Debriefed by Big Skunk
Shrunken First Semester
chapter 4
by
maximally
For Max, Paula’s desk might as well have been an aircraft carrier, every scratch and coffee-stain a ridge he could spend hours exploring. Paula filled the space before him like a tidal wave—six-two and two-eighty of muscle and bulk, still in the faded fatigues that had carried him tucked against her just minutes earlier.
She leaned forward and studied him with a flat, professional look. Max tried to stand straight, but his knees wouldn’t lock. The air was already heavy with her scent.
Paula’s mouth twitched—the barest hint of a smile, her tone calm but with a gently teasing undertone. “Relax, Calhoun. This isn’t an interrogation. You’re not in trouble. Not with me, anyway.”
Max swallowed. “R-really?”
"Really." Her grin sharpened. "If it was, you’d still be on fart-absorber duty. And I’d be asking the questions a lot slower." She let the humor hang in the air just long enough, her eyes sharpening. Then she flicked a broad hand, grounding the moment. "You can sit if you want. Or stand. Your call."
He stayed on his feet. Sitting felt too much like surrender.
Paula reached aside, opened a drawer, and pulled out a yellow legal pad and a pen that looked tiny in her grip. She clicked it and put the tip on the paper. “Start at the beginning. Last night’s timeline. Every stop, every person, every drink. Don’t skip the boring parts.”
“Well, uh…” Max rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the problem. I don’t remember anything after I left my dorm. Zeke and I pre-gamed a little, walked across the quad, and then it’s just—black. Until I woke up on that coffee table.”
“Usual story.” She nodded, businesslike and wry, as if she'd predicted his answer. “Serum hits fast, wipes short-term memory.” Her pen scratched the pad. “You single?”
All at once, Max could feel his face getting hot again. “What does that have to do with—”
“I’ll take that as a no.” Amusement flickered in her eyes. “If you did have a girlfriend, she’d be suspect number one. Women get creative when they’re pissed off. You’d be surprised.” She glanced up at him and arched one eyebrow. “Or maybe you wouldn’t. You don’t strike me as much of a ladies’ man. Am I wrong?”
Max opened his mouth, closed it again. She wasn’t wrong, and the truth stung worse than the serum ever had.
“Friends on campus?” she continued, pen poised. “Girls? Guys? Theys?”
He hesitated. “Not… really. Just my roommate. Zeke.”
Paula wrote his name in capital letters, underlined it twice, and circled it. The pen’s scratch sounded final.
Max’s stomach twisted. One month at full size, and the only person who would even notice he was gone was the guy who’d had to bribe him to leave the room. He stared down at his own bare feet and felt the full weight of how small he had already been before the serum touched him.
Paula must have read the silence. She leaned back, sending another faint wave of skunky B.O. smell drifting across the desk. “Hey. Chin up. I like a challenge now and then. Most of these cases wrap inside forty-eight hours once I find the partner or the friend who slipped the dose. You’re an interesting project. Keeps the job from getting stale.”
BBBRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTT
As Paula shifted in her seat, a long, rolling fart filled the office like a low-pressure front. Max doubled over, coughing hard, eyes watering, the sharpness of the smell slicing straight through the tension that had filled the room.
Paula waited until the worst of it passed, allowing the awkwardness to linger just long enough for Max to catch his breath. "Gonna have to toughen you up if you’re planning on surviving at three inches, kid. Consider this your first test." She gave him a moment to recover, then continued as if nothing had happened. "Last question... Any family in the area?"
Max froze. The question cracked open a door he had been trying to keep shut since the moment he’d woken up this morning. His dad was overseas on another business trip; his mother had been out of the picture for years, leaving only his stepfamily: his stepmom, Victoria; his stepsister, Izzy; his step-abuela, Lupe; and his aunt Fanny. At full size, he’d found all of them overwhelming in their own maddening ways—but now, at three inches tall, they would all be even more intense. He wasn’t ready to hand himself over to any of them. Not yet.
Max cleared his throat. “I’d rather… not bring them in right away. Once we figure out who did this, then maybe. But not yet.”
Paula studied him for a long beat, blue eyes unreadable. Then she set the pen down and folded her hands on the desk. The motion made the muscles in her forearms shift like cables under tanned skin.
“All right. Here’s how this is going to work. I’m opening an official investigation—witness statements, party footage, the whole nine yards. Something tells me this one’s gonna take a while to figure out. Which means you need a handler. Someone who won’t lose you in a couch cushion.”
She held up two thick fingers. “Option A: You stay with me until we close the case. I’ll keep you secure, I’ll feed you, I’ll make sure nobody else gets their hands on you. But it’s my rules, my schedule, and my ass. No complaints, no negotiations.”
She lowered one finger. “Option B: I hand you off to Dr. Riya Chandra. Campus psychiatrist, and the closest thing we’ve got to a professional tiny-sitter. She volunteers for these cases all the time. Nurturing type. Gentle. You’d probably like her.” Paula leaned in until her face filled his entire field of view. “Choice is yours, Calhoun. But you make it now. So. What’s it going to be?”