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Tricia’s Rehab (Commissioned) Part 1 of 2
🕑 Added 2019-11-25 19:00:09 +0000 UTCWell I be damned. It had to happen actually but I was hoping it wouldn’t. The jail door opened and there was this man, probably a high ranked police officer or admin. He looked at me as if I was shit. He ordered me to get up, which I did. I learned to stop upsetting police officers over my time in prison. Two other man came in my cell and grabbed me, cuffed me and pushed me out the door.
“Mister Smith, you have received your first assignment in the pilot Miniaturized Rehabilitation Program. Follow me.” The man started to walk. I got a non too gentle push from one of the guards behind me. I followed while the man continued to talk. “You will be tasked to monitor and report the behavior of Tricia N. Thompson as she is sent back home under probation.”
“What did she do?” I asked, trying to be polite.
“She got a felony assault charge -again-, this time for assaulting a cashier on the 5th avenue. To make a long story short she threw a soda at them when her debit card declined for insufficient funds.” We turned a corridor corner and the man opened a door, leading into meeting room.
“That’s it? Not even robbery. Damn, justice these days...” I said. I gave the officer a fake smile. I wanted to spit in his face but I tried to remain calm. We all entered the room, I was instructed to sit. The man did not, he was holding a file, and reading. The guards closed the door and waited outside.
“Now, instead of being convicted, judge Marlow sentenced her to rehabilitation at home under supervision of a probation officer, you.” He said.
“Me? Come on, let the girl live her life...” I said back.
“This is your probation too. Do this with professionalism and respect, and your own sentence will be shortened up to 5 years depending on th2e quality of your work.” The man tossed a paper with the details of what he just said, signed by the same judge.
“Oh...” suddenly, this all got me very interested. I only had 7 years left to rot in that jail, a five years shortened sentence would mean I would be out in 2 years, perfect. “How long is this thing going to be?” I asked.
“You will supervise Mrs. Thompson’s rehabilitation for 2 weeks.” The man said.
“Easy enough.” I scoffed, rolled my eyes. “When do I begin? Do I get to stay in one of those vans full of computers in front of her house?
“You begin tomorrow, and no, not exactly. You will be shrunk and placed in a secure autonomous safebox, and yes, it will be full of computers for you to report in.” The man got out a document of his file, something around 40 pages and dropped it in front of me. “This is the procedure. Read it carefully, and refer to it.”
“Shrunk? How small?” That part got me nervous.
“1inch tall.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I said, and started to go through the document’s pages in diagonal, to get a first look. Lots of text.
“Do I look like I am kidding, Mr Smith?”
“Uh... no you look like you have something stuck up in your ass.” I retorted.
“Maybe I should recommend someone else for this job?” he said. I immediately regretted what I said.
“Sorry sir, I’ll do it alright, it’s just a lot to gobble up at once.” I said, trying to be polite. He was a motherfucker, but being polite to mutherfucker could give me 5 years off my prison term.
“Read this document carefully, Mr Smith. I will be back in an hour.” He said, heading back tot he door and knocking on it.
“What if I am done in 30 minutes?” I asked.
“Re-read it.” He said, the locks were unlocked from the outside, and he left without another word. The door was closed and locked from the outside. There was a mirror window, probably people looking at me. I smiled and started to look at their stupid document.
This program was a new thing top priority in research and development for petty crimes and rehabilitation. Something quite fancy that could save a lot of money to justice department and rehabilitate to persons at once. Basically I had to stay in my little safe box and monitor the girl with cameras and microphones in her house and track her with GPS and all and report her behaviors to HQ. The safe box was something completely out of a sci-fi story. Locked, durable, unbreakable, and hidden. The girl wouldn’t even know where it would be in her house. If the girl had good behavior, she would be all good and case would be dropped: I would get free earlier. Simple enough. The shrinking part seemed painless and smart. I read the girl’s profile.
Tricia N. Thompson, 25, Caucasian, single, anger management problems, hair dyed blue, lots of piercings, lots of tattoos, anorexic, depressive, judged mentally unstable yet, medicated. 110 lbs, 5’4”, got that gothic brat look, not ugly, quite cute in fact. Drug consumption under rehabilitation as well, alcohol addiction under supervision. Not her first time dealing with justice. Quite the angel.
I signed everything, damn it, what the hell would I lose, except time? I had plenty of that, better to look at a sexy fucked up girl than stay in my cell and eat pudding all day long. I tried to be serious about this and read the document carefully, it explained how the safebox worked and all.
Door locks unlocked from the outside after an hour and said officer came back in, followed by Tricia herself, looking quite pissed, and cuffed. She sat in front of me.
“Mrs. Thompson, Mr, Smith.” Said the officer. I smiled. She spat on the table, it landed near my procedure document. “Mr Smith will be your rehabilitation probation officer for 2 weeks. You two better get along, I’ll give you 15 minutes.” The officer left, door was locked. I was left alone with that freak in the room.
“Hi.” I ventured. She didn’t answer, didn’t look at me. I sighed. “Look, punk, it’s only 2 weeks okay? If we’re both nice we both get free at some point, it’s a win-win okay? Now I won’t pretend to like you, and you don’t have to do the same, but let’s just do this for fuck’s sake.” I said. The girl looked up at me. I swear she looked like that Billie Hellish* singer I saw on the cafeteria tv.
“Fuck you.” She said.
“Tricia come on.” I said.
“What’s your name?”
“Jim.”
“Well, fuck you Jim.” She said. “I’ll do this your way, but you’ll be one fucking inch tall. If I find you, you’re dead.”
“I’ll be in a safebox, girl; you won’t be able to open it. So quit trying to be tough and do this for yourself, will you?” I said back. “If all goes good, I get 5 years off my sentence okay?” I said.
“What did you do?” she asked.
“Assault with major injuries, death threats, drug deals, smuggling... probation violations....look when they got me I panicked...okay? It’s irrelevant now, I just want out of this fucking rat hole.” I said. The girl stared at the floor, visibly thinking.
“Okay.” She finally said.
“Good.” I said back. We became silent for a moment. That was it for the time being. They got back, took her out of the room, brought me back to my cell and locked it. Things would get working for this pilot experimental rehab program. I felt not too bad, I was participating in some kind of good thing that would end up being good for me and people. Never thought I’d work for the government... pretty scary shit technology can do nowadays.
Fucking liars. The shrinking WAS painful. Damn it. They had to shave me again, they washed me with disinfectant soap, then placed me in a fucking metal pod, naked... It hurt like hell. Fuck’s sake, being that small is scary. But as soon as they dumped me in my safebox, I felt better. I felt, well, safe. Thing looked like a small but heavily reinforced toolbox. I had two stories, furniture, lighting, computers, food, toilet, shower, like a small apartment just for me. The monitoring room was impressive, all those miniaturize techs and computer, screens showing me all of the house’s hidden cameras. I felt like a fucking James Bond guy of something like that, it got me a little be excited to actually do something fun. The box was settle in the girl’s house in a safe spot, hidden carefully BEFORE the girl would be set back in. I had time to look at all the rooms through the camera feeds. Not the kind of place I expected. Not really clean, a bit remote in one of the state’s smaller town, it looked oddly familiar. I only realized it was Murphy’s place, one of the guys I used to deal drugs with, who got murdered in cold blood in Mexico on a drug deal i sent him to. Fuck...was Tricia his girlfriend?...fuck....
She fucking was.
Anyway, I got settled in. I napped, I farted, I jerked off. Then some movements, the girl was set into her house and this whole operation was beginning. I sat at the computers and looked at the screen, my procedure document close by. Agents talked to the girl, locked a device on her wrist, maglocks were installed on every single door of the house, I had access to those maglocks control. I suddenly felt very powerful. I was basically her prison guardian and she couldn’t do anything to me. The agents left the house, it was only she and I.
I looked around and found out the microphone controls.
“Psst! Hey... Baby, it’s me Jim! Welcome home I guess.” I said. My voice went out from the home’s hidden speakers. I looked at her from my screens, she was trying to find out where my voice was coming from.
“This is bullshit privacy violation, I’ll sue everyone.” She said out loud.
“Now now, be cool Tricia, at least you’re not 1 inch tall like me, so take it easy and it’ll all go well.” I said. “And, you don’t have the money to sue everyone, so why don’t you just watch TV instead.” I said with a chuckle. The girl scoffed and immediately went to her bedroom and lied down on her bed. I looked at the screens, she was probably going to fall asleep so I decided to take a shit and maybe get some sleep myself too. I slept maybe 2 hours tops.
When I sat back at the screens, one of the cameras was failing. Tricia’s room camera was showing a blank screen. She had found the hidden camera. At this rate, she clearly wouldn’t last 2 weeks. I looked around and could not see her in any room, she probably stayed in her own room, hidden from me. I turned on the microphone.
“Hey babe, we’re off on a bad start here.” I said. “I’ll have to report this, and you know it.” She didn’t answer. I looked at me procedure and started filing in a report about the fact she cut off her bedroom’s camera. I sent it, a pop up window showed up. “Report failure, error 3123416, unable to connect to server.” I clicked on retry, didn’t work. I clicked on Okay, I lost all my work and it went back to an empty report window. Shitty stuff. I swore a few times then re-wrote my entire report and tried again, with same results. I banged on the keyboard, damn it, stupid computer.
I thought maybe some tech didn’t connect things at HQ and maybe I had to wait for things to be back to normal, so I just looked at the screens. I saw Tricia heading to her fridge and grab a beer.
“Careful there, babe, only 20 oz per day authorized.” I said in the microphone.
“Stop calling me babe.” She said, chugging the whole beer. She then lit a cigarette.
“Who’re you trying to impress by doing exactly the opposite of what your probation tells you to do?” I asked.
“I’ll find you little piece of shit.” She said. Then she grabbed another beer and drank it slower, then finished pulling on her cigarette and crushed it on her kitchen floor under her trashed white Nike air max 90 sneakers.
“What did your parents teach you? No wonder your house is a mess...” I said in the microphone.
“SHUT UP!” she screamed. She started looking around for cameras in the kitchen. She looked and searched quite thoroughly. I sighed, This would be a long 2 weeks in these conditions. I had to somewhat find a way to do my job and she wouldn’t let me. I filed another report. Same error code from the computer.
Tricia walked around her house and kept looking for cameras in vain. She tried to remove her metal bracelet, but it didn’t work. She tried to open the door to go outside, but I had them locked, following procedure. She started to scream and trash around, she threw a table lamp on the wall in the living room, it crashed heavily. “LET ME OUT!” she screamed. Her anger got even less under control. She started to hold her head and scream and kick everything around. She went for another beer, chugged it, then lit another cigarette and grilled it over in a few minutes. She went back to her room and slammed the door and screamed. I couldn’t see her anymore.
What a troubled girl, I thought.
That’s when I started to feel vibrations and banging outside of my metal safebox. Damn it, she was close. That meant I was probably hidden somewhere in her room, under the floor maybe? I didn’t even know where my own safebox was, but this got me nervous. Even if this box was supposed to be foolproof, I wasn’t feeling very safe now.
Thing got calmer over the day. I tried again and again to file in my reports to no avail. Fucking system didn’t work. I tried to call to HW but the line was off, they probably forgot to plug me on the network. Over the evening a small beep came from the computer room, I went there to see what was going on. I got a message.
-We’re experiencing connection issues that should be solved in the next 24 hours. Sorry for the inconvenience. -
Yeah better be sorry, fuckers. I looked at the cameras, two more were black screens. She had found two more cameras while I wasn’t looking: living room and bathroom. Damn it, this fucking experimental program was already failing. I hated myself for signing up for it. I was stuck with a crazy girl and nobody would answer me at HQ.
I saw her on the basement cameras. She had a crowbar in hand. What the fuck, they left a fucking crowbar in her apartment. Stupid incompetent police pencil pushers fucking got their diploma in a cereal box or what? Damn it. Tricia was going mad, she started banging in walls.
“Stop, Tricia, this is ridiculous. I have been reporting everything you’ve done so far and Police will be here as soon as I call them.” I said on the microphone hoping she would fall into my bluff. She looked straight at me, at the camera lens watching her. She had spotted it and walked towards it.
“I know who you are asshole! You are responsible for my boyfriend’s death in Mexico....I -will- find you! You hear me? I will find you, and kill you!” She said, and then smashed the camera to pieces. I sighed again as my screen became black.
“This is ridiculous Tricia, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Calm down or I’ll press the alarm button and we’re all going back to jail...” She didn’t answer. More banging and vibrations. She was really going to destroy her own house to find me? Damn fuck. Screw this shitty operation. I decided to give up. I went in the bedroom of my safebox and decided to get some sleep and wait for police to react and solve the network problems, hoping she wouldn’t find me before that.
I couldn’t sleep. The constant banging, the vibrations, the screams. She wouldn’t let go. She was now fully drunk and completely out of her mind. But then, something extremely wrong happened. A very loud clunk sound and screens flickered. Then another. And another, all computer rebooted. I lost lights; I was in total darkness for a few seconds. Then everything flickered and I fell on my butt as the floor titled. Fuck...she had found me.
Now I was in trouble for real.
I went up to the roof, then back down, all the furniture was sent flying around. Power was cut off. Total darkness again. Loud thuds, banging, bashing, I felt for a moment that I could hear screams outside, and that she had thrown the box onto a wall, fell down crashing loudly. I banged my head on to something, then again, then something flew in my direction hitting me in the groin. She was shaking the box like a can of paint.
“Tricia! Stop, Please!” I screamed, but she definitely couldn’t hear me. I was 1 inch tall, what could I do? I was fucked. Stupid experiment failed even before it started. Then it was more calm. I found a red light flashing and crawled to it. No more banging and tumbling. I was lucky to be alive. I could crawl to the flashing red light and there was a button, some kind of fail safe maybe? I pressed it, emergency power batteries lit my fucked up safehouse with warm white leds. Some computers rebooted. I could hear rummaging outside the box, what was she doing, come on. I was bleeding. Then I looked at my wounds, they were healing quick, wow, I never saw something like that. My head ache, sense of dizziness all faded quickly. I should have read that part about shrinking and faster healing more carefully. I couldn’t find my procedure book, the computer room was a mess. Then a few screens lit up. The last cameras still in function were showing the basement main room, with a small black toolbox on the floor. I quickly grabbed the microphone.
“Tricia, please, stop this... I’m hurt...Police is on the way.” I bluffed. I saw her coming back on the camera feed, standing near my little black box on the floor. She lifted a foot on stomped on it hard. The booming sound resonated hard around me, screens flickered. She stomped again. And Again, and again, then kicked the box. It was sent flying, I tumbled and crashed against the computer room wall, the screens flickered, the computers rebooted, the box tumbled on the floor and came to a stop. Then more stomping, she was a giantess, a crazy mad giantess stomping my safehouse. Again, I healed quickly, and stood up the best I could, safety power was still on. This experiment didn’t last a full day, I was in deep shit. I could only wish that she wouldn’t find out how to open my tin can....
Vibrations. On the camera feed that was left, I could see Tricia was using a dremel tool on the box I was in. Then she lost patience and screamed, grabbed the crowbar and hit the box many times, until I was almost deaf from the loud bangs.
I swore, prayed, fucking shit, I should never have signed for this.
I woke up groggy, things have been calm for the night. I guess Tricia went to sleep after hours of trying to get the box opened while being completely drunk. My little world was a complete mess. Stupid police engineers didn’t think about the fact the box could be found, heh? I hate idiots, especially when they think they’re brilliant.
At some point, seeing there would be no communication coming from me at HQ they will come save me from this monster. Was that in the procedure? I can’t remember, should have read it more carefully. I heard muffled noises from outside, I went straight to look at the cameras and none of them were working anymore, she had destroyed them all. I tried to file my report with the words, emergency, SOS, save me, get over here and save me, I even tried Get over here and save me you fucking idiots. Nothing was getting through. Same error code would show up on the screens over and over again.
BANG!, I heard a creaking sound. Then another, and the box was shaking and light started to pour in...Oh no....she breached it. BANG, again, I tried to hide, but I didn’t know where. BANG, than squeaks, the breach was getting larger.
“Come here little shit! Come see me tiny man, come, I’ll be kind to you!” BANG. She was being clearly sarcastic. My heart was pounding in my chest, I was in panic, fear got through my whole body, sending waves of paralyzing shots in my body. I was hyperventilating. BANG! The tip of the crowbar went through the metal and landed a few feet next to me. Then it rotated and started applying lever pressure and CLANK, the lid popped off. The box was opened.
“Finally. You’re mine!” She said, now she was loud, and she was right there, huge giantess beaming down at me with knives in her eyes, rage in her heart and even if my eyes had a rough time adjusting to the daylight, I could see the evil look she was crushing me down with.
“Please, spare me! I did nothing wrong!” I screamed.
“Come here...” she said, hover her huge hand over me. It snatched me with tremendous speed. I couldn’t believe something so big could move so fast, it was absolutely unreal, then I remembered that it was me being small. VERY small. Her hand turned up and she place me in her grasp in her clenched fist, with only my head coming out of her flesh.
“You’re dead, Jim Smith...you’re dead, you hear me?” She said, It was so loud, her mouth was so close. She puffed on her cigarette and took it out of her lips with her other hand. Then I saw the smoldering ashy end of it come directly to my face.
“STOP!” I screamed. But I got the burning cigarette in my face. “AHHHHHHHHH!” I screamed my life out, I felt my face burning, my lungs getting filled with ashes, my facial features were almost melting, I tried to move but I couldn’t. I wanted to pass out from the horrible and horrifying pain. But then it all calmed down, the cigarette was removed from my face and Tricia’s huge mouth blew the ashes away from me. I felt my skin heal, my features were coming back in place. I had the odd feeling of my painful wounds being quickly recovering, it was both scary sensational, and also scary painful. Tricia opened her clenched fist. I freefall down to the dirty floor and landed with a thud. My legs hurt, my arms hurt, my head banged on the floor. I almost blacked out, but no, I looked up, only to see the incredibly large sole of Tricia’s nike air 90 sneaker, dirty and blackened coming down on me. She was about to crush me, and she did, without a single effort she pressed down on my minuscule body under her foot and twisted her foot like if she was crushing her cigarette on the floor. The weight was unbelievable, the pain shot through my body, I felt like I would explode in a gory mess, but yet again, She pressed down some more and my body resisted. She removed her foot and looked down at me.
“Why? “ She stomped me, I saw stars. “Don’t?” she stomped me again. “You...” stomped again, ouch...ow...on my god... forgive all my sins...”die?” she stomped on my again, and transferred all her weight down on me and bounced up and down on her foot, the shoe sole enveloped me, molding around me, so hard, so unforgiving, but my miniaturized body was so dense that it would resist, and quickly heal back to normal, not giving me a second of peace of mind and peace of body.
Now don’t ask me about my soul, I think that, she managed to crush and kill. I couldn’t move, I was numb, completely broken, and little by little, I could feel my senses coming back to me. The smell of the shoe sole used rubber, dust, cigarette ashes in my eyes, in my lungs, all the crud that she stepped on for years wearing those sneakers. Everything was extremely precise and intensified. And then light again, she removed her foot from me and looked down from her towering height.
“Tricia... please...stop...crushing me under your shoe...” I managed to say.
“Can’t hear you bug.” I looked up, she was drinking beer and lit up another cigarette. “Seems like you can’t die....maybe that’s why they shrunk you....fucker.” she puffed in and out, the smoke directly coming down at me, on the floor. I tried to sit but she kicked me, the huge sneaker cam towards me like a high speed train, sent me tumbling down in the living room. I must have done dozens of barrel rolls until I finally came to a stop, dizzy. “I know they’re coming for me, and I don’t give a shit... You on the other end, will suffer hell until they arrive.” She said, standing dangerously close to me again. “You wanna watch my every goddamn moves don’t you? You want to be with me at all times, fucking pervert? Is that why you accepted this? To spy on me? After you sent my boyfriend to die in Mexico, you think you deserve any respect from me? You think I’ll just forgive you?” She leaned over me and let a huge spit slowly drip from her mouth and it came down crashing on the wood floor next to me. “Well I’ll give you a bad news and a good news puny little fucker: I am getting out of here and far away and I’ll take you with me.” That was really bad worse than I thought. Tricia walked a few steps in the living room and picked up a gym bag, full and heavy. She dropped it straight down on me. Bam, it hit me like a falling skyscraper. I heard the zip open, felt some rummaging above me, then the zip again. The bag was removed, I saw starts flying around again. Now, all of this got me wondering what would the good news be....
Tricia picked up the remains of my safe house and threw them on the wall. I looked around quickly, trying to see if I could make a dash to escape. The front door was half opened, mag locks have been disabled, probably before she managed to pop open the box. She was wearing a leather jacket, jeans and her white nike sneakers. She grabbed her gym bag and placed it on her shoulder then, still looking down at me, she finished puffing on her cigarette and dropped it next to me. She giggled devilishly and used the tip of her giant sneaker to drag the cigarette bud, still smoking, close to me, and once it was touch me, she crushed it, with me also, under her shoe sole. I felt the ashes wind up around me, the smoldering tobacco was put out in searing pain on my arm, but it was nothing compared to the tremendous unbelievable weight crushing me down again.
“The good news is..” she started, removing her foot from me. She stepped back a step and brought her right foot in front of the left and used her toes to pop her heel out of her sneaker, revealing a dirty white socked foot, slowly coming out of the old sneaker. “...you’ll travel in my shoe.” She said, suddenly stepping out of her shoe and crouching down, her bag on her back.
“You’re not serious!” I said, completely fearful. “HELP! HELP MEEEEEEEE!” I screamed to no-one. She snatched me like she did before and in no time I was already tumbling on a moist and dirty sneaker insole. The shoe had tears inside it, it had been worn countless times, the insole was filled with sweat, and the fabric has been so used there were hols here and there. I looked down the end quickly and saw the footprint of this crazy giantess, toe prints and dust, crud.
And the smell....
The smell was so powerful it got into my lungs and hurt them. My nostrils were burning from the humid trashed shoe odor and foot sweat, it was disgusting and repulsive. I gagged, but heard a giggle up above. A devilish laugh booming down on me from the opening of the shoe, and then, I realized it was only the beginning of my torment. Her giant socked foot came into view above the shoe opening and her toes flexed, wiggled and plunged down on me like a raging bull. I got rammed and dragged under them, scraped on the worn out grimey insole, my clothes tearing, my face being scraped on the humid sandpaperlike sweaty fabric. Air swooshed away, sucked out from the huge foot taking all the available space in the shoe, until pressure started to build up and I felt her toes gripping me, and crunching my little body savagely. Her heel finally settled down in the shoe. She gave me a good stomp, then a few more. I should have dashed out when I had the chance...
She started walking...out of her house, into the wild world, freedom for her, entrapment for me.
I prayed god to have mercy, I was suffocating, I was being asphyxiated....and I passed out from the constant pounding under her socked toes.
Why was she doing this to me? I mean, no. I know I precipitated her boyfriend’s death by accident on a drug deal gone wrong. But.... Why was she doing those specific things to me? Why her feet? That’s gross and indescribably disgusting and I don’t know why she chose –that- form of torture since she couldn’t kill me normally. Was she trying to break my mind? While being down there crushed under her foot inside her sneaker, I could only wish I did not hallucinate those little small paragraphs at the end of the procedure, saying that if anything went wrong, the security department would do anything possible to retrieve me safe and sound. However, judging by all the steps she took on me, all the things she said above me, even if I heard everything in muffled hard to understand dialogs, and by all the vibrations, sounds and, basically all I could focus on, on that day, Tricia N. Thompson took a greyhound bus north, to go as far as possible. With me, forced to smell her foot. Inside her well worn sneakers.
Honestly, I got used to the smell after 5 hours. When she stood up and walked off the bus, the only thing I could feel is the added weight of her gym bag. At that point I had no idea where we were. All I knew is that her toes got used to my presence in her shoe. The damp sock however, was stinky and getting dry from the lack of walking for the long bus ride. If I could file a report that actually went through...I would fail her probation. Get that bitch behind bars, she’s mad, or schedule appointments with psychiatrist while being in full internment. But odds were not in my favor. She was now hundreds of miles away, dragging me along in her sneaker, trying to escape justice.
