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.