Steve Pearson awoke with a start, as one awakens from a breathless nightmare, disoriented, uncertain of where he was. It was dark, utterly dark, and hot, the air filled with an overpowering musky aroma. He tried to move, but found himself pinned by a heavy fabric stretched taut across his back, pushing him up against a warm, firm column of...flesh? He groped with his fingers and felt resistance, his hand entangled in a carpet of wiry strands. With a groan, the memory of where he was and how he had gotten there came flooding back to him. He remembered it all, the maddening horror, and knew that it was no dream.

It had taken forever for the boy to come, or so it had seemed to Steve. There was no warning. One moment he was working his body against the tip, his arms wrapped around the broad head and squeezing with all his might, and then a burst of warmth struck him in the belly. It was like having a bucket of bathwater thrown upon him, only the fluid was thick and heavy and lay upon him like a sticky blanket. He took a step back, coughing from the sudden splash, and saw the boy raise his erection higher. There was only enough time for Steve to realize that the boy was aiming deliberately before a second stream crashed over his head. The force of it made him stagger, the gooey mass now covering his head, smothering him. He fell to his knees and threw his arms over his head, spitting out semen and struggling to breathe while wave after wave crashed onto his back, burying him in a milky coating.

Then it was over. Steve choked and wiped his mouth and eyes as best he could, then hesitantly rose to his feet. Warm cream oozed down his body and fell in great globs from off his outstretched arms. His head swam. He felt sick and dropped to his knees again, gagging.

The boy was staring at him. Steve could feel the huge gaze upon his back, his flesh tightening up as though burned by it. At any moment he expected a savage blow that would end his life. Moments passed.

Steve could stand the waiting no longer, and slowly he turned to face his giant captor. The gesture probably saved his life, for he saw the boy's hand raised high, as though about to slam down and swat him flat. No doubt Steve's immobility had been taken as defiance, but now as he turned the boy smiled and lowered his hand. Once more it closed around the immense penis, squeezing out a residual glob of cream which the boy wiped upon Steve's belly. The glans rose up again, its tip glistening with the remnants of pleasure, and was held expectantly a mere inch from Steve's face. His stomach lurched, but the demand placed on him was clear. He began to lick it clean, struggling all the while against his rising gorge.

The boy then sat up. Wiping his hand on a patch of moss, he tucked his shrinking member back into his pants and fastened them once more. He reached for Steve, who nearly bolted in panic but somehow managed to stand his ground, well aware that to attempt to escape now would likely mean a very painful death. Rough fingers clamped around him, squeezing, almost breaking bones with their grip. Steve was wiped against the moss, the soft greenery scraping away the bulk of the semen even while tiny rocks and fallen thorns scraped agonizingly at his skin. He was abruptly pulled upward, the wind rushing past him and his stomach falling away from the sheer speed of his ascent. His lurching view spun between the forest canopy, the retreating ground, a wall of bare, pale flesh, and then the darkness of a pocket as he was thrust into it. The fabric burned his elbows as he slid down into its embrace. Cocooned there, he could only sob in terror and despair as the boy began walking, kneading Steve against thigh and scrotum with every ponderous step.

The sickening motion went on for a long time. Steve quickly lost track of the number of steps as he was rocked to and fro, squeezed and released, over and over, like some insane carnival ride. He was dizzy and nauseous when the motion came to an abrupt halt. Terrified, Steve sat very still, and then he screamed as a blinding shaft of light streamed in, followed by gigantic, groping fingers. There was nowhere to run or hide. He was helpless as the great fingers pinched around his torso and roughly dragged him from the pocket.

It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light. He found that he was in a room, its walls and ceiling stretching far off into the distance like a stadium. The oversized fixtures soon came into focus enough for Steve to realize that it was a bathroom, scaled naturally to the boy's dimensions. Suddenly he found himself descending with yet another gut-wrenching lurch. He fought to keep his gorge from rising, fearing that to vomit on the boy's fingers would only invite an unpleasant retribution.

The boy released him into the sweeping, monotone canyon that was the bathtub. Its walls rose ominously around him; the floor was hard and icy-cold under his feet, making him shiver. He hugged his arms to himself and cowered in the rounded corner as he watched the boy undress. The towering figure stooped and, hooking two fingers in the waistband, thrust the shorts down smoothly. The fat, heavy penis flopped free and swayed massively as the boy stepped out of his shorts, then swung a gigantic foot over the wall of the tub. The sound of its impact was like a cannon shot as it echoed from the canyon walls, and the firm surface behind Steve's back trembled. He choked back a sob as the boy stepped fully into the tub and stood looming over him.

The sight alone was nearly enough to drive Steve mad with terror. The boy's legs rose like smooth sculpted pillars ahead of him. They broadened to powerful thighs as big as tour buses. Between them swayed the mammoth penis whose acquaintance Steve had been forced to make earlier. It hung like a tree from the boy's groin, its tip pointing down at him as if in accusation. Worse, though, was the cold, scornful gaze beyond it. Hands on his hips, the boy was staring down at his little captive, and his eyes flashed with a cruel despotic contempt.

Then he began to speak. Rather, his lips moved, but the sound that reached Steve's ears was an incomprehensible, bone-jarring rumble that sounded more like the roll of thunder than human speech. Steve struggled to understand, desperate for some explanation as to why he was being treated so, but there was nothing discernible in that deep, booming roar. Steve's ears were simply not designed for the sort of wavelengths that such a massive throat would voice. "I can't understand you," he cried. "Why are you doing this to me? I don't understand!"

His answer came in a crash of hot liquid from above that drove him down onto his back and battered him furiously. The torrent gushed from the gigantic penis hanging over him, the sheer force of the stream pounding the air from his lungs and leaving him gasping. Through a haze of pain and splashing fluid he could see the boy sneering down at him. This time the message was crystal clear. Steve was nothing more than a plaything to this giant, a toy to be done with as the boy pleased. Moaning in despair, Steve ceased his struggles and lay limply on the tub floor while the boy continued to drown him, like a wild animal marking its property.

Eventually the deluge weakened and then stopped. Steve opened his eyes fearfully to see the boy still standing over him, a few drops still falling from the tip of his member. He seemed satisfied that Steve had learned the lesson, then turned his back and twisted one of the faucets. A roar like that of a tornado assailed Steve's ears and he clamped his hands over them. The clamor was little better when the shower started, but at least it wouldn't going to deafen him. The sound itself was disquieting -- a low, bubbling noise, not at all the familiar hiss of an everyday shower. The whole world of sound, it seemed, had turned alien to his shrunken ears. Even the squeak of the faucets as the boy adjusted the temperature were low, raspy groans to him.

Steve looked up as the boy turned to face him again, the water cascading in great sheets over his shoulders and running down his smooth chest, then flowing in a great waterfall off of his member. Steve guessed that he was in his late teens, and wondered how a kid could get so cruel and hateful in so short a lifetime. The boy then reached into the soap dish and tossed something small and white toward Steve. It was a chip of soap. Steve picked it up, then looked up at his giant captor and nodded in understanding, and began to wash.

The shower soon ended, although Steve had been unable to wash away the filthy sensation that crawled over his skin. The boy stepped from the tub, leaving Steve alone, wet and shivering, for several minutes. He could see the occasional flash of a towel as big as a city-block sweep past the rim of the tub. Eventually the boy reappeared, his hand sweeping downward as Steve braced for another wild ride. Steve was lifted high into the air, the boy's vast face rushing toward him, growing huge and terrible as he was brought within a few feet of it. The boy thundered some more incomprehensible words, and then began to brush his huge lips softly against Steve's chest and face.

"Oh...oh, no...please," Steve whimpered, just as the boy's lips parted and a mammoth tongue thrust forward, draping itself over Steve's legs and sliding wetly upward. He yelped and on pure instinct he balled up his fists and beat them against the boy's upper lip. A blast of warm air from the boy's nostrils blew over him, and he was carried higher to lie within inches of the boy's eye. It narrowed threateningly at him and the boy rumbled something that was obviously a warning. Trembling, Steve slowly moved his hands behind his back and hung his head, trying to appear submissive.

That seemed to satisfy the boy, who lay Steve down in his palm and brought him to his lips again. Steve closed his eyes tightly as he was licked once more, the tongue warm and slippery as it passed over his body and up over his face. He tried to think of it as arousing, thinking that the boy may punish him if he did not get what he wanted. Pushing the thought that he was being raped from his mind, he struggled to think of another place, another partner.

It worked. He could feel himself growing hard despite his terror, his body responding to the stimulation of the massive tongue. He concentrated hard, trying to force himself to climax quickly, but that only seemed to forestall his goal. Grimacing, he began to thrust against the sweeping tongue, his mind conjuring comforting and sensual images. Time passed, and his body was soaked with saliva before his loins finally cooperated. He arched his back with a grunt and began to shoot against the slick surface.

The boy thundered approvingly and licked Steve a few more times, removing all trace of his tiny climax. Then with a bit of toilet paper he dried Steve's body, then closed him in a fist and carried him into a darkened hallway.

Steve found himself in another vast room. This one looked like a typical teenager's bedroom: a desk with books and computer, clothing strewn about the floor, a bed, shelves -- no, the shelves were not typical. They were mounted on the wall opposite the desk, and contained rows of Plexiglas cages, the kind that kids keep hamsters in...only each of these contained a tiny man just like Steve. He counted twelve in all, though he could not tell how many were occupied. How could the boy have captured so many and not aroused suspicion? Surely someone would have noticed so many missing men.

They probably did, Steve thought bitterly. Vanished from the woods, like him. Vanished from highways. People disappear every day; who would think to look here? Who would even imagine?

The boy carried Steve over to the bed and sat down, the springs making an unearthly murmuring sound beneath his weight. The huge fist opened and Steve was rolled onto his belly. Two big fingers pressed against his flanks, making him wheeze a little, and the palm fell away beneath him. Steve draped his arms over the fingers to try to take some of the weight off of his ribcage as he was borne toward the great expanse of the boy's chest and pressed against a nipple. It hardened against his belly as he was rubbed against it, the boy thrumming contentedly, and then he was slowly dragged along the huge curve of muscle and down onto the boy's abdomen. Smooth skin slid past him in an endless stretch as he was brushed along the boy's tight belly and down onto his thigh. Glancing to the side he noticed the boy's penis rising slowly to erection. The boy spread his legs, and Steve was stroked up along the inside of the massive thigh, and a moment later his head was buried in the loose, warm flesh of the boy's scrotum. He was held there for a moment, uncertain of what was expected of him, and soon began to lick. The scent of male was almost suffocating, even after the boy's shower, but Steve forced himself to continue until the boy was satisfied.

The strange exploration went on for some time, and Steve began to wonder if it wasn't some bizarre means of introduction to his captor. He let his body remain limp as he rubbed along the boy's chest and onto his shoulder, then down the length of his arm. The boy shivered, obviously pleased. Steve was lifted free and then lowered to the boy's towering erection. It stood larger than he was tall, and he groaned in despair as he was pressed lengthwise against its underside, his cheek resting on the bottom edge of the boy's glans where it began to flare. He was held in place as the huge organ shifted forward, and then back. There was a rushing sound. Steve looked over his shoulder in time to see a huge blanket of white cloth enveloping him. The boy's fingers released him as the fabric pinned him against the mammoth shaft, and then it grew unbearably dark.

The boy shifted a bit and lay still. A long night followed, during which Steve slept fitfully, frightened, mortified, and half hoping that the boy would roll over and crush him, ending his torment at least.

His bitter reminiscences were interrupted as the huge body began to stir. Steve held his breath as he felt the world shift around him and the massive scrotum bulged up around his feet. The boy had sat up. The fabric stretched away from him, leaving him blinking in the sudden light, and the boy reached in and plucked him out. Steve was held roughly between the boy's fingers as he was carried through the air, the immense room sweeping dizzily past him, and then dropped unceremoniously into one of the plastic cages on the shelf.

He landed with a grunt on a bed of soft wood shavings, and scrambled to his feet. The cage was small, even for him, and contained only two shallow dishes, one filled with water and one with a moist lumpy material that smelled like dog food, and a plastic film canister with a lid whose purpose was obvious. Cardboard walls prevented him from seeing into the neighboring cage; apparently the boy wanted no communication between his pets.

The boy peered in at him, smiling, and then snapped the plastic hatch on the cage's lid closed. Steve could do nothing but watch as the boy stepped to the side and reached forward. He could not see beyond the cardboard wall, but he could see the boy's arm fumbling, and then it drew back, another struggling man clenched in its hand. Steve stared as the boy carried the man over to the desk, then laid him down on the seat of the chair. The man tried to get up several times, but each time the boy knocked him back down and jabbed a finger harshly down into his chest. The last blow must have cracked a couple of ribs because the man lay still, gasping and waving his arms pleadingly.

Steve's gut lurched as the boy stripped out of his underpants and stood naked over the little man, and then turned and sat on him. The hapless victim threw his arms up in desperation as the boy's rump came down on him, as though he could actually stave off the descending body, and then he vanished. Steve could see one of those arms wriggling frantically from the cleft between the boy's buttocks. It made him gag, and he realized just how lucky he had been to have had such comparatively gentle treatment. Maybe the other man had disobeyed, or maybe the boy was being randomly brutal, but he sat on the man for hours while casually typing at his computer. Once in a while the waving arm would fall still, making Steve think that the man had suffocated -- God, how horrible to think of where the poor bastard's face was pressed -- but the boy would shift his weight, grinding his butt down on the chair, and the feeble twitching would begin again.

At last the boy seemed to tire of his plaything and stood up. He turned and scooped the man off of the chair seat and brought him back to his cage. Steve could see the man's tear-streaked face and wide, shocked eyes staring back at him before the man was lifted past the cardboard barrier and out of his sight. The boy then turned and picked up his underpants and a pair of shorts, which he stepped into and then left the room. The closing door sounded like a twenty-ton weight being dropped to the ground, and then there was silence.

The boy returned a long time later and selected another victim from a cage above Steve's. Once more the boy stripped naked, then kicked aside some of the clothing to make a clean spot on the floor, then lowered the man down and released him. Beside the man he set a small round contraption on a squat pedestal, then leaned over and pushed some buttons on his computer keyboard. The monitor, like a far-off drive-in movie screen, came to life with a close-up picture of the man on the floor. He seemed petrified, his eyes darting side to side like a trapped animal. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up and opened his mouth in a silent scream.

Steve shifted his gaze from the image back down to the man, and saw that the boy had lifted his foot over the man and was slowly lowering it. The tiny figure started running; the foot followed him and crashed down in his path, blocking his escape. It then swept sideways, herding the man back into range of the camera. His image stumbled back onto the screen, fell and rolled over, and then the vast bulk of the boy's foot came down on him.

The camera captured every horrific moment. The ball of the boy's foot pressed down cruelly on the man's torso, making him writhe, his arm beating futilely at it. The foot slid back a little to press a toe down on the man's tiny head, releasing it only when Steve was certain the man's skull would burst from the pressure. The man's nose was bleeding when the toe rose away and he coughed violently, only to begin screaming soundlessly as the boy planted his heel on the man's legs and ground down maliciously. The camera showed the bones breaking and the man's legs deforming before the boy's foot came down and covered him again.

Meanwhile the boy was staring fixedly at the image on the monitor, and had begun to masturbate. His hand jerked rapidly along his length; his face took on a blissful glow and he licked slowly at his lips, savoring the agony of his victim and his raw, limitless power over it. The man was flailing and shrieking and pissing himself as the boy tortured him under his foot, crushing him slowly beneath his firm sole, smothering him half to death, always withholding the killing blow to make his victim's torment last.

The cruel game finally ended when the boy's hips began to twitch and his muscles tightened visibly. He took his foot off the man and stooped to snatch him up, then cupped him in his hand before the tip of his penis and came heavily upon him. The man's feebly squirming body was buried in the thick soup as the boy emptied his load. The monitor displayed an image of the boy's enormous toes, and a small red stain under them.

With a deep sigh the boy straightened again and lifted his hand to his face to examine his handiwork. Steve could hardly see the man's semen-drenched body lying in the boy's palm, and wasn't certain by now if the man was alive or dead. The boy turned, still peering at his handful, and strode out of the room.

Time passed, and when the boy returned his hands were empty. Steve clenched his jaw. "You little bastard," he growled quietly. "You murdering little bastard." He thought about the unfortunate man's family, if he had any, and how they might still be desperately searching for him. It would never occur to them to check for a tiny, mangled corpse, probably lying in the sewers after being flushed away by an uncaring giant. "I'm going to take you down, big boy. Someday I will, you can bet on it."

Steve sat at the back of his cage for the remainder of the day while his captor busied himself with other things and ignored his little pets. It was hours later before the boy finally turned his attention back to the cages, and his gaze fell on Steve. With a broad grin he reached for the latch atop Steve's cage and thumbed it open, then slithered his hand inside, fingers outstretched. Knowing better than to resist -- he'd seen the result of disobedience -- he let the boy capture him without a struggle. For the second time he spent the night pressed against the boy's erection, surrounded by darkness and the scent of young male. This time, however, he slept more easily. His terror had given way to a quiet brooding. He thought about biting the boy, maybe even hard enough to do some permanent damage to a sensitive place. No...that would only earn him a horribly painful death, and it wouldn't be likely to end the boy's deadly power-trip. He had to think of a way to put this sadistic giant away forever.

When morning arrived Steve was returned to his cage with the same callousness as before, as though he were nothing more than some article of clothing to be tossed aside. This time, however, he turned to see the boy staring not at him, but at the cage beside his. For the first time the boy had lost his haughty smirk. His eyes were wide, shocked, and then they narrowed with anger. His hand shot up toward the cage and rummaged about, and then withdrew, empty. Steve felt his heart race. Someone had managed to escape!

The boy was infuriated. He spun around and scanned the room, head turning rapidly side to side. Then he stalked forward and crouched, peering under the bed, reaching beneath and groping fruitlessly. "Keep looking," Steve said aloud, his spirits rising. "Someone's gonna tell on you!" He felt giddy. Whoever the escapee was, he hoped that he had managed to slip out during the night. Maybe found a telephone, or gotten out of the house. What were the police going to think when a thumb-sized man came staggering into the precinct. "Go!" he cheered, laughing as the boy beat his fists on the bed in frustration.

No doubt realizing the threat an escapee would present, the boy was growing increasingly agitated. He snatched up his shorts and examined them closely, then tossed them on the bed and glared at the scattered clothing on the floor, now providing an almost infinite bounty of hiding places. Baring his teeth, he began stomping on the clothes, slamming his feet down on them again and again, seeking to find and smash the fugitive. He advanced slowly across the floor, hammering mercilessly, until he reached the opposite end of the room and bellowed in fury. Spinning on his heel, he stalked through the door and vanished.

Steve fell back, laughing until tears came to his eyes. Suddenly his elation was shattered as the boy reappeared, a triumphant and savage grin on his face. He strode up to the cages and raised his fist, revealing the struggling captive. Steve recognized him as the man that the boy had sat on the previous day, and his heart nearly broke.

The boy had a message for the rest of his prisoners. He slowly swept his fist with its squirming captive in front of each cage, then he stepped back and pinched the man's head tightly between his thumb and forefinger. He lifted the man up slowly, letting him kick and writhe, then threw his head back and dropped the man into his mouth. His lips closed, and there was an awful crunching sound in the distance. It went on for several seconds as the boy's jaw worked up and down, and then he stepped very close to the cages and threw his head back so the men could see his Adam's apple rise and bob as he swallowed. He then licked his lips with exaggerated relish, which was the last thing Steve saw before he dropped to his knees and threw up the rude sustenance that the boy had provided him.

The price of escape had been firmly established, but it only galvanized Steve's determination to seek revenge on this rampaging monster. Despite the threat of being eaten alive, Steve was given new hope by the escape. Even though he'd gotten caught, the man had nonetheless managed to get out of his cage, and had somehow survived the fall to the floor under the shelves. If he could do it, Steve thought, then so could I. He began to formulate a bold plan through the days and weeks that followed. In that time he suffered a host of almost daily indignities. He spent time pinned under the boy's foot, licking subserviently even though it nauseated him. Many nights he was chosen to sleep in the boy's pants, which he had initially looked upon as a possible avenue for escape, an idea which he abandoned the night he tried to slip away and the boy began to wake up. Often he was bathed in the boy's semen, which he appeared to accept with delight in hopes that the boy would begin to trust him, if even a little.

The act paid off. One morning when Steve was dropped into his cage the boy was careless in latching it, his thumb barely brushing over the peg. It did not make the familiar popping noise it usually made when it was secured, and Steve held his breath, hoping that the giant would not notice. He didn't, simply turning and choosing another plaything from a different cage. This one he took away, leaving the room quiet and empty.

Steve went to work. Hurriedly he pushed his water dish under the hatch, his heels scrambling for traction on the plastic floor of the cage. When it was in place he carefully scooped the dog food out of his food dish and began to smear it around the rim. It formed a caulk when he upended the dish and placed it upside-down atop the water dish. He tested it for stability and found that the moist feed held rather well, then he settled his film canister commode atop it.

It was time to try it out. Shakily he climbed onto the makeshift ladder, his feet shifting uncertainly on the lid of the commode as he stood up. This way he could just barely reach the edge of the hatch. He pushed his fingers up as far as they would go between the door and the edge of the opening, and then swept them as hard as he could toward the latch.

It didn't budge. He took a deep breath and tried again, and then again. On the fourth strike he felt the latch shift ever so slightly. Encouraged, he began to pound wildly at it, his fingers bruising painfully, until finally he saw the latch slip from under its hasp. He was free!

Gripping the edge of the doorway he pulled himself up, using his head to push the hatch door upward. Suddenly he felt a trembling in the cage around him, and then another. He had come to recognize the giant's footfalls and panic gripped him. Letting go of the rim he fell, knocking aside the film canister and landing on the underside of the dish. Frantically he began to disassemble his ladder, piling the dog food hastily back into it and shoving the water dish back closer to where it belonged. He just managed to get the commode righted when the boy strode into the room.

To Steve's relief the boy paid no attention to him and did not notice the open latch on his cage. The boy had captured yet another prisoner and was busying himself with tormenting him, along with the one the boy had taken with him that morning. He was pressing the two together, trying to force the older one's face into the new arrival's groin, grinning sadistically all the while at the new one's indignant struggling. Steve watched glumly as the boy stripped and lay down on the bed on his back. He was already hard, and pressed his new plaything tightly to his erection while he raised his knees up. The older pet was carried around the boy's thigh and pushed between the boy's buttocks, and then slowly the boy began to work him inside. Steve turned away at that point. He had seen such treatment several times before, and only once had the plaything come out alive. The others -- he didn't like to think about it. His mind was preoccupied anyway with the crisis at hand. At last he had the opportunity to escape and put his plan into motion, but the boy's untimely return had jeopardized everything. If the boy decided he wanted Steve in his pants that night, he would surely notice the open latch and would be more careful in the future, dashing any hopes Steve had of ever escaping this nightmare. He could do nothing but sit and wait, dreading the boy's approach.

Mercifully, the boy chose the newcomer to be his bedpartner that night, and did not come near Steve's cage. Steve's heart sank though when the lights were turned out; he hadn't counted on it being dark when he made his escape. He waited until he thought the boy would be asleep, and then as quietly as he could he pushed his water dish to what he thought was the appropriate spot. Groping, he made his paste of dog food and smeared it on the food dish rim. It took him several attempts to get the two dishes to line up in the darkness, and when he finally climbed atop the assembly he realized it was in the wrong position. His groping hands found no hatch, only an unmoving lid. Cursing silently, he climbed down and began to pace off the distance from his dish-ladder to the walls, leaving trails in the shredded aspen with his feet. Repositioning his ladder, he climbed atop it, and this time when he raised his hands he felt the lid of the hatch rise.

He took his time slithering out, anxious that it might make a noise that would wake the giant. He stood now on the roof of his cage, and felt his way toward the edge. He could not see the shelf below him, but he knew about how far it would be to drop. Taking a deep breath, he lowered himself down over the flange of the cage-top, and then let go.

A breathless second later and he landed hard on the shelf and rolled. He stopped abruptly, ears straining in the darkness, listening for any sound of alarm. There was nothing, only the low hum of the boy's breathing. He lay there for several minutes just to be certain, and then crawled to his feet and stood upon the edge of the void.

Below him was a vast plain, the dim moonlight from the window illuminating the outlines of cast-off clothing littering the floor. This part of the plan was the most dubious. To fall from such a height would normally kill a man. Yet, somehow one man had made it to the ground before. There was no way to climb down, and the boy would never permit a prisoner to have anything that could be used as a rope. He had to have jumped. Maybe his small size allowed him to survive the impact. Maybe the air resistance was such that it slowed his fall. Steve did not know which was true, if either. What he did know was that it was his only chance, and if he died, so be it. He would at least be free of the boy's control. Steeling himself, he stepped forward into the abyss.

Wind rushed past him.

Seconds passed.

He felt a tremendous impact as he landed on a balled-up shirt that had been thoughtlessly tossed onto the floor beneath the shelf. The wind was knocked out of him and he felt something crack in his chest, and pain exploded through him. He lay gasping for air in the musky folds of cloth for a long time, taking stock of his injuries. At least one rib was broken, he knew, and he thought that one arm might be as well. He tried it, and though it was painful he could still use it. That was all he needed. Crawling away from the shirt, he stood unsteadily and winced as a new wave of pain shot through his belly. Something must have gotten knocked around pretty hard in there, he realized. Still, it didn't matter. All that was important now was reaching the boy's shorts, which the boy always dropped beside the bed when he slept. They were the shorts that the boy always wore, the ones that he had seized and searched immediately when he discovered the first prisoner's escape. The shorts whose left front pocket held the gun that had made Steve Pearson and so many others into tiny playthings for a cruel and twisted master.

The trek across the floor was long and painful. Steve limped along, clutching at his belly, each step a torment. The shorts lay in a jumbled pile ahead of him, miles ahead, or so it seemed. He was forced to stumble around other clothing that lay in his path. He began to taste blood in his mouth; something definitely was very badly damaged inside. Finally, after what seemed like hours of torturous walking, he reached his goal, and sat down to rest on the rough fabric of the boy's shorts.

Then the lights came on.

Steve yelped in panic as two enormous legs swung down toward him, the massive feet thudding down on either side of him. He cowered back as the boy stood up and reached into his underpants to retrieve his new plaything, which apparently had not been pleasing to him. His right foot rose and rushed forward, followed by the left. Within a few strides the boy was standing at the cages and was about to dump his newest catch inside...

...and then he saw the open hatch door on Steve's cage. With a thundering roar he seized the man he was holding in both hands and brutally tore him in half, then flung the bloody pieces against the wall where they left a brilliant red stain. Then he spun around, glaring, searching, and his eyes fell on Steve.

Panic gave him strength. Steve scrambled toward the bulge in the pocket that he knew -- or prayed -- was the gun. Seizing the rim of the pocket he pulled it upwards, then dove inside and threw his arms around a plastic handle. It was lighter in weight than he had expected, and slid easily free of the pocket as he heaved his body backwards. The floor rocked beneath him as the boy rushed forward, his feet crashing closer like an oncoming avalanche. Steve fell onto his back, the gun lying upon him, and used one leg to hoist its blunt muzzle upward. He stretched his arm around the bulk of the handle and strained for the trigger as the boy's hand descended, fingers outstretched, dropping fast and growing huge as they surrounded him.

There was a loud hum and a brief flash of light. The gun quivered against his body and fell to the side, its barrel warm. Steve choked and spat out blood, then looked around and realized that the boy had disappeared. Pushing the gun off of himself he climbed to his feet and peered into the distance. The room looked much as it had before, with massive pieces of clothing scattered all about the floor, except not far away a pair of underpants began shifting subtly, and a tiny pale body crawled into view atop them.

Steve was upon him in a second. The boy let out a cry, a thin, reedy sound filled with apprehension. Steve leaped on him, knocking him to his back and pinning him down, and began flailing wildly with his fists. "Not such a big man now," he shouted. "Are you? Are you a big man?" His fists rained savage blows down on the boy, who made a weak attempt to ward them off before going limp. Steve continued to pummel him, and then leaped up and began to stomp savagely on his face. "How do you like being stepped on, big man? How do you like being stepped on?"

Only when the boy's head was a bloody wreck did Steve finally stagger back and sit down. He lowered his head to his knees and began to laugh. It was an eerie, keening sound, the laughter rising to a hysterical cackle before turning to wracking sobs. The monster was dead. The prisoner was free.

But was he really free? In his eagerness to end the boy's reign of terror Steve had not considered what would come afterward. He realized now that the nightmare had not ended; it had simply entered a new chapter. What was he to do now? He was a freak, a living doll-man. He and all the others in their cages could never live normal lives. Even in defeat the boy had won; he had destroyed them as thoroughly as if he had crushed them in his hand. The gun laying beside the bed had no controls on it, no magic reversing switch that this kind of thing always had in the movies. It wasn't likely that anyone would be able to figure out how it worked, let alone how to reverse its effects. For that matter, what would become of the gun itself? Who would come into possession of it...and how would it be used?

Steve understood what had to be done.

Slowly he trudged over toward the desk. Somewhere in the mess around it was a package of matches that he had seen the boy use to torture a poor recalcitrant prisoner to death. Steve found it underneath a wad of paper, which he brought with him as he carried the matchbook over to where the gun lay. It took him several painful swipes to get the immense match to ignite, but when it finally did he dropped it onto the paper, and soon both paper and the clothing upon which the gun rested were afire, the flames reaching higher and higher as the gun was engulfed.

There was a sudden blinding flash and Steve felt as though he was floating. Something hard smashed into his back and he fell, landing in a broken heap on the floor. Through a red haze of pain he could see a cloud of oily smoke rising from where the gun had been. Pieces of burning plastic had been thrown everywhere and countless small fires were rearing up from the clothing on the floor. Steve tried to move, but his legs would not work. He realized that his back was broken.

The little fires grew steadily into larger ones. Black smoke began to billow across the ceiling, forming a pall that descended and obscured the plastic cages on the shelf. Steve took a deep, gurgling breath, and then smiled, waiting. There would be no escape for him, nor for the men still trapped in their cages. But neither would there be any evidence left behind. The gun, wherever it had come from, was now gone forever, and nothing would be left to tell of the horror that it had created. The families of the men would continue their sad and lonely searches, never finding their loved ones, never knowing the fate that had befallen them.

Steve thought that it was better that way