The air in the back service alley was cool and still, smelling of dusty concrete and the sharp metallic tang of new paint on the armor. You were behind your small, folding table, trying to make a sale, but your voice was loud and your movements were too broad, repeatedly dragging Eia Starr’s attention away from her phone. You were simply being annoying.
Eia Starr sat against the wall, an imposing figure of high-gloss black vinyl and shimmering, bubblegum-pink plating. Her custom suit was gorgeous and immaculate: the heart-shaped chest plate gleamed, and the massive helmet, topped with intricate darker-pink filigree, was tilted slightly.
She finally moved. She reached down, her thick, black-gloved hand retrieving the silver, double-barreled "shrink ray" prop from the ground. Her armored head tilted, and the dark, reflective T-visor settled on you. Her voice, flat and amplified by the modulator, was laced with sharp irritation.
“Seriously, dude? You need to lower your tone. I can’t hear myself think. Let’s see if this prop actually has a decent vibration motor.”
The small, high-pitched Zzzt! sound of the prop was followed by a catastrophic, sickening compression. The air squeezed out of your lungs. You were instantly reduced to two inches, watching the ceiling of the alleyway shoot into the heavens.
You lay stunned on the coarse concrete, a tiny speck, when Eia Starr, distracted by a message on her wrist-mounted phone, shifted her immense weight to stand up.
CRUUNNNCCHHH!
The black, scuffed leather toe of her cowboy-style boot, wide and heavy, descended slightly too far back, landing squarely on the fragile legs of your booth. The structure shrieked, the aluminum frame buckling, and the entire table collapsed into a chaotic, flattened wreckage beneath the sudden, immense pressure. The sound was a deafening, brittle explosion that vibrated your teeth. You were showered in fine, gritty dust, mixed with the acrid odor of crushed particle board.
The boot lifted slowly, the worn, black rubber sole peeling off the wreckage with a sickening, suctioning SCHHHHHLP sound. You dragged your body away, your lungs tight with fear.
Eia Starr now stood fully upright, looking down at the flattened ruin of what had been your vendor table. Her voice, metallic and modulated, cut through the quiet alley air.
“Oh, wow. Did that just… collapse? Dude, I think the center of the table was right where the beam hit. I didn’t mean to do that.” She paused, looking around the empty alley. “But if it was hit, where did the guy go? I can’t have someone running around saying my prop is a working weapon.”
The Pursuit and the Sensory Overload
She began to search, taking slow, heavy, measured steps. The hard, heavy heel of her boot THOCKED against the concrete with a terrifying, rhythmic force. You were constantly battered by the seismic tremors. The air around her immense form was a suffocating cloud of synthetic polymer, leather, and her own warm, salty human musk.
You could hear her armored breathing, a low, rhythmic metallic hiss and whoosh, like a huge machine operating directly overhead. The legs of her armor, gleaming black vinyl and pink plating, were immense, unstoppable pillars.
You tried to run, but she was methodical. Her huge, dark T-visor swept the ground.
You scrambled across the rough, sandy concrete, when suddenly the seismic tremors stopped.
You looked up just as the toe of her boot slammed down—not crushing you, but blocking your escape with overwhelming precision. The shadow of the immense, worn, black leather toe cap enveloped you completely.
“There you are,” her voice stated, flat and relieved. “I knew you didn't just vanish.”
A titanic, black-gloved hand—the armored gauntlet with its high-gloss pink plates—descended slowly. The metal of the glove was cool, reflecting the light, smelling faintly of oiled polymer.
The tips of her index finger and thumb, thick and capable, clamped down on either side of you. The grip was a non-crushing, absolute lock, seizing you without effort. You were lifted quickly, sailing high through the air, the speed causing your vision to blur.
You were raised until you were suspended directly in front of the massive, dark T-visor. You could feel the soft, rhythmic whoosh of the helmet’s ventilation against your face. You were held perfectly still between the two armored pincers.
“Listen, I’m being honest: I shrunk you on purpose. You were annoying me, and I wanted to see if the lights on this prop actually fired anything,” she modulated, her voice clinical and uncaring. “I didn’t mean to crush your table, but hey, accidents happen. The problem is, you’re an accident that can talk. And I can’t risk you running around telling everyone my prop is functional.”
She pressed the thick, metallic fingertips just slightly tighter, the gentle, irresistible force of the armor reminding you of the power holding you.
“This is a liability issue, dude. What do you suggest I do with you right now?”
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