A Whisper in His Ear(Chapter 2 added 10/9)

[Firewall]

Hey all! While I am working on the third chapter of Sweetgum and Ash, I had a story that I shelved until I did some work on it this weekend. It was originally going to be a "Quickie" but It snowballed into a big story. I'll post the first chapter here but don't expect the upload frequency to be often until the other story is done.
Chapter 1

Mark laid in his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling above his shitty, dimly lit apartment. The silence was thick, broken only by the whir of a distant AC unit. Days ago, the love of his life had walked out, leaving only the faint scent of her perfume and a playlist he could no longer listen to.
He’d been wallowing, sure. Drinking too much, eating nothing but pizza rolls, and scrolling through old texts at 2 a.m. It was one of those nights now. He rolled over, groaning, pulling the covers up to his chin like a kid hiding from monsters. Which was funny, because monsters sounded easier to deal with than his thoughts.

But tonight, something was…off. The silence felt different. He was just dozing off when he felt a tickle in his left ear. Not like a bug, more like a feather—or maybe a voice.

“Hey. Hey, you.”

Mark sat bolt upright. “The fuck?” His heart jackhammered in his chest.

“Shhh. Relax. Don’t fret. My name is Brandi. With an ‘I’.”

He slapped his ear like an idiot, which only made him feel dumber when he heard her giggle. It was high-pitched, like a bell, but with a bite.

“Stop hitting yourself!” she said. “I’m literally right here. Inside your ear. Like, in it. You’re making this awkward.”

He blinked, panic crawling up his spine. “Okay, either I’m still drunk, or I’m losing my mind.”

“Or you’re just lucky.” she said. “Depends on how you look at it. Hey—could you not clean in here so much? There’s, like, zero dust to chill on. It’s just…moist.”

Mark was quiet for a second, processing. “You’re in my ear. You’re…Brandi?”

“That’s right, Mark.” she said, putting on a fake sultry voice that was more mockery than sexy. “And I am tiny. You know, like, Crumb-level tiny. Ant-Man-who? That kind of deal.”

He actually laughed, a surprised, raw sound. “Sure. Okay. Why not. Of course there’s a tiny woman living in my ear. My ex leaves, and now I’m hallucinating Thumbelina with a complex.”

“Oh, I’m not a hallucination.” she said. “Trust me, if I was, I’d be about six feet tall, and wearing something sluttier to get your rocks going.”
He snorted. “Well, sorry for disappointing you, Brandi.”

She made a tsk sound. “You’re the one who’s a mess, Mark. You’ve been lying here for three days. You smell like sadness, pizza sauce, and vodka.”

He groaned. “Thanks for the feedback.”

“Hey, I’m here to help. Sort of. I got bored, alright? There’s not much to do in the universe when you’re crumb sized except pick interesting sad sacks to move into.”

He flopped back down, rubbing his temples. “You can’t be real. I need sleep.”

“Go ahead. But I’ll still be here when you wake up. You know, whispering shit in your ear. Like, ‘Hey Mark, maybe you should shower. Or, hey Mark, maybe you should stop texting your ex at 2 a.m. with ‘u up?’”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re like my self-loathing, but with a voice.”

“Nah, I’m just Brandi. But trust me, if I was your self-loathing, you’d already be crying again. I’m just here to make sure you don’t do anything dumb. Or at least, not alone.”

He laughed again, softer this time. “Fine. Why are you here, really?”

There was a long pause. He thought she’d gone, but then he heard her shift, maybe curling up somewhere between his ear drum and whatever else was in there.

“Honestly?” she said, her voice suddenly softer. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just as lost as you. But at least you’re not boring, Mark. And maybe, just maybe, you could use a friend. Even if she is really, really tiny.”

Mark smiled in the dark. For the first time in days, his chest didn’t feel so heavy.

“Welcome to the shitshow, Brandi.”

“Thanks, big guy.” she whispered, her laughter echoing inside his ear. “Now get some sleep, or I’m going to start singing 90s boy band songs. Off-key.”

“God, anything but that.” Mark muttered, but the smile stayed. And maybe, just maybe, he started to drift off, feeling a little less alone.
==
Mark woke to the annoying, taunting chorus of his alarm, its beeps more abrasive than usual. He groaned, smacking his phone until it finally shut up. Sunlight leaked through the blinds, throwing strips of light across the pile of laundry by his bed. For a moment, everything felt normal again—well, normal in a post-breakup, why-do-I-exist way.

He sat up, rubbing the gunk from his eyes. That dream last night—Jesus, he’d been lonely before, but inventing a tiny woman living in his ear? Even for him, that was a new level of sad.

He sighed, got up, and shuffled to the bathroom. He was halfway through brushing his teeth when he heard it.

“Nice hair, bedhead. You look like a sad porcupine.”

He choked on toothpaste, coughing and spitting into the sink. He stared at his reflection, eyes wide. “No. Nope. Not again.”

“Afraid so, handsome.” Brandi’s voice rang out, clear as ever, somehow both teasing and familiar. “You didn’t dream me. Unless you’re still dreaming, in which case—plot twist, you’re lucid and you still look like hell.”

He leaned over the sink, peering into his own ear as if he could see her. “You…you’re still here?”

“Yup. It’s a real party in here. And stop moving your head so much. It’s like I live under a earthquake. Honestly, I’m thinking of filing a tenant complaint.”

Mark gripped the edge of the sink, breathing deep. “Okay. This is…something. I need coffee.”

He shuffled into the kitchen, pouring himself a mug with shaking hands. He sat at the table, staring into his cup, voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you so…small?”

Brandi went quiet for a second. “You’re really asking me that first? Not, ‘how are you in my ear?’ or ‘are you a government experiment’? Just—‘why so tiny?’”

He shrugged, wincing at how insane this conversation would sound to anyone else. “Yeah, well, you’re clearly not a hallucination if you’re giving me shit this early. I want to know.”

Brandi sighed—a sound that echoed weirdly in his head. “It’s a long story. Not one I feel like spilling at the moment. But let’s just say, last week I was even smaller.”

Mark frowned. “Smaller? How much smaller can you get?”

“Oh, believe me,” she said, with a laugh that sounded equal parts embarrassed and proud, “Try ‘barely visible to the naked eye’ small. Like, so small, I could fit between two grains of salt. I was practically a rumor.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “So you’re…growing? Back to normal?”

She hesitated. “Normal’s a strong word. But yeah, it’s slow, and weird, and I have no idea why it’s happening. Every day I wake up and it’s like, oh—my legs actually touch your ear canal now. Progress.”

He took a long sip of coffee. “Is that a good thing?”

Brandi laughed again, the sound sharp and bright. “Honestly? I have no clue. I’m just happy I can actually talk to someone now. When you’re sub-microscopic, the only company you get is dust mites. And trust me, they’re terrible conversationalists.”

He grinned, despite himself. “So, what happens if you keep growing? You gonna bust out of my ear like some kind of weird, tiny superhero?”

“Oh, please.” she said. “Don’t flatter yourself. I doubt I’ll ever be full-size again. But hey—at least now I can annoy you properly. That’s something.”

Mark snorted, glancing around his apartment like someone would catch him talking to thin air. “Well, I hope you like pizza rolls and existential dread. That’s pretty much all I got.”

“Could be worse.” Brandi replied. “Could be your ex in here. Now that would be hell.”

He almost spit out his coffee, snorting with laughter. “Okay, Brandi. You win.”

A comfortable silence settled in. For the first time in a long time, Mark didn’t feel quite so alone—even if his only company was a tiny woman with a big mouth and a lot of secrets.

“Hey..” she said quietly, softer now. “Thanks for not freaking out. Most people would’ve lost it by now.”

He smiled, letting the warmth of the coffee and her presence settle inside him. “Yeah, well. I guess weird company is better than no company.”

Brandi snickered. “Damn right. Now finish your coffee. We’ve got a whole day of being weird together ahead of us.”

A bit later, Mark sat at the rickety kitchen table again, picking at a bowl of cereal—generic brand, half-stale, the kind that left the milk tasting vaguely like cardboard. He chewed slowly, feeling Brandi’s presence like a buzzing thought in the back of his mind.

He took a spoonful, then paused, curiosity getting the better of him. “So, uh…what do you even eat, Brandi? Air? Earwax?”

She groaned, the sound making his left ear itch. “God, no. That’s disgusting, Mark! I have some standards, even at this size.”

He chuckled, glancing into his cereal as if he might see her perched on the rim, legs crossed. “So you don’t eat?”

“Not really. I haven’t felt hungry in ages.” she said, a wistful edge in her tone. “It’s weird. You’d think being small would mean I’d need, like, a molecule of sugar to keep going, but it’s like my body just…paused. The last thing I remember tasting was a chocolate chip. One chip, Mark. I miss food.”

He grinned, swirling the cereal with his spoon. “I’d kill for my only problem to be not being able to eat. Maybe I’d lose a few pounds.”

Brandi huffed, a soft, airy sound. “Yeah, well, you try not tasting pizza for weeks and see how cheerful you are. Smelling it is torture enough. I think my last memory of real food is better than sex.”

Mark laughed, catching himself a little too late. “That’s…tragic, actually. So, what, you just hang out in people’s ears for fun now?”

She paused, and he could almost feel her shifting. “Not usually. You’re the first person who’s…heard me, really. Maybe it’s because I’m getting bigger. My voice is catching up to your frequency or something. Science, right?”

He chewed thoughtfully. “So, if you do keep growing, maybe one day you can actually eat again.”

A silence, then a soft, hopeful note in her voice. “Yeah. Maybe. I’d kill for a taste of actual food. Or coffee. Or hell, even that cereal you’re eating. You have no idea how much you take it for granted.”

He smiled, surprisingly warmed by her longing. “If you ever make it out of there, I’ll buy you the biggest meal you’ve ever had.”

“Deal,” she replied, her tone lightening. “But it better not be generic cereal. I want something good. French toast, pancakes, all of it.”

Mark grinned. “Only the best. You have my word.”

For a moment, there was just the sound of him eating, the quiet hum of the world coming back to life outside, and a tiny, impossible promise hanging in the air between them.

Mark poked at the last soggy loop in his bowl, his appetite fading as Brandi’s question drifted into his ear.

“So, Mark…what happened? With your ex. You don’t have to tell me, but, you know, I am living in your head—well, your ear—so I’m basically family now.”

He sighed, staring at the swirl of cereal dust in his milk. “Honestly? I still don’t know exactly. Maybe that’s the worst part. One minute we were fine—laughing, planning trips, talking about moving in. Next minute, she’s just…distant. Picking fights over stupid stuff. I guess I missed the signs. Or ignored them.”

Brandi was silent for a moment, not even a wisecrack. “You think she found somebody else?”

He shook his head, though she couldn’t see it. “No. Not like that. She said she just needed space. But ‘space’ turned into her taking all her stuff and blocking me on Instagram. I didn’t even get a proper explanation. It was just…over. Like someone flipping a switch. Cold as hell.”

“Damn.” Brandi said, her voice softer. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah.” Mark admitted, voice raw. “It’s like—she was my whole world for almost two years, you know? And now I can’t even listen to our playlist or go to our old coffee shop without feeling like a complete loser. I keep replaying everything, wondering what I did wrong.”

“Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong.” Brandi offered. “Sometimes people just…suck. Or they get scared. Or they’re cowards who’d rather ghost than actually talk things out.”

He snorted, a wry smile twitching his lips. “You’re surprisingly good at this for a imaginary woman.”

“Please.” she replied, her sass re-engaged, “I’ve seen more heartbreak in a single dust bunny than most people see in a lifetime. And trust me, none of those bastards handled it any better than you.”

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Yeah, well. I guess I just wanted someone to tell me it’ll stop hurting eventually.”

There was a pause, and then Brandi spoke softly. “It will. I promise. And if it doesn’t, well…I’ll be here. Making fun of your cereal choices until you
laugh again. Or until I can finally eat something and ditch this place for a real meal.”

He laughed, the sound coming out lighter than he expected. “Deal, Brandi. Guess I’ll have to keep you around for a while.”

“Damn right. Now finish your cereal, drama king. We’ve got a whole depressing playlist to avoid today.”

He smiled. For the first time since the breakup, breakfast didn’t taste quite so bland.

Mark rinsed out his bowl, letting the warm water run over his fingers. He glanced at the window, sunlight making weird patterns on the chipped countertop. Brandi had gone quiet again, and he found himself missing her voice more than he expected.

“So..” he said finally, trying to sound casual, “if we’re going to be roommates—or whatever this is—I should probably know more about you. You know, before you turned into…my own personal Jiminy Cricket.”

She snorted. “Wow, thanks. You really know how to make a girl feel magical.”

He grinned. “I mean, you could be way worse. Jiminy Cricket never cussed at me before eight a.m.”

A pause—then Brandi sighed, almost as if she was rolling her eyes. “Alright, fine. Ask away, big guy. But don’t get your hopes up. I’m not as mysterious as you think.”

Mark leaned against the counter, mug in hand. “Where are you from?”

“Detroit. Don’t make a face. I know what everyone says about Detroit, but it’s not all abandoned factories and bad sports teams. I grew up in a tiny house with too many cousins and not enough space. My mom worked nights, my dad was never around much. I learned to talk fast, eat fast, and get out of the way even faster.”

Mark smiled. “You sound like trouble.”

“You have no idea.” she said, with something like pride. “I was the kind of kid who snuck out the window, who could talk her way into any concert or club before I was even legal. And yeah, I got into some shit. Stupid stuff. Nothing worth bragging about.”

He pictured a younger Brandi—quick, sharp, probably the type who could talk her way out of detention with a story and a grin. “You ever miss it?”

“Sometimes.” she admitted. “But I guess I always wanted…more, you know? Something bigger than the city. Something different. I bounced around. Waitressed, did a little freelance writing, some art gigs that never paid enough. Life wasn’t boring, I’ll say that.”

He could hear a softness creeping into her voice, something wistful and honest. “Sounds like you lived a lot, even before…whatever happened.”

Brandi was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I mean, I wasn’t exactly living the dream, but at least I was living. It’s weird being so small now. I used to think I could talk my way out of anything, but there’s not much negotiating with the universe when you’re the size of a crumb.”

Mark’s heart twinged. “You ever scared you’ll stay this way?”

She hesitated. “Sometimes. But I’m more scared I’ll just disappear again. That’s what being too small felt like—like I was on the edge of just…not existing at all.”

He nodded, understanding more than he wanted to admit. “You’re here now. And you’re not invisible, Brandi. At least, not to me.”

She snorted, but he could tell it was just to hide the tremor in her voice. “Yeah, well. Don’t get all sappy on me, Mark. I’m not your fairy godmother.”

He grinned. “Noted.”

There was a pause, but it felt companionable now. Like maybe they were both a little less lost.

“Alright.” Brandi said, her voice brighter, “Your turn. Tell me something embarrassing about you. I need ammo for later.”
He laughed. “You sure you can handle it?”

“Try me, pizza roll boy.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, already regretting offering to share. But Brandi’s curiosity was infectious, and maybe—just maybe—he liked the idea of making her laugh.

“Alright, you want embarrassing?” he said, setting his mug down and bracing himself. “This was in high school. Sophomore year. I was trying to impress this girl, Jenna, who was way out of my league. I decided to ask her to the homecoming dance in, you know, a big way.”

Brandi’s snort was immediate. “Oh god, this is already gold.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, I decide to do it at halftime, during the football game. I get my friends to help me spell ‘HOMECOMING?’ with poster boards in the bleachers. I even got the band director in on it—he agreed to have them play ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ while I walked over with a bouquet.”

“Mark, I’m dying. Please tell me you wore something ridiculous.”

“Worse. I wore my dad’s old suit. The jacket was so big I looked like I was in a Talking Heads video. Anyway, the band starts playing, my friends hold up the signs, and I walk over to Jenna with the flowers. Everyone’s looking. I’m shaking, totally sweating through this oversized suit.”

“Oh my god!” Brandi giggled, “It’s like a bad teen movie.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I hand her the flowers and say, real smooth, ‘Will you be the…uh, to my homecoming?’ Total brain freeze. I forgot the whole line. She just stares at me. And then, her boyfriend—I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend—shows up. He’s on the football team. Walks over, takes the flowers, and says, ‘Thanks, man, my mom loves roses.’ Then he puts his arm around her, and they walk off. The whole crowd is watching. I just kind of stood there, like an idiot, holding the empty vase.”

Brandi was cackling so hard Mark had to wait for her to catch her breath.

“Holy shit!” she said, “that’s…honestly, I wish I’d been there. I’d have given you a standing ovation for sheer commitment. Also, that suit visual is never leaving my brain.”

Mark grinned, cheeks burning even years later. “Yeah, well, my friends still bring it up. I was ‘Flower Boy’ for the rest of the year. Never lived it down.”

Brandi’s laughter finally faded, leaving a warmth in her voice. “For what it’s worth, that takes guts. Most people just send a text and hope for the best. You swung for the fences.”

Mark chuckled. “Yeah and missed by a mile. But hey—at least now I know: never wear your dad’s suit and always double-check if a girl’s already taken.”

Brandi sighed contentedly. “Thanks for sharing that, Mark. I needed that laugh. You’re officially more interesting than the inside of an ear canal.”
He smiled, surprised at how good it felt to let the memory out—and even better to have someone actually laugh with him about it.

“So what about you?” he teased, “Any stories of epic humiliation from the mysterious Brandi?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe half of it.” she said, voice mischievous. “But maybe I’ll tell you one—if you feed me more dirt on your tragic high school years.”

Mark laughed, shaking his head. “Deal. But only if you promise not to roast me too hard.”

“No promises, Flower Boy. No promises at all.”

Mark finished wiping down the kitchen counter, still smiling from his own humiliation, when Brandi spoke up—voice bright with mischief.

“Alright, Mark, you earned this. Time for some Brandi dirt. College edition.”

“Oh, this should be good.” he said, settling onto a stool, grinning.

“Okay, so picture this: Freshman year. I was in this intro psych class with a professor who looked like he’d been teaching since the dinosaurs. Anyway, for extra credit, he announced this big scavenger hunt around campus. My friends and I, being competitive idiots, obviously went all-in.”
Mark could already hear the trouble brewing in her voice. “I’m sensing nudity in our near future.”

“You’re not wrong, genius. So, we’re running all over campus, collecting ridiculous stuff—traffic cones, faculty nameplates, some poor kid’s tricycle. But then, one of the big point items was ‘skinny dipping in the campus fountain—video proof required.’ And of course, my best friend Mel dares me to do it.”

He snorted. “That’s such a freshman move.”

“Right? So it’s like midnight, the campus is pretty dead, and the fountain’s just begging for trouble. Mel is filming, I’m wearing the world’s ugliest pajama pants and a tank top, and I just strip down to nothing—shoes, undies, the whole deal—and jump in. Freezing my ass off, shrieking like a lunatic. It’s supposed to be a quick in-and-out, right?”

Mark was already grinning. “Yeah, let me guess. Not so quick?”

Brandi laughed, a sharp, delighted sound. “Oh, not even close. Two campus security guards show up out of nowhere, just as I’m about to hop out. Mel bolts with the camera, leaves my clothes in a pile, and I’m stranded—naked, soaking, and freezing. The guards are yelling, I’m trying to play it cool, but there’s only so much dignity you can have when you’re shivering and covering your bits with a handful of fountain coins.”

Mark was cracking up now. “What did you do?”

“What could I do? I had to beg the guards not to write me up, swearing it was for ‘research purposes’—like I’m some naked water scientist. They weren’t buying it. Eventually, Mel sneaks back and tosses me my pants, but—surprise! She grabbed the wrong pair, and they belong to some six-foot basketball player. I had to run across campus in pants ten sizes too big, soaking wet, holding them up with one hand and flipping off Mel with the other.”

Mark was wiping tears from his eyes. “That’s legendary. Did you get the extra credit?”

“Oh, hell yes. Our team won by a landslide. Professor Dinosaur never looked at me the same way again, though. I think I ruined fountains for him.”
He shook his head, grinning. “Remind me never to challenge you to a dare.”

Brandi’s voice was full of pride. “Too late. Now you know—never underestimate the lengths a Detroit girl will go for a free A. Or, you know, eternal bragging rights.”

They both laughed, the room filled with an easy, ridiculous energy. For a moment, it didn’t matter that Brandi was tiny, or that Mark’s life was a mess. In this weird new friendship, everything felt just a little more possible.

Mark grinned as Brandi’s laughter faded. A new question bubbled up—one he’d been wondering since last night.

“So, Brandi…what do you look like? Y’know, when you’re not living in my ear and the size of a dust bunny.”
She was quiet for a beat, like she was weighing how much to reveal. Then she said, almost matter-of-fact, “Well, back in the good old days—meaning, before I could literally fit inside a Cheerio—I was 5’9. Tall enough to reach the top shelf, thank you very much.”

He nodded, picturing it. “Alright. What else?”

“Dark brown hair.” she continued. “The kind that gets mistaken for black in the wrong lighting. Creamy skin tone—my grandma used to call it ‘coffee with too much milk.’ And brown eyes. The kind you can’t decide if they’re soft or just judging you.”

Mark grinned, trying to picture her. “So, tall, gorgeous, probably intimidating as hell.”

She snorted. “Please. I was all knees and elbows for half my life. But yeah, I clean up alright. Or at least, I used to. These days, I’m more like…if you took Barbie, shrank her down to ant size, and left her in a wind tunnel. But hey, at least my hair’s still better than yours.”

He chuckled. “If I ever see you full-size, you’re getting the fanciest coffee I can find.”

“I’ll hold you to that, pizza boy. Cream, no sugar.”

He smiled at the ceiling, wondering if he’d ever get to meet the real Brandi, five-nine and all. For now, her voice was enough—a lifeline in his strange new normal.

[Firewall]

Brandi let Mark’s description hang in the air for a moment, then let out a soft, knowing laugh.

“So, I’d ask what you look like, but, uh…after climbing up your neck like I was scaling Mount Everest just to get to your ear last night, I think I got the general idea.”

Mark raised his eyebrows, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Oh, so you’ve already checked me out, huh?”

She snickered. “Don’t flatter yourself, Andre the Giant. I got a close-up of your stubble and about forty square feet of flannel. From my perspective, you’re basically a walking mountain range. It was either climb you or live in the sock pile on your floor. And honestly? The sock pile smelled worse.”

He laughed, glancing down at his shirt. “Sorry about the terrain. I guess it’s hard to appreciate my good side when you’re smaller-than-an-ant-sized.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re devastatingly handsome—if you ever remembered to shave, and maybe did something with your hair other than ‘morning after heartbreak chic.’”

He rolled his eyes. “Wow, brutal. I thought you said you were nice.”

“I said I was small, not nice.” she teased. “But hey, if it’s any comfort, you seemed pretty…solid. Like, if you ever get back into dating, maybe lead with ‘structurally sound, easily climbable.’ Could be a hit.”

Mark grinned. “I’ll add it to my dating profile. ‘Likes pizza, long walks, and providing shelter for the extremely tiny.’”

Brandi giggled, a light and genuine sound that buzzed in his ear. “See? You’re already doing better than most guys out there.”

He leaned back, feeling oddly proud. “Well, if you ever need a place to crash—or a mountain to scale—you know where to find me.”

“Trust me, Mark. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a second, the world outside faded away. The only thing that mattered was the impossible friendship, and the way her laughter made everything seem just a little less broken.

Their laughter faded, Mark’s cheeks sore from smiling—a rare feeling these days. But curiosity still prickled in the back of his mind.

He glanced at his coffee, swirling what was left. “Okay, I now gotta ask—and if you don’t want to tell me, I get it. But how does a tall drink of water like you end up the size of a germ? And now, apparently, almost ant-sized?”

For a moment, there was just the faint hum in his ear, like Brandi was weighing every word. He almost apologized, but then her voice came—softer, a little tired.

“Most people would just say ‘lab accident’ and leave it at that.” she said. “But you’re not most people, Mark. And honestly, I’m tired of holding it in.

Besides, what are you gonna do—call the press? My NDA kind of lost its bite when the lab got turned to dust.”

He sat up, suddenly alert. “You were a scientist?”

Brandi let out a dry chuckle. “Lab tech. Not the genius, but I knew my way around equipment. I worked for a company—name’s not important now, but we were messing with…well, shrinking technology. Like, real deal, honey-I-shrunk-the-kids type stuff. Experimental, crazy dangerous, but it worked. Too well, maybe.”

He could hear her shifting, her voice growing steadier as she went on. “Anyway, we weren’t the only ones interested. Some rival company overseas got wind of what we were doing. Before we knew it, there was a hostile takeover. Real cloak-and-dagger shit—guys with accents and expensive shoes, the whole deal.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Jesus.”

“Yeah. They came in, took over the lab, and rounded us all up. I remember being cuffed, shoved into this holding cell with the others. We thought they’d just threaten us or try to buy us out, but…no. They wanted to make a point. Show what happens when you fight back.”

She took a breath, as if reliving it. “So they dragged me out in front of everyone, turned on the prototype, and pointed it at me. I barely had time to scream. Next thing I knew, I was…nothing. Smaller than dust, even. I guess they figured I was dead. Show of force, right?”

Mark’s mouth was dry. “But you’re not dead.”

“Nope. The thing about experimental tech is, sometimes there’s a failsafe the bad guys don’t know about.” He could almost hear her smile, bitter but proud. “Our head scientist was paranoid—he built in a safety measure. Anyone shrunken by the ray would, eventually, start growing back, just very, very slowly. I’m talking weeks to even reach ant-size. The rest of the team…they all got hit too. I saw them, after. But I was the first.”

Mark swallowed, trying to imagine that kind of isolation, lost in the cracks of the world. “What happened to the lab?”

“Destroyed.” Brandi said quietly. “After they finished their little demonstration, they torched the place. No evidence, no witnesses, no tech left
behind. When I finally managed to crawl out of the wreckage—well, I’ve been hiding out ever since. Nobody would believe me if I told them, anyway. Except, I guess…you.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Mark’s mind spun with the implications, the horror of it all. “You’re…damn, Brandi. I’m so sorry. That’s—Jesus, that’s more than anyone should have to go through.”

She let out a slow sigh, maybe relieved. “It’s fine, Mark. I’m still here, right? And hey—at least now I know not to trust men in suits with accents. Silver linings.”

He chuckled, but it was quiet, respectful. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

Brandi laughed—a real one, lighter than before. “Yeah, well, it’s easy to be brave when you don’t have a choice. But hey—if I’m stuck growing back in your ear for a while, at least you make good smelling coffee.”

He smiled, warmth filling him in a way he hadn’t felt in ages. “Anytime, Brandi. Anytime.”

For a long while, they just sat together, an impossible friendship formed by accident, loss, and a hell of a lot of courage.

Mark then stared at the coffee ring on the table, thinking about Brandi’s story. He wanted to help, to offer something more than just being a good listener.

“What about your friends?” he asked, voice gentle. “Maybe I could reach out to one of them, let them know you’re alive. I mean, if you can somehow—when you’re bigger, or, I don’t know… Is there anyone you trust?”

He felt her hesitation immediately. For a long moment, Brandi didn’t answer. When she finally spoke, her words were slow, careful.

“I… I saw my name in the paper, Mark. After the fire. Just a little blurb—no survivors, names of the dead. It was weird, seeing my own name like that. Like I’d already slipped off the map. My friends… I doubt any of them would believe you, even if you could get a message to them. I haven’t been in touch with anyone since—well, since that night. For all they know, I’m gone. Maybe it’s easier that way.”

Mark’s heart twisted. “What about your family?”

A tiny, almost inaudible sigh. “My mom was all I had left. She’s older now, stubborn, still lives in Detroit. I have no idea where she is, or if she even knows what really happened. Hell, she probably just thinks I burned up in some lab accident. I always figured I’d find her again—if I ever figured out how to grow back. But for now…” Brandi’s voice grew thinner, as if shrinking even further. “It’s just me. And now, I guess… you.”

Mark set his mug down, his voice rough. “I’m so sorry. That’s not right. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

He could hear Brandi’s old fire returning, just a spark. “Well, I could be stuck in a worse ear, you know. You at least make it feel…not so bad.” Then,
almost teasing, “And if I do ever get back to normal, you’re taking me straight to my mom’s. And you’re buying the plane ticket.”

He smiled, a small ache in his chest. “Deal. First-class all the way, Brandi.”

She let out a little laugh, fragile but real. “Maybe you’re not so bad, Mark.”

He grinned. “And you’re way too good at surviving for someone so tiny.”

For the first time, Brandi let herself lean into the comfort, her voice settling softly in his ear. “Thanks, Mark. For listening. For not making me feel like a ghost.”

He didn’t answer right away, but he didn’t need to. In the quiet kitchen, with sunlight inching across the floor and a tiny survivor in his ear, Mark realized something he hadn’t felt in weeks: hope.

After a long beat, Brandi spoke, her voice gentler than before. “Y’know, I keep saying ‘when I’m back to normal,’ like I’m gonna just snap back to five-nine one day. But…truth is, I know that’s probably not happening. Not without the tech. And the prototype they used on me? That took years to build, Mark. It was all custom parts, guarded secrets, trial and error. I watched them work on it every day. It’s not like I can just waltz into a hardware store and pick up a ‘Make Me Tall Again’ kit.”

Mark felt a pang of sympathy. He tried to keep his voice even, steady for her sake. “You don’t know that for sure. There’s always a chance, right?”
She gave a small, almost sad laugh. “Maybe. But even if there is, it’s a long shot. I’ll probably max out at a few inches. Four, tops. That’s what the safety protocol was set for—just big enough to not get swept up by a breeze, I guess.” She let out a sigh, long and tired. “But five-nine? I’m not holding my breath.”

He closed his eyes, letting her words hang between them. “I’m sorry, Brandi. I wish I could do more.”

She tried to sound chipper, but the sadness lingered. “Hey, I’m alive, right? I’ll take a few inches over nothing. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see what the world looks like from down here. Though I could do without the dust bunnies and the whole ‘riding in people’s ears’ thing.”

Mark smiled softly. “Well, if you’re stuck being tiny, at least you’ve got someone in your corner. I’m not going anywhere.”
There was a warmth in her voice now, quiet and grateful. “Thanks, Mark. Really. That means more than you think.”
==
After a while, Mark found himself looking around his apartment, a new kind of nervous energy buzzing under his skin. He’d been talking to Brandi for hours now—laughing, listening, confessing. But she was still just a voice, hidden in the curve of his ear, somewhere between a secret and a miracle.

He cleared his throat, hesitant. “Hey, Brandi… this might sound weird, but… do you think it’s safe for you to, uh, come out of my ear for a bit? I—I’ve got this old magnifying glass from a science kit. I could set up a kind of landing pad for you. Like, a card or something. You could… sit there, and I could actually see you.”

There was a long pause, like she was weighing her options—or maybe just holding her breath. “You sure you’re ready for the full micro-Brandi experience, pizza boy? It’s not exactly glamorous. You might need a microscope, not just a magnifier.”

He smiled, digging through a drawer for the glass. “I’m ready if you are. I’ll put a card right here on the table, and if you want, I’ll use my earbuds to pick up your voice. Might make it easier for us to talk, you know? Or at least less echo-y for you.”

Brandi hesitated. “Alright. But if you freak out and start screaming, I’m crawling right back into your ear canal.”

He laughed. “Deal. No screaming. You’re the bravest person I know, remember?”

Gently, he took a clean, white index card and set it on the kitchen table, right under the glow of a desk lamp. He held up his left ear and waited, heart thumping in his chest.

He felt the faintest tickle, like the brush of a tiny feather against his skin. “Okay.” Brandi said, her voice even tinier now—almost more a thought than a sound, “coming in for a landing…”

Mark waited, hardly daring to breathe. Then—there she was. The tiniest speck, a dark shimmer, moving with purpose across his earlobe. She scurried onto the card, sitting at the edge and catching her breath, maybe a sixteenth of an inch tall—no bigger than a grain of rice.

He held the magnifying glass over her, hands trembling a little. Through the lens, she came into focus: a flash of dark brown hair, a sliver of creamy skin, a pair of fierce little brown eyes blinking up at him, her tiny hands bracing herself on the edge of the card.



She waved, almost too small to see, but the movement was unmistakable. “Ta-da. Micro-Brandi, in the flesh.”

Mark’s eyes widened in awe. “Wow. You’re… incredible.”

He quickly grabbed an earbud, gently placing it down on the card near her. She scrambled over, climbing onto the smooth plastic, and cupped her hands around the tiny mesh speaker. Her voice buzzed louder, amplified by the tiny microphone, filling his ear with her usual sass. “I feel like I’m on a talk show for ants. Next up, the world’s smallest mug of coffee.”

He grinned, unable to help himself. “You’re even braver than I thought. And… weirdly adorable.”

She smirked, crossing her arms in her microscopic way. “Careful, big guy. I’m still tough as nails—just a lot harder to spot.”

He chuckled, leaning in close to the card, magnifying glass steady. “Still… it’s good to finally meet you, Brandi. For real.”

She looked up at him, all swagger and secret gratitude. “Yeah. You too, Mark. Thanks for giving a tiny girl a soft place to land.”
And as sunlight poured over the table, Mark knew that—no matter her size—Brandi was impossible to overlook.

[ensmallen]

Hats off to you, Firewall. Easy to see you really love doing this.

[ROGU3_20]

This, this is amazing. Keep it up! I'd love for Brandi to climb the rest of his body one day and just be that micro explorer hahaha.

[Firewall]

Hats off to you, Firewall. Easy to see you really love doing this.

Thanks! I definitely wanted to get my write on this year and you guys have been extra supportive on that!

This, this is amazing. Keep it up! I'd love for Brandi to climb the rest of his body one day and just be that micro explorer hahaha.

Thanks, Mr ROGU3. I will say that this is more of a slice of life story than something that'll have smut throughout. Controversially, I'm personally not a fan of micro but this was a story idea I definitely didn't want to leave off the cutting room floor.

[waffs]

“Or you’re just lucky.” she said. “Depends on how you look at it. Hey—could you not clean in here so much? There’s, like, zero dust to chill on. It’s just…moist.”

Dust? In an ear? Seems like an odd thing to hope for.

“That’s right, Mark.” she said, putting on a fake sultry voice that was more mockery than sexy. “And I am tiny. You know, like, Crumb-level tiny. Ant-Man-who? That kind of deal.”

“Hey, I’m here to help. Sort of. I got bored, alright? There’s not much to do in the universe when you’re three inches tall except pick interesting sad sacks to move into.”

Confusion. I'm guessing three inches is a relic of an older version, but...?

“Afraid so, handsome.” Brandi’s voice rang out, clear as ever, somehow both teasing and familiar. “You didn’t dream me. Unless you’re still dreaming, in which case—plot twist, you’re lucid and you still look like hell.”

Brandi got the good sass.

“Yup. It’s a real party in here. And stop moving your head so much. It’s like I live under a earthquake. Honestly, I’m thinking of filing a tenant complaint.”

Good luck finding the owner's office.

He shuffled into the kitchen, pouring himself a mug with shaking hands. He sat at the table, staring into his cup, voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you so…small?”

Brandi went quiet for a second. “You’re really asking me that first? Not, ‘how are you in my ear?’ or ‘are you a government experiment’? Just—‘why so tiny?’”

Seems like a reasonable starting question to me. Either she was born this way or she became it, and a commonish name and fluency in English suggest significant contact with humans growing up, which implies not the former.

She groaned, the sound making his left ear itch. “God, no. That’s disgusting, Mark! I have some standards, even at this size.”

He chuckled, glancing into his cereal as if he might see her perched on the rim, legs crossed. “So you don’t eat?”

Seems like an odd conclusion to draw.

“Not really. I haven’t felt hungry in ages.” she said, a wistful edge in her tone. “It’s weird. You’d think being small would mean I’d need, like, a molecule of sugar to keep going, but it’s like my body just…paused. The last thing I remember tasting was a chocolate chip. One chip, Mark. I miss food.”

Convenient!

She paused, and he could almost feel her shifting. “Not usually. You’re the first person who’s…heard me, really. Maybe it’s because I’m getting bigger. My voice is catching up to your frequency or something. Science, right?”

I wonder how many she's tried.

He sighed, staring at the swirl of cereal dust in his milk. “Honestly? I still don’t know exactly. Maybe that’s the worst part. One minute we were fine—laughing, planning trips, talking about moving in. Next minute, she’s just…distant. Picking fights over stupid stuff. I guess I missed the signs. Or ignored them.”

Brandi was silent for a moment, not even a wisecrack. “You think she found somebody else?”

He shook his head, though she couldn’t see it. “No. Not like that. She said she just needed space. But ‘space’ turned into her taking all her stuff and blocking me on Instagram. I didn’t even get a proper explanation. It was just…over. Like someone flipping a switch. Cold as hell.”

Hmmm.

“Worse. I wore my dad’s old suit. The jacket was so big I looked like I was in a Talking Heads video. Anyway, the band starts playing, my friends hold up the signs, and I walk over to Jenna with the flowers. Everyone’s looking. I’m shaking, totally sweating through this oversized suit.”

I choose to believe at least one of them deliberately held up their sign oriented wrong.

“What could I do? I had to beg the guards not to write me up, swearing it was for ‘research purposes’—like I’m some naked water scientist. They weren’t buying it. Eventually, Mel sneaks back and tosses me my pants, but—surprise! She grabbed the wrong pair, and they belong to some six-foot basketball player. I had to run across campus in pants ten sizes too big, soaking wet, holding them up with one hand and flipping off Mel with the other.”

Question is, did she get anything else on the way, or was it just the overlarge pants?

She snickered. “Don’t flatter yourself, Andre the Giant. I got a close-up of your stubble and about forty square feet of flannel. From my perspective, you’re basically a walking mountain range.

I was wondering about how well she could actually see the bedhead. But depending how long she's been tiny, maybe she's figured out how to parse distant sights.

“I said I was small, not nice.” she teased. “But hey, if it’s any comfort, you seemed pretty…solid. Like, if you ever get back into dating, maybe lead with ‘structurally sound, easily climbable.’ Could be a hit.”

Mark grinned. “I’ll add it to my dating profile. ‘Likes pizza, long walks, and providing shelter for the extremely tiny.’”

I mean. I'm not into guys, but seeing that in a profile would at least pique my interest.

“Nope. The thing about experimental tech is, sometimes there’s a failsafe the bad guys don’t know about.” He could almost hear her smile, bitter but proud. “Our head scientist was paranoid—he built in a safety measure. Anyone shrunken by the ray would, eventually, start growing back, just very, very slowly. I’m talking weeks to even reach ant-size. The rest of the team…they all got hit too. I saw them, after. But I was the first.”

So why do you assume you'll never grow back all the way? Sure, it'd take years assuming a steady rate, but there's no particular reason to suppose you won't last that long.

Mark swallowed, trying to imagine that kind of isolation, lost in the cracks of the world. “What happened to the lab?”

“Destroyed.” Brandi said quietly. “After they finished their little demonstration, they torched the place. No evidence, no witnesses, no tech left behind. When I finally managed to crawl out of the wreckage—well, I’ve been hiding out ever since. Nobody would believe me if I told them, anyway. Except, I guess…you.”

So you got shrunk and then survived the destruction, and everyone else got shrunk... I'm now intensely curoius about why you seem to be alone currently.

Honestly, much better put-together than I'd expect.

Definitely a story I'll be looking out for further chapters of.

[ROGU3_20]

Hats off to you, Firewall. Easy to see you really love doing this.

Thanks! I definitely wanted to get my write on this year and you guys have been extra supportive on that!

This, this is amazing. Keep it up! I'd love for Brandi to climb the rest of his body one day and just be that micro explorer hahaha.

Thanks, Mr ROGU3. I will say that this is more of a slice of life story than something that'll have smut throughout. Controversially, I'm personally not a fan of micro but this was a story idea I definitely didn't want to leave off the cutting room floor.

doesnt really need to be smut, it could just be exploring in a safe manner, probably just for fun, no sexual stuff involved.

[Firewall]

doesnt really need to be smut, it could just be exploring in a safe manner, probably just for fun, no sexual stuff involved.

Fair. I might have some way of doing that before the story reaches it's conclusion.

[Firewall]

Honestly, much better put-together than I'd expect.

Definitely a story I'll be looking out for further chapters of.

Thanks! Yeah, there is a few errors that seemed to undo themselves when I tried to upload it here the other night. Let me go in and make those corrections real quick.

As for the lab incident, the ray is an prototype so while Brandi might be the only survivor, any others either haven't survived being small or grown back. That may be a thread I touch upon later.

[Firewall]

Hey all, I figured since I had this lying around and was chipping away at chapter 3, I figured I upload it. Also, have looked into the final arc of "Shrink to Fit" as we reach the final handful of chapters of that though I have a handful that I haven't posted here yet before that final arc begins. Sweetgum & Ash will return next week!


Chapter 2

Brandi stretched her tiny limbs on the card, peering up at Mark’s giant, curious face behind the magnifying glass. She shook out her hair, sending off a microscopic cloud of dust.

“Not gonna lie.” she said, brushing at her skirt, “after living in your ear and crawling through the world’s grossest wreckage, I could use a serious bath. I probably look like I’ve been camping under a fridge.”

Mark chuckled, glancing around the kitchen. “I can whip something up for you. Hold tight, I’ll make you a luxury spa out of… whatever I’ve got.” He paused, thinking, then snapped his fingers. “Bottle cap. That should work.”

She smirked, rolling her eyes as he rummaged through the recycling bin. “Just no Q-tips, okay? I’ve seen enough of those for one lifetime.”

He laughed, coming back with a shiny metal bottle cap and a bottle of purple body wash—his ex’s, floral-scented, still half-full after all these weeks. He squeezed the tiniest dot into the cap, then carefully added warm water from the kettle.

“There.” he said, placing it beside her on the card. “Your own private tub. Five-star accommodations, with lavender-vanilla everything. Don’t say I never pamper you.”

Brandi approached the cap, peering inside. “Damn, that smells like a spa threw up in there. You sure your ex won’t come back just to steal the body wash?”

He grinned. “If she does, I’ll tell her it’s already booked. Go on, it’s all yours.”

She stripped down to her underwear and gave him a dramatic bow and, with a running leap, hopped onto the rim, shimmying down into the warm, sudsy water. “Ohhh, that’s the stuff,” she groaned, scrubbing her arms and dunking her hair. “You know, I could get used to this. Celebrity treatment and everything.”

Mark watched with a smile, still finding it surreal—a woman, living legend-sized, splashing in a bottle cap on his kitchen table. “Need a towel, too?”

She grinned up at him, dripping bubbles. “If you can spare a square of paper towel, I’ll call it a spa day. Bonus points if you warm it up.”

He obliged, tearing off the tiniest corner and zapping it in the microwave for a second. As she finished, he laid it gently on the card for her to wrap herself up in.

Brandi was out of her bath and flopped down on it, sighing in contentment. “Best bath I’ve had in…well, ever. If I’m stuck like this, I might as well live it up.”

Mark leaned in, elbows on the table. “We could do this every day. Bubble baths, epic views, maybe even a tour of the apartment. The world’s weirdest Airbnb.”

She laughed, wriggling her toes in the warm paper towel. “Not bad for a heartbreak suite. I’ve stayed in worse.”

He grinned, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “Guess we both have, huh?”

She winked—tiny, sassy, impossible not to love. “You have no idea.”

And in that moment, with the sunlight streaming in, the floral-scented bubbles, and a brand new towel, it was hard to feel small or alone at all.

Brandi was sprawled on the tiny square of paper towel, still damp and laughing at
Mark’s terrible attempts at spa music from his phone, when something strange washed through her body. At first, she just felt dizzy, almost like the world was stretching or warping beneath her.

She sat up, blinking hard. “Mark…hold on. I feel…weird. Like, really weird.”

He leaned in, worried. “What’s wrong? Is the water too hot?”

But before he could finish, Brandi gasped. The card shifted under her as her limbs tingled—buzzing, prickling, like a thousand pins and needles. In a blink, the world shrank around her. The cap tub, the towel, even the fine grooves on the index card seemed to pull back.

Mark’s eyes widened, jaw dropping. “Whoa. Brandi—you’re—”

He fumbled for the magnifying glass, but for the first time, he didn’t need it. She was growing, right before his eyes, inching up from being smaller than a crumb to the size of an ant.

Brandi stared at her hands, flexing her fingers in awe. “Holy shit. I—I just had a growth spurt. Like, actual inches. I haven’t felt this big since… God, since I could climb a crumb.”

Mark gawked, grinning like a proud parent. “You’re huge! Okay, maybe not huge, but—you’re ant-sized! You look…alive, Brandi. I can see your hair, your eyes, everything without the magnifier!”

She stood up, balancing on shaky legs, and looked down at herself—clothes now fitting better, limbs no longer impossibly spindly. “I—I don’t believe it. I thought it’d take weeks just to get this far. What the hell triggered this?”

He laughed, relief pouring out of him. “Maybe it’s the spa treatment. Or maybe you just needed a day with some company.”

Brandi’s face broke into the biggest smile he’d seen—or at least, the biggest smile visible to the naked eye. “Whatever it was, I’ll take it. I actually feel…me, for the first time in ages.”

Mark gently slid the card closer, just to be sure she was stable. “You okay? Dizzy?”

She shook her head, confidence returning with every second. “Nope. I feel great. Like I could run a marathon. Or at least, a marathon for bugs.”

He grinned, his own hope swelling. “At this rate, you’ll outgrow this card in no time.”
She sat down cross-legged, grinning up at him. “Then you better start prepping a bigger bath, Mark. And maybe find me some real pants, too.”

They both laughed, the weight of the world a little lighter for just a moment. And as Brandi stretched, testing her new limbs, she looked up at her giant friend with a spark in her eye.

“Guess we both got a second chance, huh?”

Mark nodded, smiling back. “Yeah. And I’m not letting go of it.”

Still buzzing from the unexpected growth spurt, Mark fished a ruler from his junk drawer and set it carefully on the table beside Brandi’s “landing pad.”

He grinned, eyes wide as he peered down at her, still marveling at the sight of his friend—no longer invisible, but an actual living, breathing person, right there on the card.

“Alright, science time.” he announced, holding the ruler steady. “Let’s see just how big you’ve gotten, Brandi.”

Brandi strutted to the edge of the card, glancing at the ruler and then at her own tiny self. She stood as straight as she could, putting on her best “measurement day at school” posture. Mark lowered himself so his eyes were level, doing his best not to laugh at the seriousness on her face.

He squinted. “Quarter of an inch—give or take a little. That’s about… what, the size of a fire ant?”

She puffed out her chest in mock pride. “I’ll take it! Next stop, ruler domination.”

He chuckled, setting the magnifying glass aside for the first time. “I can actually see your face now—sort of. Your hair looks wild, by the way.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s called volume, Mark. Maybe if you took deep cleaned your ears, my hair wouldn’t be so staticky.”

Mark grinned, then handed her the earbud again, setting it down carefully so she could climb on and let her voice boom through the tiny speaker. He marveled at how much clearer she sounded now—still high-pitched, still faint, but definitely louder and easier to understand.

“There you go,” he said, tapping the earbud with his pinky. “Now the world can hear your full Brandi-ness, quarter-inch and all.”

Her laugh echoed through the speaker. “Now I feel like a mini pop star. All I need is a microphone and a glittery outfit.”

He grinned, watching her wave up at him, tiny but fierce. “You know, I don’t think anything could stop you, Brandi. You’re basically a superhero now.”

She flexed her arms, pretending to show off muscles. “Don’t mess with the Ant-Sized Avenger, Mark. I’ll karate-chop your Cheerios.”

He laughed, feeling lighter than he had in ages. “Deal. But for now, let’s keep you on the table. I don’t want to lose you under the fridge.”

She nodded, glancing up at the world—her world—now just a little less terrifying. “Don’t worry, big guy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Mark smiled, the ruler still beside her. Quarter inch or not, Brandi’s spirit took up way more space than that—and, somehow, made the apartment feel full again.

Brandi stood at the edge of the card, looking out at the vast expanse of Mark’s kitchen table. To her, it was like staring out over a landscape—endless woodgrain ridges, the looming tower of a coffee mug, the distant promise of a napkin “hill.”

She adjusted her (now properly voluminous) hair, then shot Mark a determined look. “Alright, Columbus. Ready to let me loose on the wilds of your apartment?”

Mark grinned, crouching so his face was just above the table. “As long as you promise not to run under the fridge. I’m not emotionally prepared to lose you to the dust bunnies again.”

She snorted. “Please. I survived lab fires and international takeovers. I think I can handle a little linoleum and crumbs. But, uh… maybe you could spot me? Just in case.”

He nodded, careful and gentle, using a folded piece of paper like a drawbridge down to the table’s surface. Brandi took a deep breath, then scampered down, her quarter-inch body moving with surprising confidence.

From her new vantage, everything was absurdly massive. The chair legs stretched like skyscrapers; a dropped grape looked as big as a boulder. She navigated past a few errant breadcrumbs, waving up at Mark. “This is wild. It’s like I’m in one of those old stop-motion movies. Attack of the Fifty-Foot Mark.”

Mark chuckled, trailing her with his finger for moral support. “If you need a lift, just hop on. I can give you the grand tour—safely.”

Brandi kept moving, each step surer. She stopped at the edge of the table and looked down at the drop. “Alright, how do we handle this? Parachute? Or do I get the full Mark Airlines treatment?”

He grinned, gently lowering a spoon like a makeshift elevator. “Your chariot awaits, ma’am.”

She hopped on, gripping the edge as he lowered her to the seat, then the floor. Down here, the apartment was a canyon—tiles stretched into plains, every shadow a potential hiding place.

Brandi looked around, her eyes wide with awe. “So this is what it feels like to be in a nature documentary. The majestic Mark in his native habitat… Now with 100% more Brandi.”

Mark kept close, kneeling on the floor, phone out in case she needed light. “Any requests, Ms. Explorer?”

She looked around, spotting a stray paperclip and a bottle cap on the floor, both suddenly fascinating. “Honestly? This is more adventure than I’ve had in months. Let’s go see what’s under the couch. Who knows what treasures (or horrors) lurk there?”

He laughed, following her lead. “Just yell if you see a dust bunny bigger than you are.”

Brandi set off, emboldened by her new size, her own shadow stretching out in the kitchen light. Mark watched, heart pounding—not from worry, but from hope. For the first time, he saw her not as a victim, but as an explorer, taking her world back inch by inch.

And as Brandi navigated the wilds of the living room—a journey across the rug, a climb up the side of a sneaker, a heroic dodge of a Cheerio—she glanced up at Mark, grinning.

“Best day I’ve had in a long time, Mark. Keep up, big guy.”

He smiled, trailing after her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Brandi marched across the vast plains of Mark’s living room rug, her every step stirring up a universe of carpet fibers and motes of dust. Above, Mark tracked her progress, casting a gentle pool of light from his phone.

She passed a mountain range of stray shoelaces and skirted the edge of a forgotten laundry sock, pausing for breath at the base of the couch. From her view, it was a cliff face, with dark shadows hiding all sorts of mysteries.

She looked back up at Mark. “Alright, I’m going in. If I’m not back in five minutes, avenge my death.”

He grinned, lowering his face close. “Just don’t find any old pizza crusts. I’m still traumatized from last year.”

With a smirk, she ducked under the couch, her ant-sized frame slipping into the darkness. At first, it was all dust and silence. Then—something glimmered near the baseboard. She crept closer, brushing away a cobweb, and gasped.
It was a silver ring; its surface dulled with dust but unmistakably precious even at her size. Brandi reached out, touching it with a hand that now felt almost normal compared to its width.

“Hey, Mark!” she called, her voice still faint but stronger through the earbud. “I think you dropped something down here!”

Mark frowned, lowering his phone to peer under the couch. “What is it?”

Brandi pointed, standing next to the ring like a tiny archaeologist beside a lost relic. “It’s a ring! Looks like—well, like something important.”

Mark’s heart skipped. He reached an arm under, careful not to disturb her, and scooped up the ring with two fingers. He blinked in disbelief, brushing off the dust. It was his college ring—one he’d given up looking for after months of searching.

“No way!” he breathed, smiling wide. “I thought this was gone for good.”
Brandi beamed up at him. “You’re welcome, Indiana Jones. All it took was one tiny explorer and a lot of crawling.”

Mark slipped the ring onto his finger, the metal cool and solid. He looked down at Brandi, pride and gratitude shining in his eyes. “I owe you, Brandi. Big time.”

She laughed, hands on her hips, hair wild and full of dust. “Just promise you won’t forget where you found it, alright?”

He grinned, giving her a tiny, reverent salute. “Never.”

And in that moment, under the couch and surrounded by shadows, it didn’t matter how small Brandi was—she’d brought something back that Mark thought was lost forever. And together, they realized that sometimes, even in the strangest circumstances, it’s the little things that mean the most.

Mark slipped his ring back on, looking down at Brandi still standing bravely in the dust. She was quiet for a moment, almost thoughtful, her hands resting on her tiny hips.

He gently scooped her and the card she stood on back to the safety of the kitchen table, brushing off stray lint with the tip of a finger. “You know, Brandi, if you ever get tired of the explorer life, I could use a good luck charm around here.”

She smiled, a little softer than usual, and for a few moments, there was just the hum of the fridge and the low comfort of Mark’s presence filling the kitchen.

“I know what that ring meant.” Brandi said suddenly, her voice almost a whisper through the earbud. “Stuff like that… you don’t just lose it and forget. I, uh… I had something like that once.”

Mark sat down, elbows on the table, eyes warm. “You did?”

She nodded; gaze fixed on some far-off memory. “Yeah. I was engaged. Last year. It was one of those whirlwind things—met him at a gallery opening, moved in together after a few months. Everyone said it was too fast, but I didn’t care. He asked me to marry him in a photobooth, would you believe that? Pulled out a little velvet box between silly strip photos. I thought I’d found my person.”

Mark’s eyes softened. “What happened?”

Brandi sighed, sitting on the edge of the card, legs dangling. “Turns out he wanted the idea of me more than the real thing. The artist, the wild girl, the one who never planned anything. But when life got complicated—when bills piled up and my jobs weren’t steady—he started making excuses. He wanted safe, predictable, someone who fit his picture of what a wife should be.” She let out a bitter little laugh. “We broke it off a year before… well, before I ended up the size of a bug.”

She looked up at Mark, eyes shining even at her scale. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I thought I was small after he left me. Turns out, I had no idea how small things could get.”

Mark reached out, just a finger resting gently on the table near her, close enough for her to lean against if she wanted. “Guess we’re both experts in being lost, huh? Losing people, losing ourselves.”

Brandi nodded. “Yeah. But… I think maybe that’s why I’m here. Not just in your ear or on your table, but—here, with you. We both needed a reminder that lost things can be found again. Even if it’s just a ring… or a little hope.”

He smiled, a gentle warmth settling in his chest. “Or a tiny friend with the guts to take on the world.”

She grinned, leaning back, letting herself breathe for the first time in a long time. “You know what, Mark? I think we’re both gonna be okay. No matter how small the start.”

And together, as the afternoon sunlight poured across the kitchen, they shared the kind of quiet, unspoken comfort that only two survivors could truly understand.
==
The kitchen was still bathed in late afternoon light, Brandi settling in after sharing her story, when the unexpected sound of Mark’s door buzzer made them both jump.

Mark’s eyes widened. “Shit, that’s probably Jake.” He glanced down at Brandi, who looked suddenly alert and very, very small on her index card. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him see you. I promise.”

She gave a tiny thumbs up, a bit of her old sass peeking through. “I’ll keep a low profile, big guy. Go be social—I’ll just be over here, being very, very inconspicuous.”

Mark nodded, then quickly scooped up her card and tucked it behind a stack of mail on the counter—safe, out of sight, but with a tiny “window” where she could peek out if she wanted.

He opened the door, letting Jake in with a slap on the back and the easy banter of old friends. Jake, all grins and good-natured teasing, immediately made a beeline for the fridge. “Got any decent beer, or are you still on that craft seltzer kick?”
Mark rolled his eyes. “You know me, Jake. I’ve got both. Take your pick.”

As they settled at the table, Brandi listened from her hiding spot, half-amused, half-nervous. Jake’s voice boomed, joking about Mark’s hair and the mess in the living room.

Mark tried to keep things casual, but Brandi noticed the slight edge in his laughter, the careful way he kept himself between Jake and the stack of mail. At one point, Jake almost reached for a stray envelope—Brandi’s heart hammered—but Mark smoothly intercepted with a “Here, man, let me get that for you,” sliding the pile further away.

From her tiny “window” Brandi could just see the two of them—Mark relaxed but watchful, Jake totally unaware of the quarter-inch secret in the room. It was weird, hearing normal conversation again: sports, work gossip, someone’s disastrous date.

At one point, Jake glanced around, brow furrowing. “Place feels different, man. Not as… I dunno, lonely. Did you finally clean out your ex’s stuff or what?”

Mark smiled, and for a second Brandi thought he might say something. Instead, he just shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I did. Sometimes you find things you thought you lost, you know?”

Jake clinked his bottle against Mark’s. “Here’s to finding what matters.”

From her hiding spot, Brandi couldn’t help but smile. She could stay hidden for now. After all, some secrets—especially new, impossible friendships—needed a little more time before they could be shared.

And as the evening wore on, with laughter and the clink of bottles filling the air, Brandi felt a little less alone in the big, wild world.

The apartment gradually quieted as the sun dipped lower, painting long stripes across the kitchen floor. After an hour or two of stories and beers, Jake gave Mark a quick hug and a parting “Don’t be a stranger, man!” before heading out the door, leaving the apartment echoing with the comfortable aftermath of old friends.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Mark exhaled with relief and moved to the stack of mail, carefully lifting Brandi’s card out of hiding. She was sitting cross-legged, hair still a little wild, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Well..” Mark said quietly, “you survived your first guest appearance. How’d it feel to be undercover?”

Brandi gave him a slow, dramatic clap. “Five stars, big guy. You’ve got solid moves. For a second there I thought Jake was going to uncover your top-secret micro roommate, but you’ve got nerves of steel.”

Mark grinned, settling at the table. “He gets nosy sometimes, but he means well. I just… wasn’t ready to introduce you to anyone yet.”

She leaned back, resting on her elbows. “Don’t blame you. I’d rather meet your friends and family when I’m, you know, taller than a jellybean. I want my first impression to be something other than ‘bug-sized miracle.’”

He laughed, imagining it. “You think you’d ever want to meet them? My friends, my family?”

Brandi’s voice softened, turning thoughtful. “Yeah, actually. When I’m bigger—maybe a few inches, maybe more. I want to meet them. Show them who I really am. Let them know the truth… when I’m ready. I think I’d like that.”

Mark nodded, the idea warming something deep inside him. “You’ll get there, Brandi. And when you do, you’ll blow their minds.”

She shot him a playful smirk. “Until then, I’ll be your invisible sidekick. But hey—Jake’s cute, by the way. Got a nice voice. You sure you two were just friends?”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Very funny. I’ll let him know he has a secret admirer the size of a pencil eraser.”

Brandi laughed, her tiny giggles filling the kitchen. “He should be honored.”

Mark grinned. “He will be. Someday, you’ll get to tell him yourself.”

Brandi nodded, a dreamy look on her face. “Yeah. Someday. When the world’s a little less giant.”

And as the last of the golden light faded from the windows, they sat together—just a man, a tiny survivor, and a future full of impossible possibilities.
==
Later that night, as Mark tidied up after dinner, he noticed Brandi trying to make herself comfortable on a folded corner of the paper towel. She yawned, arms stretched overhead, her quarter-inch frame looking so impossibly fragile against the vast expanse of the table.

Mark felt a tug of responsibility—and maybe even a little protectiveness. “Hey, Brandi… that can’t be comfy. Let me find something better for you to sleep in.”

She blinked up at him, a little sheepish. “I mean, I’ve slept in weirder places. But if you’re offering, I wouldn’t turn down an upgrade.”

Mark scanned the kitchen, mentally flipping through every container, lid, and bit of packaging. His eyes landed on a small, clear travel soap box from an old toiletry kit—clean, sturdy, and just the right size. He gently washed it out and dried it, then lined the bottom with a single layer of soft cotton from a cotton ball, fluffing it into a tiny mattress.

He brought it over to Brandi, lowering the “bed” onto the table like he was setting down a treasure chest. “Voilà! Safe, comfy, and portable. I could even close the lid if you want extra protection—no drafts, no dust bunnies, no surprise visits from any passing spiders.”

Brandi stepped inside, her mouth open in wonder. “Are you kidding me? This is the Four Seasons compared to where I’ve been sleeping! And it smells way better than your ear.”

He grinned, watching as she laid back on her cotton mattress, arms behind her head, a content sigh echoing from the earbud he left nearby. “Let me know if you need a nightlight, or… I dunno, a tiny bedtime story.”

She giggled. “I’ll settle for you not knocking me off the table in your sleep, but the offer’s sweet.”

Mark smiled, a warm pride in his chest as he watched her nestle in. “Sleep tight, Brandi. You’re safe here.”

She rolled over, already half-asleep. “Thanks, Mark. For everything.”

As Mark dimmed the lights and moved to his own bed, he glanced back at the little soap-box shelter, knowing that—no matter how small she was—he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.

After Brandi drifted off, curled up in her cozy cotton bed inside the soap box, Mark sat at the kitchen table with his laptop open, the light from the screen washing over his tired face. The apartment was silent except for the hum of the fridge and Brandi’s soft, amplified breathing from the earbud beside her tiny “bed.”

Curiosity—and concern—nudged him to type “Pilser Labs fire” into the search bar. He scanned the headlines:

“Local Research Lab Destroyed in Mysterious Fire—No Survivors Found.”
“Authorities Investigating Possible Industrial Sabotage at Pilser Laboratories.”

He clicked through to an old article, heart thumping. There was a grainy photo of the charred building, emergency tape strung across the rubble. Below it, the names of the lost: Brandi Foster—he paused, realizing he’d never known her last name until now. Seeing it in print, paired with the words “deceased,” made something ache in his chest.

He read further, eyes skimming the list:
Evelyn Choi, Rafael Montoya, James Weller, Dr. Frederick Chu, Marina Cates, Nadine Jones, Carlos Ramirez, Lynn Peabody, Theo Carter, Anjali Singh, Bryce Liu. Eleven others, each name a whole story now cut short, or so the world believed.

He felt a surge of sadness for Brandi—imagining her, even tinier than she was now, wandering invisible through the wreckage, everyone she knew either missing, presumed dead, or truly gone. He wondered what it must have been like: not just to survive, but to know the world had moved on without you.

Mark closed the laptop softly, glancing over at Brandi’s soap box bed. She was still, breathing slow, at peace for now. He wished he could do more than just keep her safe in his apartment. He wished he could tell her—her friends, her mother, the world—that she was alive. That hope was still out there, as small and fierce as Brandi herself.

He pulled the soap box a little closer, just so he could keep watch. “You deserve so much more, Brandi Foster.” he whispered, voice barely more than a sigh in the dark.
As he turned off the kitchen light, he made a quiet promise: Whatever it took—he wouldn’t let her story end there.
====
As Mark drifted off to sleep that night, the apartment faded around him. The hum of the fridge became distant, the weight of the day fell away, and his mind wandered somewhere new.

He found himself standing in the middle of his living room, except everything looked…different. The couch towered above him, a soft wall of fabric. The coffee table was a mountain, and the remote control was almost the size of a skateboard. He glanced down at himself—his clothes, his hands—they looked the same, but he was no bigger than an action figure.

A familiar voice called out behind him. “Nice threads, G.I. Joe.”

He turned, grinning. Brandi stood there, also action-figure sized, wearing a T-shirt and jeans, hair loose and shining. For the first time, she looked real—not a whisper, not a blur, but someone he could truly see.

He laughed, spreading his arms. “So this is what you look like when you’re not smaller than a grain of rice.”

She stepped closer, her grin wide and genuine. “Yeah, well, you clean up pretty well yourself. Little more plastic than I pictured, but I’ll take it.”

They both laughed, the sound echoing off the oversized furniture. Mark couldn’t help but marvel—Brandi’s eyes sparkled, her expression open and alive. He realized, with a jolt, how much he’d wanted to really see her.

She nudged him, elbow to elbow. “Guess we finally get to hang out—no magnifying glass required.”

He nodded, feeling something shift in his chest. “It’s…nice, actually. Being eye to eye with you.”

Brandi’s voice softened. “Yeah. I missed this. Just…being with someone who sees me. Not as a victim, or a problem to solve, but as…me.”

They started walking together, legs swinging freely, taking in the transformed apartment. Every step was a little adventure: climbing a shoelace up the couch, jumping down to the soft plains of the rug, hiding behind a coffee mug the size of a boulder. But it was in the pauses—in the smiles and glances, the shared silences—that they connected for real.

They sat side by side atop the couch cushion, their legs dangling off the edge, the apartment stretching endlessly around them.

Mark glanced at her, earnest. “You know, in real life, I always feel like I’m the one lost at sea. But here, with you, everything feels…possible. Even if it’s just a dream.”
Brandi looked at him, her eyes full of something raw and honest. “Maybe that’s what dreams are for. Giving you what you can’t have yet—but still reminding you it’s out there.”

She reached for his hand, her touch warm and solid. For a moment, neither spoke. They just sat together—two action-figure survivors, finding comfort in each other’s presence, safe from the world’s storms.

As the dream began to fade, Brandi squeezed his hand, voice echoing as the room blurred around them. “Hang in there, Mark. We’ll get our chance. Promise.”

And with that, the dream dissolved into soft, golden morning light.

[waffs]

Brandi flopped down on it, sighing in contentment. “Best bath I’ve had in…well, ever.

That's honestly kind of sad, if she's not exaggerating. I'd be surprised if someone's first attempt at a cross-scale bath setup was very good.

Brandi was sprawled on the tiny square of paper towel, still damp and laughing at Mark’s terrible attempts at spa music from his phone, when something strange washed through her body. At first, she just felt dizzy, almost like the world was stretching or warping beneath her.

She sat up, blinking hard. “Mark…hold on. I feel…weird. Like, really weird.”

Question is, is this a relaxation trigger thing or coincidental timing?

She stood up, balancing on shaky legs, and looked down at herself—clothes now fitting better, limbs no longer impossibly spindly. “I—I don’t believe it. I thought it’d take weeks just to get this far. What the hell triggered this?”

Oh, that's interesting. I didn't pick up on anything about it in chapter 1, but apparently the shrink adjusted her proportions a little bit? And then the regrowth is undoing that, at least partly?

Also, I'm a little confused about the timeline - she got dressed at some point, and then got back on the towel?

He squinted. “Quarter of an inch—give or take a little. That’s about… what, the size of a fire ant?”

Ah, okay. That does clarify the "I can see you without the glass" thing - I was picturing the size of the little black ants that have been in most of the houses I've lived in, which topped out at maybe 1/8 inch.

From her new vantage, everything was absurdly massive. The chair legs stretched like skyscrapers; a dropped grape looked as big as a boulder. She navigated past a few errant breadcrumbs, waving up at Mark. “This is wild. It’s like I’m in one of those old stop-motion movies. Attack of the Fifty-Foot Mark.”

In the interest of math, because that's the kind of person I am... I don't think we've got a canonical height for Mark yet, but Brandi was formerly 5'9", and he refers to her as "tall", so I arbitrarily picked 5'5" - slightly short, and also a multiple of five, which makes things a little easier. So, from her perspective, he'd be... a far sight more than 50 feet. I get 1500, give or take. Just shy of half a kilometer.

Brandi looked around, her eyes wide with awe. “So this is what it feels like to be in a nature documentary. The majestic Mark in his native habitat… Now with 100% more Brandi.”

Can we give Brandi David Attenborough's voice?

With a smirk, she ducked under the couch, her ant-sized frame slipping into the darkness. At first, it was all dust and silence. Then—something glimmered near the baseboard. She crept closer, brushing away a cobweb, and gasped.
It was a silver ring; its surface dulled with dust but unmistakably precious even at her size. Brandi reached out, touching it with a hand that now felt almost normal compared to its width.

I'm not the best at visualization, but if she's a quarter of an inch... the band's, what, around the limit of what she can wrap her arms around? Wow.

It was his college ring—one he’d given up looking for after months of searching.

“I know what that ring meant.” Brandi said suddenly, her voice almost a whisper through the earbud. “Stuff like that… you don’t just lose it and forget. I, uh… I had something like that once.”

Hm? Is a college ring something more than a ring with your college's emblem on it?

From her tiny “window” Brandi could just see the two of them—Mark relaxed but watchful, Jake totally unaware of the quarter-inch secret in the room. It was weird, hearing normal conversation again: sports, work gossip, someone’s disastrous date.

Weird and, arguably, ethically dubious. Is it really right listen in on someone without their knowledge? Which isn't to say it's in any way the wrong choice. Just one of the little weirdnesses of being tiny.

At one point, Jake glanced around, brow furrowing. “Place feels different, man. Not as… I dunno, lonely. Did you finally clean out your ex’s stuff or what?”

Didn't she take everything (or approximately everything) when she left?

She leaned back, resting on her elbows. “Don’t blame you. I’d rather meet your friends and family when I’m, you know, taller than a jellybean. I want my first impression to be something other than ‘bug-sized miracle.’”

He laughed, imagining it. “You think you’d ever want to meet them? My friends, my family?”

Brandi’s voice softened, turning thoughtful. “Yeah, actually. When I’m bigger—maybe a few inches, maybe more. I want to meet them. Show them who I really am. Let them know the truth… when I’m ready. I think I’d like that.”

What about your own friends? It makes sense to not send them messages at this point, but once you're past an inch or so and easy to recognize, going to see them could be nice. Especially if you've already been meeting Mark's people.

He grinned, watching as she laid back on her cotton mattress, arms behind her head, a content sigh echoing from the earbud he left nearby. “Let me know if you need a nightlight, or… I dunno, a tiny bedtime story.”

"Tonight's story is 'Jack the Giant-Killer.' No, wait, that's the wrong one."

As Mark dimmed the lights and moved to his own bed, he glanced back at the little soap-box shelter, knowing that—no matter how small she was—he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.

After Brandi drifted off, curled up in her cozy cotton bed inside the soap box, Mark sat at the kitchen table with his laptop open, the light from the screen washing over his tired face. The apartment was silent except for the hum of the fridge and Brandi’s soft, amplified breathing from the earbud beside her tiny “bed.”

?

Curiosity—and concern—nudged him to type “Pilser Labs fire” into the search bar. He scanned the headlines:

...where did you get that name, though? Brandi specifically avoided mentioning a company name when she told the story.

He read further, eyes skimming the list:
Evelyn Choi, Rafael Montoya, James Weller, Dr. Frederick Chu, Marina Cates, Nadine Jones, Carlos Ramirez, Lynn Peabody, Theo Carter, Anjali Singh, Bryce Liu. Eleven others, each name a whole story now cut short, or so the world believed.

He felt a surge of sadness for Brandi—imagining her, even tinier than she was now, wandering invisible through the wreckage, everyone she knew either missing, presumed dead, or truly gone. He wondered what it must have been like: not just to survive, but to know the world had moved on without you.

I wonder whether anyone's actually confirmed dead. Almost certainly the rest of the shrink-ray team isn't, since they were all shrunk, but there may have been other people/teams in the facility... (Until there's some indication otherwise, I'm going to assume the whole team survived, each believing they're the only one.)

He found himself standing in the middle of his living room, except everything looked…different. The couch towered above him, a soft wall of fabric. The coffee table was a mountain, and the remote control was almost the size of a skateboard. He glanced down at himself—his clothes, his hands—they looked the same, but he was no bigger than an action figure.

Math time again? You're spoiling me. TV remotes... appear to be roughly 6-8 inches long, and skateboards are about 2 1/2 feet, so that puts Mark a little over a foot tall. In the upper range of action figures, but...

A familiar voice called out behind him. “Nice threads, G.I. Joe.”

...yeah, them. Them's that same size.
Incidentally, I assume Mark's got more than one set of clothes, so whatabouts is he wearing in the (shared?) dream?

They started walking together, legs swinging freely, taking in the transformed apartment. Every step was a little adventure: climbing a shoelace up the couch, jumping down to the soft plains of the rug, hiding behind a coffee mug the size of a boulder. But it was in the pauses—in the smiles and glances, the shared silences—that they connected for real.

Don't mind me, I'm just having some fun figuring out why there are shoelaces hanging from the couch cushion. Um... You're gonna be so disappointed if it turns out Brandi's not having this same dream, and this rapport ends up completely one-sided.

[Firewall]

Brandi flopped down on it, sighing in contentment. “Best bath I’ve had in…well, ever.

That's honestly kind of sad, if she's not exaggerating. I'd be surprised if someone's first attempt at a cross-scale bath setup was very good.

Brandi was sprawled on the tiny square of paper towel, still damp and laughing at Mark’s terrible attempts at spa music from his phone, when something strange washed through her body. At first, she just felt dizzy, almost like the world was stretching or warping beneath her.

She sat up, blinking hard. “Mark…hold on. I feel…weird. Like, really weird.”

Question is, is this a relaxation trigger thing or coincidental timing?

She stood up, balancing on shaky legs, and looked down at herself—clothes now fitting better, limbs no longer impossibly spindly. “I—I don’t believe it. I thought it’d take weeks just to get this far. What the hell triggered this?”

Oh, that's interesting. I didn't pick up on anything about it in chapter 1, but apparently the shrink adjusted her proportions a little bit? And then the regrowth is undoing that, at least partly?

Also, I'm a little confused about the timeline - she got dressed at some point, and then got back on the towel?

He squinted. “Quarter of an inch—give or take a little. That’s about… what, the size of a fire ant?”

Ah, okay. That does clarify the "I can see you without the glass" thing - I was picturing the size of the little black ants that have been in most of the houses I've lived in, which topped out at maybe 1/8 inch.

From her new vantage, everything was absurdly massive. The chair legs stretched like skyscrapers; a dropped grape looked as big as a boulder. She navigated past a few errant breadcrumbs, waving up at Mark. “This is wild. It’s like I’m in one of those old stop-motion movies. Attack of the Fifty-Foot Mark.”

In the interest of math, because that's the kind of person I am... I don't think we've got a canonical height for Mark yet, but Brandi was formerly 5'9", and he refers to her as "tall", so I arbitrarily picked 5'5" - slightly short, and also a multiple of five, which makes things a little easier. So, from her perspective, he'd be... a far sight more than 50 feet. I get 1500, give or take. Just shy of half a kilometer.

Brandi looked around, her eyes wide with awe. “So this is what it feels like to be in a nature documentary. The majestic Mark in his native habitat… Now with 100% more Brandi.”

Can we give Brandi David Attenborough's voice?

With a smirk, she ducked under the couch, her ant-sized frame slipping into the darkness. At first, it was all dust and silence. Then—something glimmered near the baseboard. She crept closer, brushing away a cobweb, and gasped.
It was a silver ring; its surface dulled with dust but unmistakably precious even at her size. Brandi reached out, touching it with a hand that now felt almost normal compared to its width.

I'm not the best at visualization, but if she's a quarter of an inch... the band's, what, around the limit of what she can wrap her arms around? Wow.

It was his college ring—one he’d given up looking for after months of searching.

“I know what that ring meant.” Brandi said suddenly, her voice almost a whisper through the earbud. “Stuff like that… you don’t just lose it and forget. I, uh… I had something like that once.”

Hm? Is a college ring something more than a ring with your college's emblem on it?

From her tiny “window” Brandi could just see the two of them—Mark relaxed but watchful, Jake totally unaware of the quarter-inch secret in the room. It was weird, hearing normal conversation again: sports, work gossip, someone’s disastrous date.

Weird and, arguably, ethically dubious. Is it really right listen in on someone without their knowledge? Which isn't to say it's in any way the wrong choice. Just one of the little weirdnesses of being tiny.

At one point, Jake glanced around, brow furrowing. “Place feels different, man. Not as… I dunno, lonely. Did you finally clean out your ex’s stuff or what?”

Didn't she take everything (or approximately everything) when she left?

She leaned back, resting on her elbows. “Don’t blame you. I’d rather meet your friends and family when I’m, you know, taller than a jellybean. I want my first impression to be something other than ‘bug-sized miracle.’”

He laughed, imagining it. “You think you’d ever want to meet them? My friends, my family?”

Brandi’s voice softened, turning thoughtful. “Yeah, actually. When I’m bigger—maybe a few inches, maybe more. I want to meet them. Show them who I really am. Let them know the truth… when I’m ready. I think I’d like that.”

What about your own friends? It makes sense to not send them messages at this point, but once you're past an inch or so and easy to recognize, going to see them could be nice. Especially if you've already been meeting Mark's people.

He grinned, watching as she laid back on her cotton mattress, arms behind her head, a content sigh echoing from the earbud he left nearby. “Let me know if you need a nightlight, or… I dunno, a tiny bedtime story.”

"Tonight's story is 'Jack the Giant-Killer.' No, wait, that's the wrong one."

As Mark dimmed the lights and moved to his own bed, he glanced back at the little soap-box shelter, knowing that—no matter how small she was—he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.

After Brandi drifted off, curled up in her cozy cotton bed inside the soap box, Mark sat at the kitchen table with his laptop open, the light from the screen washing over his tired face. The apartment was silent except for the hum of the fridge and Brandi’s soft, amplified breathing from the earbud beside her tiny “bed.”

?

Curiosity—and concern—nudged him to type “Pilser Labs fire” into the search bar. He scanned the headlines:

...where did you get that name, though? Brandi specifically avoided mentioning a company name when she told the story.

He read further, eyes skimming the list:
Evelyn Choi, Rafael Montoya, James Weller, Dr. Frederick Chu, Marina Cates, Nadine Jones, Carlos Ramirez, Lynn Peabody, Theo Carter, Anjali Singh, Bryce Liu. Eleven others, each name a whole story now cut short, or so the world believed.

He felt a surge of sadness for Brandi—imagining her, even tinier than she was now, wandering invisible through the wreckage, everyone she knew either missing, presumed dead, or truly gone. He wondered what it must have been like: not just to survive, but to know the world had moved on without you.

I wonder whether anyone's actually confirmed dead. Almost certainly the rest of the shrink-ray team isn't, since they were all shrunk, but there may have been other people/teams in the facility... (Until there's some indication otherwise, I'm going to assume the whole team survived, each believing they're the only one.)

He found himself standing in the middle of his living room, except everything looked…different. The couch towered above him, a soft wall of fabric. The coffee table was a mountain, and the remote control was almost the size of a skateboard. He glanced down at himself—his clothes, his hands—they looked the same, but he was no bigger than an action figure.

Math time again? You're spoiling me. TV remotes... appear to be roughly 6-8 inches long, and skateboards are about 2 1/2 feet, so that puts Mark a little over a foot tall. In the upper range of action figures, but...

A familiar voice called out behind him. “Nice threads, G.I. Joe.”

...yeah, them. Them's that same size.
Incidentally, I assume Mark's got more than one set of clothes, so whatabouts is he wearing in the (shared?) dream?

They started walking together, legs swinging freely, taking in the transformed apartment. Every step was a little adventure: climbing a shoelace up the couch, jumping down to the soft plains of the rug, hiding behind a coffee mug the size of a boulder. But it was in the pauses—in the smiles and glances, the shared silences—that they connected for real.

Don't mind me, I'm just having some fun figuring out why there are shoelaces hanging from the couch cushion. Um... You're gonna be so disappointed if it turns out Brandi's not having this same dream, and this rapport ends up completely one-sided.

I'll answer a few of these that aren't major spoilers. My measurements might be a bit off with each future installment so don't mind me. P.S. Thanks for pointing out the timeline error...I'll fix that shortly.

1. While I haven't put Mark's height in these last couple of chapters, It is in a later one I am working on, He is 6'1 barefoot.
2. In terms of Brandi's regrowth, it is purely coincidental that she grew while having a bath. The road to her growing to a more seeable size has begun.
3. How Mark deduced which lab Brandi worked for will be mentioned in the next chapter.
4. In the dream, Mark should be wearing his sleepwear. Both of them should be about 6 inches tall in the same dream.
5. Don't worry, people that know Brandi personally will show up soon....

[waffs]

I'll answer a few of these that aren't major spoilers. My measurements might be a bit off with each future installment so don't mind me. P.S. Thanks for pointing out the timeline error...I'll fix that shortly.

1. While I haven't put Mark's height in these last couple of chapters, It is in a later one I am working on, He is 6'1 barefoot.
2. In terms of Brandi's regrowth, it is purely coincidental that she grew while having a bath. The road to her growing to a more seeable size has begun.
3. How Mark deduced which lab Brandi worked for will be mentioned in the next chapter.
4. In the dream, Mark should be wearing his sleepwear. Both of them should be about 6 inches tall in the same dream.
5. Don't worry, people that know Brandi personally will show up soon....

For the record, inconsistency in the measurements doesn't actually bother me. I like to be able to process numbers and figure out comparisons, but I don't particularly mind if I have to visualize a different comparison in the next paragraph. (Unless the specific numbers are plot-relevant, anyway, which I don't think they are here.)
Likewise, if I mention a contradiction, it's usually meant more as "I feel like I'm missing some fact to reconcile these" rather than "this doesn't make sense, change it". A question is "this is what's in my mind as I read this", not "tell me the answer". And so on. (Sorry if this was unnecessary. I worry a lot about whether I come across as harsh and critical when I don't mean to.)

1. Ah, okay. I misinterpreted him calling pre-shrink Brandi "tall", then. Oh well.
2. Interesting. She mentioned in chapter 1 that she had been even smaller, so I have to wonder what the difference is between the two modes of growth.
3. I look forward to finding out!

5. Ooh, where did I put that popcorn kernel?

[Firewall]

I'll answer a few of these that aren't major spoilers. My measurements might be a bit off with each future installment so don't mind me. P.S. Thanks for pointing out the timeline error...I'll fix that shortly.

1. While I haven't put Mark's height in these last couple of chapters, It is in a later one I am working on, He is 6'1 barefoot.
2. In terms of Brandi's regrowth, it is purely coincidental that she grew while having a bath. The road to her growing to a more seeable size has begun.
3. How Mark deduced which lab Brandi worked for will be mentioned in the next chapter.
4. In the dream, Mark should be wearing his sleepwear. Both of them should be about 6 inches tall in the same dream.
5. Don't worry, people that know Brandi personally will show up soon....

For the record, inconsistency in the measurements doesn't actually bother me. I like to be able to process numbers and figure out comparisons, but I don't particularly mind if I have to visualize a different comparison in the next paragraph. (Unless the specific numbers are plot-relevant, anyway, which I don't think they are here.)
Likewise, if I mention a contradiction, it's usually meant more as "I feel like I'm missing some fact to reconcile these" rather than "this doesn't make sense, change it". A question is "this is what's in my mind as I read this", not "tell me the answer". And so on. (Sorry if this was unnecessary. I worry a lot about whether I come across as harsh and critical when I don't mean to.)

1. Ah, okay. I misinterpreted him calling pre-shrink Brandi "tall", then. Oh well.
2. Interesting. She mentioned in chapter 1 that she had been even smaller, so I have to wonder what the difference is between the two modes of growth.
3. I look forward to finding out!

5. Ooh, where did I put that popcorn kernel?

I mean I'm 6'0 myself and I would consider 5'9 for a woman on the taller side. While it hasn't been mentioned yet in the story, Brandi does like to wear heels so she would be nearly as tall as Mark most days if she was her normal size.