On one gloomy afternoon in late July, Amaya thought her ambitions had been dealt the final blow. How many times did she have her dreams choked out? How many times have others tried to trample her into the mud?

It was a story as old as time. She had a little sob story behind her shoulders herself; but then again, who didn't. Her dreams had always been weighed down by her bills. Sometimes, everything she'd ever wanted seemed to be so tantalizingly close that it would have been enough to reach out and grab it – but it was only wishful thinking, and her fingers always grabbed at hot air. On that gloomy afternoon she walked, beaming, into a conference room, joining the rest of the Quality Control team; she had a speech prepared, in which she'd address them – for the first time! – as her team, hers to lead, hers to use as a start-off pad towards new heights.

She could see it so clearly. Her intern, Cassie, beaming in that overexcited way she tends to express joy in. James slowly clapping, secretly wondering if she was going to fire him (she was). Amelie smiling, the gears behind her eyes already turning; how would she best suck up to her new boss? And Sam, oh Sam, biting his lip, feigning sympathy, venomous congratulations dripping off his tongue… Yes, she saw them all – and she saw the future, in which, even with her small team, she could bring some change, turns things around (because God knows after those revelations the company really needed someone to turn things around) and ascends. Higher. Her ambition called her higher.

Instead, the promotion was granted to Sam; he was the last to walk out, too, saying goodbye with a sweet “better luck next time” and a pat on her shoulder. Amaya wanted to rip his arm off and stick it into his ass so far up she’d see the fingers come out of his throat.

(Yes, sometimes, ambition uses strange vehicles to get back up).

She almost started raging right there and then – but she realized she wasn’t alone, and Amaya never let herself break down in front of other people. A woman stepped out of the corner. She wore the OpSec uniform and she had a badge, but Amaya could neither place the face nor remember the name. The woman was young and had vaguely Asian features; a series of silvery pins ran through her eyebrow.

“Can I help you?” Amaya asked in a perfectly corporate-polite way.

“It's better than that,” the woman said. “We can help each other.”

***

Two days later, walking to the office, Amaya found herself thinking through the possibilities once again. Somehow, the Big Picture helped her distract herself from the things she was about to do.

Perhaps what she’d planned wasn’t that bad.

It wasn't that bad because the company failed society. Those planes were dangerous, and the company was sweeping things under the rug. She knew it better than anyone else. The QC team has been cleaning some things up very meticulously. She’d done her best to avoid that work, even while everyone else at QC was happily washing the dirty laundry and stuffing their pockets. One of the things she’d wanted to change. (One of the reasons she didn’t get the promotion, wasn’t it).

It wasn't that bad, because the Competitor made better product, and she would surely have a future at the Competitor after this ordeal, when nothing tied her to the remains of the Company no more.

It wasn't that bad, because the assholes at the top had been sucking their workers dry, like so many before them. She was fighting back against oppression, against an aging clique of vampires in sheepskin. They were all white men, too; she'd hit all the sweet spots for the white liberals she'd been working with (like Cassie, her intern). The others… collateral damage, surely. (Also, they promoted fucking Sam over her).

It wasn't that bad, because she really liked the thought, and the Asian woman with the pierced eyebrow had been very charming.

It wasn't that bad because she didn't feel that way about it.

Maybe that was enough.

She went up to her floor, rushed past a series of cubicles towards her own spot, threw her bag down and changed from her boots into her work shoes: a pair of elegant black pumps. She swung by the bathroom – she'd had two cups of coffee this morning to steady her nerves a little – and stopped in front of the mirror on her way out to pop a little pink pill into her mouth; it was a gift from the girl with the studded brow. It tasted of wild strawberry to her; she let out a giggle.

(“It'll help,” the woman told her. “People tend to freeze when shocked. With this, you're not going to freeze. You might even like it.”)

She was about to find out, she supposed. She pushed her glasses up her nose, thinking of the one time James shared his appreciation for the contrast between the black and the gold; she wondered if he'd have the same opinion today. Probably not for long. Today, she'd change some opinions.

And silence others. No way around it, oh no. The QC team was complicit. She had a trail to blaze today! Out with the corruption, in with a little bit of chaos, and, if the girl with the studded brow didn't lie, an opportunity to bring it all back together. All the teams, playing by her rules. A good old show of force still counted for something, when well-placed. She believed in that – enough to take her chances.

Speaking of.

She exited the bathroom, swung by her cubicle again to pick up her phone, then marched into the very conference room where she was not promoted a couple days prior (oh, someone would regret that mistake). The lights were off; she kept them off. Amaya closed all the blinds, locking them at the bottom, but opened a window – theoretically, someone with binoculars could take a peek from the opposing wing of the building, but that didn't seem likely. She dropped into a wheeled chair, spun herself around, eyes closed, calculating.

“Half an hour”, she thought. “Half an hour for the QC team, then I gotta go higher.”

Sam probably wouldn't be here, she thought. He would be having his morning tea with the senior from the floor above… perhaps right over her head. She would get to him later, though. From there – to the security office…

(The girl with the studded brow had a twinkle in her eye when she described that part of the plan. Perhaps, it was all about the security office all along. But Amaya didn't mind that.)

…and, finally, she'd take the elevator all the way up, so that at eleven a.m. she'd be at the Board meeting room, where this would end.

A knock on the door. Amaya's heels hit the floor.

“Come in,” she said.

The door opened. Cassie stuck her head inside. She must have died her hair over the weekend; she was now a strawberry blonde. There was a folder in her hands.

“Hey, Amaya,” she said. “Sorry, I saw you walk in here. I just needed a signature from you on this. It's an evaluation form, you know.”

“Sure, let's evaluate you,” Amaya said. “Close the door.”

Cassie walked in; the handle softly clicked behind her. “Wo-oh, it's dark in here,” she smiled. “And cold. Do you think the office is usually too cold?”

“It is,” Amaya said. “Freezing my ass off every day.” She reached for her phone and opened an app that the girl with the studded brow installed for her. Amaya wouldn't believe it could ever work, if not for the very convincing demonstration. She lifted her phone and pointed the camera at her intern.

“Snapping a picture?” Cassie jokingly posed. “Seriously, it's so cold…”

Amaya pressed a big red button. There was the clicking sound of a camera shutter followed by a flash. Faint odor of ozone wafted through the air. Cassie vanished.

***

To Cassie, it was like looking into and touching the sun at the same time; her senses exploded, nerves suddenly incapable of processing the intensity of sensation. Migraine shot through her head, sent her curling to the ground, body contorted in a muscle spasm. She bit her tongue and her mouth quickly filled with the salty, metallic, bloody tang.

For a few seconds, she was paralyzed. Thoughtless panic conquered her consciousness; she wanted to scream, but could not, her vocal cords would not cooperate. Her first thought was about that, spiced up with a classic reference: i have no mouth and i must scream.

But she had a mouth. And she had a body, still. It reminded her of itself by going from paralysis to a hot sensation of countless needles jabbing into her skin; like she'd hit the funny bone in the elbow and the pain reverberated throughout her entire body. She groaned, then opened her eyes; her vision was blurry, spoiled by misplaced shadows and vomit-inducing doubles.

And yet it was impossible to miss Amaya.

She was right there. Giant. Immense. Face looming far above, cold, only the corner of her lips slightly raised in amusement. She placed her phone on the table; there was a thud. She took a step forward, and there was a much louder thud, so loud it drowned out Cassie's scream.

“Jesus F-!!!” Cassie let out, haphazardly trying to get away. Her limbs obeyed – but just barely. She was far too slow; too tiny, she realized, although it hurt her brain just to think about how tiny. Then Amaya leant forward, and Cassie felt a lump block her throat; paralyzed again, this time with fear, she slumped in place, staring upwards with an expression of abject terror.

Amaya's hand reached out towards her; sharp, long, shiny nails closing on her tiny form like the talons of a great bird of prey. She whimpered as her mentor lifted her up by the collar of her shirt, letting her dangle helplessly.

“Cassie.”

She whimpered something completely incoherent; later, she wouldn't be able to recall anything about this moment, except for Amaya's dark eyes and the edge of her nail brushing against the back of Cassie's neck.

“I like you.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

“Don't do anything dumb,” Amaya continued, “and you might get out of this.”

She crouched. The world rushed past Cassie; it was all shades of grey, black, and pale sunlight yellow coming in through the window. Except – there was a shiny glint of gold, same as the glasses perched atop Amaya's nose.

An anklet. She'd seen that freaking anklet every day, she realized. Amaya liked her jewelry. She was probably the kind to wear toerings, too, except of course right now she wouldn't be able to see that because of the office pumps-

Amaya lowered her towards the anklet, then changed her grip; for a second, Cassie was awkwardly pressed into the warm flesh of her palm as the larger woman undid the clasp on the anklet. Once done, she brought Cassie closer and skillfully locked the chain of the anklet around Cassie's hands, attaching her like a tiny pendant. The girl cried out, feeling the tendons in her wrists strain under her own weight. The clasp softly clicked back into place.

“There,” Amaya said. “Front row seat. Don't fall off!”

She rose to her full height again. Cassie cried.

***

Amaya went back to the chair at the head of the conference room table. Her phone was still on the edge of the table; she picked it up, suddenly feeling way more confident – and hyped up – than she did a minute ago. She really did like Cassie, and Cassie, perhaps, didn't truly deserve any of this, but the woman with the studded eyebrow had been very clear about some of the terms, and, besides… Amaya didn't mind. Not anymore.

After all, Cassie had heard about this little clean-up the QC team had to go through with, and she didn't speak up. No one spoke up. Everyone just took in stride and welcomed Sam's ascension to the managerial position. Their own fault. But that's fine; easier to scoop the rot out.

Speaking of. James.

Her nails clacked against the glossy screen. “I wanna chat with you, James,” she typed in, “can you meet me in the conference room? It's about Sam's promotion.” Then, she waited.

He showed up. Just like Cassie, he softly stepped inside, except he brought a cup of tea with him. There was a glint in his eye, a little smirk on his lips; he didn't fear her no more, he felt very safe with Sam at the helm. The door clicked into place; he walked inside, set his cup of tea on the table, put his hands against his sides…

“Well?”

“If I got promoted the other day,” she said, “you'd get fired, because you take three days to update the regulatory spreadsheets and even my fucking intern only takes one.”

“Woah.” He sipped on his tea. “That just means I’m real meticulous. I am guessing your intern picked up your carelessness from you.”

“That makes you worthless,” Amaya said.

“Have you hit your head getting out of bed this morning?”

She gave him a crooked smile as she playfully swung her phone in her hands. “Let's play it out. What if I… terminate you.”

“You can't terminate me, Amaya. You're not my boss. You're just salty.”

“I can.”

“Piss off. Stop monkeying about.” He suddenly went pale. “Shit, sorry, I didn't actually mean it that way, it's just an expression-”

She snapped – both internally and a picture. Familiar flash, familiar puff of ozone; the air felt electric and so did she. Amaya walked forward; she had to stand right in his spot before she saw a starchy white spot on the floor. The steaming cup of tea was still on the edge of the table at his end, and she picked it up, the heat warming her hand.

Puny, she thought. It felt good to look down on him in that moment; she could just make out his tiny pale face turned in her direction, and she reveled in the knowledge his eyes would be focused on her. She had no doubt that his little mouth was saying something that seemed awfully important to him, but she didn't care enough to lean down and listen. In truth, she found herself wanting to get rid of him as soon as possible; shrinking both James and Cassie didn't bring much satisfaction, they had already been small.

But – there was a cup of tea.

Smirking at him, she brought it to her lips and sipped. Amaya smacked her lips.

“You're terminated, mister,” she said, inching her foot forward. She lifted it a little, resting it on the heel; the toe of it rose into the air above James and she couldn't see him anymore. “Just like that.”

She lowered it. Not all the way, just a bit; still, she thought she could hear a shriek of terror. Might have been Cassie. Amaya took another sip.

“Unless…” she mused and pulled her foot away. “Maybe you're not worthless. It's decent tea.”

She slammed her foot into the floor in front of him, taking a moment to admire the sight of her shiny pump in front of the tiny man; the sharp toe almost poking his miniscule form. She could only see him thanks to his white shirt.

“Shine,” she said.

There was no movement.

“Shine ‘em, boy,” she repeated, “Come on, prove yourself.”

He moved. He moved like he was delirious, sluggishly, dazed, but he moved – he fell to his knees in front of the toe of her shoe and put his hands on it. She laughed and menacingly stomped her heel.

“No greasy fingers,” she said. “Tongue. Come on, boy. Tongue.”

***

Amaya wasn't kidding when she said “front-row seat”. Cassie could see very clearly.

James – shrunken, pathetic, face red with tears.

Broken before she'd even touched him. The mere fact of shrinking threw this man into a sort of a spiral; some people are brittle like that. Shocked, she watched him crawl towards that shoe, all the while Amaya expectantly tapped it on the floor; she stopped when he got close enough.

Cassie forgot about the pain in her wrists. Forgot about her own fear for a second. James knelt at the toe, lowered his head, placed his lips against the shiny leather and licked.

Slowly.

Again.

Cassie cringed. It felt almost unethical to watch him do this. It felt wrong. Messed up in all the ways. She wriggled against the restraining cold metal, cried out – “stop it!” – but the woman above them couldn't hear her, and James was in his own little world. She could see Amaya's foot flex against the confines of the tight leather shoe – a toe-curl, she realized, a clear show of pleasure; the leather creaked as James dragged his tongue against the black full-grain.

***

She found herself growing bored.

Not with the power, no. She was borderline drunk on that. This little place, with its petty corruption and underhanded deals; the lack of vision, the everpresent knowledge that so much of this was just a scam to milk inverstors and public funding. At the center of it all – lies; lies about quality, safety, regulations. She could fix it, though. Cull trash like James, keep the pretty little things like Cassie – some here could learn a thing or two in the process.

She wasn't yet sure how the day would end, but she planned to ascend to the top walking a red carpet… literally.

“That's a shitty job,” she gloated at James, kicking him again. She could barely feel the impact of the tip of her shoe against his torso. “Sorry, boy. Terminated.”

Before he could move, Amaya raised her shoe – just a little – and brought that same tip right over him. Without a second thought, she delivered a determined, merciless tap, and there was instantly a splotch of red seeping from under that tip. Amaya dragged her foot back and forth, listening intently; there was a barely perceptible wet squeak as the sole slid across the floor…

Morbidly curious, she ended up kicking the pump off, then leaning down to pick it up; she caught sight of Cassie, still chained to her anklet, but didn't pay her any mind as she lifted the shoe up and flipped it to inspect the bottom. Amaya clicked her tongue. She could see a wet, dark splotch; there were also tiny pieces of debris that could only be the stretched-out remains of his clothing. She suddenly felt a bit light-headed; so little remained of the man she'd never be able to tell this was a man at all at any point in time. She thought that it would be so easy to crush him accidentally, without even caring – or knowing – that he was down there at all…

The door opened. Amaya jumped, lifting her eyes. Amelie, the secretary – now Sam's secretary – was standing right there, a curious expression on her face.

“Have you seen James,” she inquired in a puzzled tone. “I swear he went in here… Uhm…”

Amaya took the initiative.

“Come here,” she said. “You won't believe this crap.”

“Huh?”

“I'm serious, come here!”

Amelie took a sheepish step inside. She let the door close on its own; it went most of the way, but didn't click in place. “Did you step in something?”

“Look, look!”

Amelie approached. She was clearly taken aback, but Amaya's authoritative tone compelling enough. The moment she was an arm's length away, Amaya stuffed the shoe in her hands, forcing the other woman to take it.

“What are you…”

“Take a look! I've never seen anything like it!”

With her hands free, Amaya took a swift step back to get her phone once again. It would be easier if she could do this with a watch, she thought. Or if her skirt had a pocket.

Amelie lifted the shoe to her face, staring incredulously at the sole. The pump looked large in her hands; the woman was rather petite, probably a few sizes below Amaya. She furrowed her brows. Amaya could pinpoint the second that the other woman's eyes found the blood-soaked white shirt strewn across the sole. “Is this, like, a piece of paper,” Amelie asked, a confused smile creeping onto her lips. “What do you want me to see here…”

If Amaya had to describe this woman in one word, she'd say: sleazy. Amelie sucked up to people. Or sucked people off, whichever got her further. This wasn't ambition; this was greed. In fact, she could be the one to blame for the promotion fiasco; Sam and Amelie were close friends, and he'd no doubt use the woman's connections in the QC department and upper management to get a few good words delivered to the proper tables.

“It's James,” Amaya said. “You're a bit late.”

“What?”

Now that was a priceless expression.

She snapped with her phone. Her shoe clattered on the floor. Amaya had to crouch to see Amelie; for whatever reason, the girl ended up much smaller than Cassie and even than George, barely a few millimeters in height. Amaya laughed at the thrashing little form on the floor. She reached out, pinched Amelie between the tips of her nails, carried her towards the pump lying nearby – and dropped her in.

“I thought I'd ask you for a favor,” she said acidly. “Thought I could also put that pretty little mouth to use, but then I think ol’ Amelie is having a bit too much on her plate already, isn't she? Get some rest, you're working too hard, let me work for a bit now.”

She stood up.

“I work hard, though.”

She lifted her foot over the pump.

“I'll show you just how hard.”

In. The shoe still felt warm against her skin. She’d never be able to tell there was someone under her foot. In fact, she felt like she would forget, soon.

But that was alright. She had many more people to take care of. Starting with the rest of the QC. Couldn't let ‘em run around while hostike takeover was underway. Shame, but what can you do…

Amaya took another sip of James's tea, then set the cup down on the table and left the conference room.

“Watch and learn, Cassie,” she mused.

***

As Amelie tumbled down the slope of the pump's insole, she found herself unable to think – or breathe.

When she was fifteen, she went to a Six Flags amusement park with her older brother. They took to a roller coaster – it was called a Kingda-Ka, she thought, or maybe it was Kingdom-Ka, couldn't remember clearly anymore – but it was fast. And brutal. It was on the coaster that she experienced a panic attack for the first time in her life.

It was always the same scenario. Certain things caused her to stop thinking. Acting. Breathing. She turned into a limp ragdoll, her mind trapped in a little spiky prison of pure, unabated terror.

She'd heard of shrinking tech before – but, obviously, she never imagined she'd be on the receiving end of it, much less in this fashion. The worst part was how fast it happened; she collapsed to the ground, then she was pinched and lifted, then dropped, all in a span of less than a minute. Amaya's thundering words felt like fire on her eardrums. The warm, moist leather of her insole clang to Amelie's body a little like wet fabric tends to do. If she tried, she'd be able to stop her downwards roll somewhere halfway.

She didn't try.

She landed in the toe area, dazed, mind occupied with a single thought-

I WILL DIE

and she found that she was in a dark, well-rubbed spot, the leather here especially grainy, thready almost, worn out by the days, months, years of use…

I AM GOING TO DIE

…a complex odor hit her nostrils, a mix of fruity soap, leather footwear and the unmistakeable, invasive, sweaty aroma…

IN A SHOE

…and then the pale dreary sky of square ceiling plates was blocked out by an expansive wall of flesh, lighter than the rest of Amaya's body, decorated with deep wrinkles, toes pointed like a claw…

UNDERFOOT.

…and the foot fell, burying her beneath a mountain of flesh that couldn't possibly be her coworkers foot yet was, and it was in that last moment that Amelie could breathe again – but that last inhale only brought a gust of fresh sweat-infused air. She cried. Then nothing remained but hot, humid darkness – and her thoughts, the only proof she still lived down there, under Amaya's toes.

Weightlessness hit her. The larger woman started walking. The panic returned. Amelie opened her mouth – her face a smushed mask of terror, frozen in a silent scream. Salty sweat made its way past her lips.

I WILL DIE

But not just yet. No.

It would take some sweet time.