Macro Stories
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The Machine (2024)
🕑 Added 2025-10-22 10:00:14 +0000 UTC—CHRIS—
Chris got out of his car after a long day at work. The evening sun glared across the windshield, forcing him to squint as he slammed the door. The air was thick with late-summer warmth, the kind that clung to skin even as the light began to fade. He rubbed at his eyes and started up the driveway, already picturing the quiet of home.
The front door opened before he reached it. A young man stepped out, moving fast. Harry, one of Adam’s friends.
“Hey, Harry,” Chris greeted, casual but surprised.
“Uh, hi, sir.” Harry’s voice wavered as he shifted from foot to foot. “Sorry, I can’t talk, I just— I’ve got to get going.”
Chris frowned and slowed his pace, instinctively stepping into Harry’s path. “Whoa, hold on. You just leaving? Don’t you want to stay for dinner?”
Harry’s hand tightened around something small and metallic in his pocket. “No, no…it’s fine. My mom’s expecting me.” He glanced toward the street, then back at the house, swallowing hard.
Chris tilted his head. “Hey, bud, you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Harry forced a quick laugh, thin and unconvincing. “Nah, just late. I just, uh, came to grab something. Adam said it would be okay.”
“That so? He inside?”
“…Yeah,” Harry nodded, after too long a pause. “He…should be.”
His eyes flicked toward the doorway, as if expecting someone to appear, but no one did.
“Well,” Chris said slowly, unsure of how to proceed, “maybe next time, wait till someone’s home, yeah?”
“Right. Yeah. Won’t happen again. I’m…I’m really sorry.”
Harry brushed past him before Chris could add more, his sneakers slapping quick against the pavement. He didn’t look back.
Chris stood for a moment, watching him disappear down the street. The kid had always been a little high-strung, but that was…odd, even for him. He made a mental note to call Harry’s mom later, just in case something was happening at home.
He exhaled and stepped inside. The door shut behind him with a hollow thud that seemed louder than usual.
“Hey, I’m home!” he called out, his voice carrying into the stillness. No reply. No video game sounds, no music from Adam’s room. Not even the tinkering of whatever it was he does in there.
“Adam?” he tried again. The silence pressed back, heavy and thick.
He sighed, kicked off his boots, and walked down the hall, his socked feet whispering over the hardwood. The house had that faint, electrical hum all quiet homes seem to have, a background vibration that sometimes felt like it was listening. Maybe a little silence wasn’t so bad. He’d had enough noise for one day.
Chris dropped onto the edge of his bed, peeled off his socks, and tossed them toward the hamper. The cool air on his feet made him sigh. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, mind half-empty.
Definitely a beer, a bit of TV. Something easy before the boy got home and he’d cook dinner.
He pushed himself up and made for the kitchen. The fridge light blinked on, bright and clinical, spilling over neat rows of cans and leftovers. He grabbed a Molson and cracked it open, the hiss echoing faintly in the quiet.
As he walked toward the living room, something on the coffee table caught his eye — one of Adam’s gadgets, humming softly, a dull blue pulse flickering along its surface.
He frowned. “Can’t clean up after himself, huh?”
The thing vibrated faintly when he picked it up. Warm. Almost alive. Nothing looked out of the ordinary with it, but he never knew what the kid was up to with these gadgets he toys around with. Whatever it was, it was beyond anything he understood.
“What the hell even is this?” he muttered. The pulse quickened as if the machine was activating, a faint whine rising from within the device, barely audible but irritating in the stillness.
The humming reached its apex before he found a switch near the base and flicked it off. The hum died, and with it came an uncanny quiet, too sudden, as though the air itself had stopped moving.
“There,” he said, half to himself. “That’s better.”
He opened the hall closet and, without much thought, set the gadget on a high shelf. The door closed with a soft click. If he couldn’t put his things away, he won’t see the thing for a few days.
Back in the living room, he pulled the coffee table back to its original spot, before crashing down on the couch. The cushions sighed beneath him. He took a long pull from the beer, resting it on the table, then stretched out, slamming his feet and crossing his ankles on the coffee table. The TV flickered to life, washing the walls in restless blue light, and filling the area with noise.
Finally, the day could unwind.
Chris, eyes fixed on the screen, had no idea that somewhere impossibly far below, his son was closer than he thought.
—HARRY—
The device hummed low and steady, a sound that filled Adam’s room like an insect trapped in the walls. The air shimmered faintly around it.
Harry leaned against the desk, eyes darting between the blinking lights and Adam’s hands moving over the controls. Evan laid on his stomach on the bed, his feet in the air behind him as he listened to the two discuss their experiment.
“You sure this thing’s safe?” Harry asked, trying to sound casual.
“It’s not like it’s dangerous,” Adam said, eyes locked on the flickering lights. “It just alters the space around a target… temporarily. I’ve done it before. I just want to prove it works on something that matters.”
“Something that matters?” Harry echoed.
Adam smirked, nodding towards Evan. “Yeah. Something alive. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
Harry let out a short, uneasy laugh. “Dude, maybe wait till your dad’s home. He said you shouldn’t—”
“Relax,” Adam cut him off. “It’s a quick test. I’ll reverse it right after. Come on, guys, let’s do it in the living room. Harry, I’ll need you to hit the trigger—and no, it’s not a bomb. Evan, you’re going to-”
“Sit there and look pretty, I know,” Evan said, getting up from the bed. “I don’t really care about this, and you know that.”
The look on Harry’s face made Adam laugh. He unplugged the device and carried it carefully down the hall.
“Fine, don’t help.”
In the living room, the coffee table had already been dragged aside to expose a bare patch of floor. Adam crouched and adjusted a few dials. Harry hung back near the doorway, arms crossed, torn between curiosity and dread. Evan stood idly by in the living room with Adam.
“You ready?” Adam asked, glancing up, sitting on the table and setting the device on the ground.
Harry hesitated. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Here goes nothing.”
Adam gave him a thumbs-up. “Hit it.”
Harry pressed the activation switch. There was a flash, not bright but dense, as if the air folded in on itself. Harry stumbled back, blinking hard. The sound cut off completely.
“What the hell was that?!” he said after a moment.
No answer.
He stepped forward. The device sat motionless, its surface still warm, one indicator light flickering a dull red. The spots where Adam and Evan had stood were empty. No smoke. No scorch marks. Just absence.
“Adam! Evan! This isn’t funny!” Harry shouted louder this time. Undecided what to do, he walked over to the table. He grabbed the machine on the ground and shook it, hoping it would bring the two back. Nothing.
His heart hammered as he slammed the damn thing onto the table.
This didn’t make sense. He’d seen Adam and Evan—seen them—and now they were gone.
He stared down at the device, realization dawning in fragments. Whatever it had done, it had done it to his friends, and he was the only witness to it.
Panic surged up fast and hard.
If he called Adam’s dad, he’d have to explain what they were doing. If he called anyone, he’d have to explain everything.
So he didn’t.
Harry shoved the device’s remote into his pocket, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and bolted out of the house. His breath came fast, every sound in the empty hall chasing him as he went.
By the time the door shut behind him, the only thing left in the living room was the faint, restless hum of the device—and the empty space where his friends had once stood.
—ADAM—
Adam’s eyes snapped open.
Light flooded over him—harsh, invasive, far too intense to be natural. It scorched across his skin, every nerve humming with an electrified thrum that made him flinch. A strange pulling sensation coiled deep in his gut, as though something had wrenched him from the inside out.
Then… stillness. He was breathing. He could move. No pain. Not really. But something was wrong. Very wrong.
He blinked once, twice—and the world refused to make sense. The grain beneath his feet was wood, smooth but ridged, stretching on for miles. Above him, the ceiling arched into the sky like the dome of a cathedral. His house—his living room—was no longer a room. It was a continent.
Adam staggered upright, his knees buckling. The polished surface beneath him wasn’t the floor. It was the coffee table—the one he’d rested his bare feet on a hundred times, chip crumbs scattered and forgotten.
Now it might as well have been a planet.
Panic rose fast.
“H-Harry?! Evan! What happened? Where are you?” His voice cracked in the emptiness. No reply.
He turned in circles. The table’s edge was a sheer cliff. The rug below spread out like an ocean of tangled wool, and the couch loomed above—a mountain range of dark fabric. The carpet’s texture blurred into haze at this scale.
His mouth dried. His heart pounded.
What the hell happened to me?
A deep, concussive whump rolled through the air. The impact rattled the wood beneath him, shaking dust from the surface. It wasn’t just sound; it was pressure—heavy, inescapable, alive.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”
Adam flinched. The voice—familiar, but impossibly loud—vibrated through his chest. He spun toward the sound.
“Harry?” he shouted, his own voice a whisper swallowed by distance. “Harry—”
A massive shadow swept across the table like an eclipse. Warm air rolled over him, heavy with the scent of soap and sweat. Then Harry appeared.
The giant silhouette blotted out the ceiling light, casting Adam in shade. His best friend—towering now, a skyscraper in motion—stepped to the table’s edge, peering down without seeing.
“ADAM! EVAN!” the colossal voice boomed, eyes sweeping the room. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY!”
“I’m right here! Down here!” Adam waved his arms. “HARRY! LOOK D—AHHH!”
The table trembled as Harry moved. Adam fell onto his back just as the giant bent and picked something up off the floor—the device. The same one that had done this.
“No! Don’t touch it!” Adam shouted. “You’ll break it!”
Harry couldn’t hear him. He shook the machine violently, desperate.
“STOP! YOU’LL SHRINK TOO!” Adam screamed, panic cracking his voice.
But Harry wasn’t listening. His gaze swept the table again, still blind to the speck that was his friend. After a long, trembling pause, he set the device down with a frustrated grunt, shoved the remote into his pocket, and grabbed his backpack.
Adam’s blood ran cold. “No. No, no—Harry! Don’t go! DON’T LEAVE US!”
The titan slung the bag over his shoulder and turned. The floorboards groaned under his retreating steps. Adam sprinted to the table’s edge.
“HARRY! I’M RIGHT HERE!” he bellowed. “PLEASE, DON’T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!”
The front door opened and closed with a quake that rolled through the air. Silence followed.
Adam collapsed to his knees, shaking. Each second stretched until the weight of it sank in. He was alone—trapped in his own house, lost in a world a thousand times too big.
And worst of all, he couldn’t even blame Harry.
He looked around wildly. “Evan?” Nothing. No sign, no movement. Had he shrunk too?
Tears blurred his vision as he turned toward the device. Its surface still pulsed faintly, vibrating from the earlier impact. It was still alive.
He didn’t have time to think.
The front door creaked again, its hinges groaning like an avalanche. A gust of air swept through—diesel, cold air, sweat.
Adam’s heart leapt. “Harry?”
But it wasn’t Harry.
A new shadow filled the doorway.
“HEY!” The voice thundered, deeper than Harry’s, edged with exhaustion. “I’M HOME!”
Adam’s blood froze, then ignited with wild hope. “Dad! Dad, I’m up here! On the table!”
“ADAM?”
“I’M HERE!” He jumped, waving both arms. “I’M HERE! LOOK AT THE COFFEE TABLE!”
His father didn’t see him.
The giant sighed, leaning down to unlace his boots. They hit the floor with dull, room-shaking thuds.
“NO—DAD, WAIT—!” Adam ran toward the edge, but his father had already turned down the hallway. Each footfall was a quake that rattled the table under Adam’s feet.
Then stillness.
“Shit, shit shit!" Adam seethed to himself. “What do I do?”
He turned to the device—it was still humming. Maybe he could fix it. Maybe he could bring them back. He started running, tiny legs pounding the vast expanse.
Minutes passed. The machine never seemed closer. Then the tremors returned.
His father reappeared, beer in hand, oblivious.
“Can’t clean up after himself, huh?” the giant muttered.
Adam ran harder, unease prickling his spine. His father loomed over the table and reached down.
“DAD! NO! I NEED THAT!” Adam screamed.
The hum rose to a whine as Chris lifted the machine.
“What the hell even is this…” The massive voice was quiet but deafening.
Adam stopped cold. His father turned a switch—and the hum died.
“DAD! NO! COME BACK! I NEED THAT!”
But Chris only walked away, placing the device on a high shelf in the closet before closing the door with a soft click—sealing Adam’s fate.
The giant sighed again and returned to the living room, unaware of anything amiss. He reached down, grabbed the table, and dragged it back into place. The sudden motion flung Adam off balance; the whole world tilted, then steadied.
A deep whump filled the air as his father crashed onto the couch. The cushions exhaled a gust of air that rippled across the table, nearly knocking Adam over.
Then came the heavier sound—a slow, crushing thud as a colossal foot landed on the table’s edge. The impact catapulted Adam backward. Dazed, he looked up—and froze.
Looking up at the towering soles, he gasped in horror and dread. A faint, dark stain glistened at the ball of his father’s foot.
Evan.
Adam stifled a cry as he realized his own father killed Evan at some point putting the table back. He wanted to scream his father’s name, but the sound caught in his throat.
The realization set in, he wasn’t going to make it out of here, and his own father could be his downfall.
The TV flickered on, its roar swallowing the room in light and sound. Adam wiped his tears, chest heaving. There was only one thing left to do.
He started running toward his giant, oblivious father—because doing nothing would mean dying small, unheard, and unseen.
Comments
Sons00
Oh man this is just Superb, Love the story and Love seeing more of Chris! It's a shame you apparently haven't seen him since the initial shoot because he's probably one of my favourite models you've got next to Brad and Tom. Love the calloused soles and ever so slightly overgrown nails. Also always fun to see some Father/Son stuff, its pretty much an evergreen scenario for unaware~
Joee
I always appreciate your comments, Rambo. You may given me an idea for a sequel story, but I don’t know if it’s a stomp picture. I haven’t seen this model since our initial two shoots and I think he moved out of my town. I should reach out and see if he ever comes out this way if he’d be willing to shoot again.
HyperMushrambo
Damn that's hot! I bet his dad woulda done it even if he'd seen Evan! I hope he stomps Adam on purpose ;P
