humiliation. With each mocking word, she twists the knife deeper, enjoying the spectacle of his degradation as if it were the most entertaining show.
"Looks like you've found your new favorite dining spot," Delaney taunts, her words dripping with scorn. "Why don't you just give up and join my little zoo? It's clear you've got a taste for it. Plus, let's face it, Alexis could do with dumping your tiny ass for a real man. And you? It's not like you're good for much else anymore. Serving me might actually give your pathetic existence some sort of meaning."
Her offer, wrapped in cruelty and contempt, is a stark reminder of his dire circumstances. Delaney doesn't just see him as subhuman; she relishes in his downfall, in pushing him further into the depths of despair. The way she delights in his humiliation, suggesting his enslavement as a twisted form of mercy, showcases her sadistic nature in full force.