Mitch leaned back into the sagging cushions of Chris’s couch, absently swirling the beer in his hand. "Man, that shrinking virus freaks me out," he muttered, his eyes distant. "Imagine just… vanishing like that. One minute you're normal, the next you're bug-sized. Just gone."
Chris, sprawled in his recliner with his socked feet propped on the coffee table, let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, it’s a trip. Honestly, I try not to think about it too much. What would you even do if it happened? Or if someone you knew shrank right in front of you?”
Mitch set his beer down, his hand lingering on the cold can. “I’d help them,” he said firmly, though his voice wavered. “I mean, I’d have to. Imagine walking away. I’d never be able to live with myself.”
Chris raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Admirable. Hope I’d do the same, but… hard to say, right? You immune?”
“Yeah,” Mitch replied, scratching at his neck. “At least, that’s what the test said.”
“Good. Hate to see you end up like one of those stories on the news. People just… disappearing.” Chris’s words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding.
Mitch stood, grabbing his jacket. “Anyway, I’d better head out. Angie’s expecting me.”
Chris stretched, his joints popping audibly. “Alright, man. Door’s unlocked. Let yourself out. I gotta take a piss.”
Mitch heard the bathroom door close and the unmistakable sound of a man relieving himself. But before he could leave, a wave of nausea surged through him, sharp and all-consuming. He doubled over, his vision warping. The ground rushed up to meet him, and then everything went black. — When Mitch came to, the world around him had transformed into a cavernous expanse of textures and looming shadows. The carpet fibers beneath him were as thick as tree trunks. He staggered to his feet, his breaths shallow. “No… no, no, no!” he stammered. “Chris! Help!” His voice was a whisper against the enormity of the room, swallowed by the ambient hum of the house.
The bathroom door opened, and Chris emerged, drying his hands on his jeans. Mitch’s heart soared as Chris’s colossal frame loomed closer. “Chris! Down here!” He jumped, waving his arms frantically.
Chris’s gaze landed on him, but instead of relief, confusion flashed across his face. He crouched, peering down with furrowed brows. “What the hell… How’d you get in here?” His voice was a rumble, each word a jarring vibration.
“Chris! It’s me! It’s Mitch!” he screamed, but his tiny voice didn’t seem to register. Massive fingers reached for him, the ridges of Chris’s skin like jagged cliffs.
“Oh, a tiny,” Chris murmured, his tone shifting to one of mild amusement. “Wonder where you came from.”
“No, no! I’m Mitch! Chris, please!” Mitch writhed as Chris’s fingers enclosed him. The air thinned, and the heat of Chris’s grip smothered him.
Chris carried him effortlessly to the coffee table, sliding out a battered shoebox from underneath. Mitch’s stomach dropped as Chris opened the lid. Inside, a cluster of tinies huddled together, their expressions blank, their movements lethargic.
“You guys got company,” Chris said, his tone casual as he dropped Mitch into the shoebox. The others shifted slightly, making space for him. Mitch scrambled to his feet, slamming his fists against the walls of his new prison. “Show him the ropes.”
“Chris, don’t do this! It’s me!” But the lid came down with a finality that extinguished all hope, plunging him into stifling darkness.
From above, Chris’s muffled voice rang out from outside the box, cold and indifferent. “Good thing Mitch didn’t see that. He’s got a soft spot for tinies.” — Mitch’s fists throbbed as he pounded the walls of the shoebox, each blow growing weaker with exhaustion. His throat burned from screaming, his pleas barely audible even to himself. Tears blurred his vision. “Chris! It’s me! Let me out!”
The box jolted violently, throwing Mitch and the other tinies into a chaotic tumble. The lid flew open, and blinding light poured in, searing his eyes. Mitch barely had time to react before the box tilted sharply, and he was hurled onto the cold, unforgiving floor. The impact knocked the wind out of him. Groaning, he forced himself up and looked around, his heart sinking as his gaze traveled upward—upward—to the towering figure of Chris.
Chris lounged on the couch above, his face a mask of indifferent calm. He barely spared a glance at the scattered tinies before his lips curled into a faint smirk. “Alright,” he drawled, reaching lazily for the TV remote. “Clocking in, my dudes.”
Mitch’s confusion turned to dread as Chris’s massive feet lifted from the floor, casting shadows over the tiny group. Then, with a resounding thud, they slammed down on either side of them, their damp heat radiating oppressively. The air thickened with the sour, heavy scent of sweat.
Mitch froze. What was Chris expecting them to do?
The answer came swiftly. The other tinies moved like insects, scurrying toward the giant’s feet without hesitation. Mitch watched in disbelief as they began to clean, their tongues scraping the grime and sweat from Chris’s toes. Their mechanical fervor was horrifying, their movements eerily coordinated.
“Chris! What the hell are you doing?!” Mitch’s voice cracked with desperation. “These are people! You can’t—” He stammered, his mind reeling. “It’s me! Mitch! Look at me!”
Chris didn’t respond. He didn’t even glance down.
Panic surged through Mitch as he stumbled toward one of the others, grabbing the man by his shoulders. The man’s body was emaciated, coated in grime, his eyes devoid of life. “Why are you letting him do this to you?!” Mitch demanded, shaking him. “He’s treating you like—like things! Fight back!”
The man blinked, his expression dull, his voice flat. “Do the work,” he muttered, following Chris’ previous instructions. “You learn to love it.”
Mitch stumbled back, his heart pounding as he watched the man crawl with disturbing reverence toward Chris’s splayed toes. The tiny figure pressed his face into the humid crevice between Chris’s pinky toe and fourth toe, his movements deliberate, almost worshipful. Mitch's breath hitched as Chris’s toes curled instinctively, gripping the man’s head like a vice. The tiny man moaned, his body shuddering as though this was the very reaction he craved. His tongue darted out, dragging across the damp ridges of flesh with unsettling eagerness.
Mitch felt bile rise in his throat as the man’s head vanished deeper into the folds of Chris’s toes, his form dwarfed and consumed by the oppressive, clammy mass. “No… no, no, no!” Mitch stammered, his voice trembling as he staggered backward. “What the hell is wrong with you people?!”
His protests rose to a scream as he pounded on Chris’s nearest toe. “Chris! Stop this! Look at me! It’s Mitch! Please!”
The massive toe twitched, a motion so simple yet overpowering, and Mitch was thrown off balance, tumbling to the floor. He landed hard, the shock jolting through his tiny frame as he struggled to regain his footing. Above him, Chris shifted with a languid ease, dragging his enormous sole across the ground. The sound of it—a low, gritty scrape—was deafening at Mitch’s size, and the damp heat radiating from the colossal foot made the air thick and suffocating.
Mitch scrambled backward, his breaths shallow and frantic. Chris’s foot rose and moved towards him once more, casting a shadow that engulfed him entirely. His stomach twisted in fear as it lowered back to the ground, stopping just short of crushing him completely. The act wasn’t deliberate cruelty; it was thoughtless, instinctive—an effortless assertion of Chris’s dominance over the tinies beneath him.
The other tinies didn’t flinch. They clung to Chris’s feet like devout worshippers, burying their faces into the filth-encrusted folds of his soles, their actions disturbingly enthusiastic. Mitch’s mind spun, grappling with the unbearable truth: they weren’t just prisoners—they were devoted.
“Doing great, as always,” Chris murmured, his voice dripping with casual condescension. He flexed his toes, eliciting murmurs of approval from the others. “Keep it up.”
“Yes, sir!” the tinies chorused, their voices united in blind obedience.
Mitch jolted at their response, his despair deepening. His screams dissolved into hoarse sobs as he crumpled to the ground, his body trembling. Around him, the others toiled, their vacant expressions betraying no trace of the humanity they once possessed.
Chris lounged above, his towering presence suffocating. Mitch’s world narrowed to the oppressive reality of his situation: he was no longer a friend.