Mad Shy Science - Chapter 2 - Fate of the Clones: A Rude Awakening

Part The Mad Shy Scientist Series - Here is the full photo series, full of immersive photos, all from the perspective of the first tiny clone of a brilliant scientist, stranded on her bedroom floor while she looks for her. Here is also the first chapter of the related story:


You slowly wake up, your eyes straining to open as you regain, or achieve, consciousness. You have a massive headache, your whole body is sore, and everything feels.. Overwhelming. Massive fuzzy skyscrapers or buildings or whatever they are tower above you, as you slowly rise to your feet. You do not remember who you are, or much of anything, but as you look around you do realize one thing: you are now extremely small. You are not sure how small, if you had to estimate using the numbers you remember, maybe a quarter of an inch, you are not sure. You also realize you practically have no clothes, just a bra and underwear, and you wonder how you got here, why you are here. Have you always been small? Or is this new? As you strain your eyes looking up at the horizon, your whole world suddenly shakes, massive boom sounds can be heard, and suddenly, a booming voice. “HELLO?!! WHERE DID YOU GO? I KNEW I WAS GOING TO DROP YOU.. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN MORE CAREFUL. COME BACK NOW.. EVERYTHING IS OKAY.. I BET YOU HAVE QUESTIONS..” A humongous figure comes into view, a absolutely massive giantess, with blonde hair, glasses, a red sweater and skirt, as you stare you realize you recognize her. After another moment of staring as the giantess looks around this massive room you are in, you realize, you do not just recognize her, you.. Are her? That is unmistakably you, she looks just like you..

What could this mean? Are you a clone? A twin sister? You try to run towards her to get her attention, but it seems your voice is too small to be heard. “STOP HIDING AND COME OUT, NOW. YOU ARE BEING BAD. THAT IS SOMETHING.. YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE. Shit that was not very threatening… uh.. IF YOU DO NOT SHOW YOURSELF, YOU WILL BE IN BIG TROUBLE.” The giantess says. The choice of words cut deep in your gut, filling you with dread. Whatever this situation is, you are not here willingly it seems, whoever you really are, this is not something you chose, this giantess version of you, seems to be your captor, and they do not seem to friendly. This revelation makes you start running in the opposite direction. Luckily she still has not seen you, but it will not be long before she does. Just as you are thinking that, you feel yourself begin to get smaller, as the carpet strands/fibers around you get bigger and taller, and the looming giantess in the distance appears to be twice her size. On the brightside, now it will be even harder for her to find you.. But you start to think.. Is that even a good thing? What if she steps on you? What if she never finds you and you starve? You keep running as you think about all the possibilities and consequences, unsure of what to do. All the while the giantess keeps looking, her steps now even louder, causing earthquakes that nearly knock you off of your feet.

Your tiny heart pounds in your chest, a frantic rhythm against the chaos swirling around you. The carpet fibers, once mere stubs, now tower like a forest of fuzzy giants, their shadows engulfing you as you shrink further. The giantess—your giantess, your warped reflection—stomps closer, each step a deafening boom that shakes the ground and sends you stumbling. Her voice cuts through the air, sharp with frustration. “HELLO?! WHERE ARE YOU? THIS ISN’T FUNNY ANYMORE!” It’s your voice, impatient and whiny, the tone you’d use when a problem wouldn’t solve itself. But this isn’t you—not really. You’re down here, small and scared, while she’s up there, massive and commanding. A clone, you think again, the idea clawing at your foggy mind. It’s the only explanation that fits. But why? How? Your memory’s a void, empty except for the gut-deep certainty that this is wrong. The ground quakes harder, and you glance back to see her colossal sneaker crash down, blotting out the light. You scramble aside, ducking into a tangle of carpet strands as the sole slams inches away. The gust flattens you, dust and lint raining like rubble. She doesn’t even know you’re there—she could squash you flat and not blink. Starving’s bad, sure, but being crushed under her foot? That’s a horror you can’t shake. “FINE,” she snaps, her voice booming through the room. “KEEP HIDING. SEE IF I CARE. BUT YOU’RE NOT GETTING AWAY.” Her tone’s petulant, but there’s a threat laced in it, a cold edge that prickles your skin. You peek out, heart racing, and see her towering form pivot. She’s scanning the floor now, glasses glinting, blonde hair swaying like a golden curtain. She’s too smart to miss you forever—and you’re still shrinking, the world swelling around you, carpet fibers stretching into skyscrapers, her sneaker a distant mountain. You’re not a quarter of an inch anymore—maybe half that, maybe less.

You start to run deeper into the carpet, legs snagging on the coarse strands, your bra and underwear useless against the cold and fear. Your head throbs, that headache pulsing with your panic. Why are you shrinking more? Did she do this? Is it still happening? You glance at your hands—smaller, thinner. Shit. It’s not stopping. But then a thought hits you: running’s getting you nowhere. She’ll find you eventually, or you’ll vanish into nothing. Maybe… maybe you should get her attention instead. Let her know you’re here, force her to deal with you. It’s risky, but better than disappearing. You turn back, spotting her sneaker planted firm on the carpet. It’s a white canvas high-top, scuffed and massive, the laces dangling like ropes. She’s muttering now—“Where the hell are you?”—and shifting her weight, oblivious to you below. You sprint toward her, dodging fibers, until you reach the shoe. The rubber toe looms like a cliff face. You grab a lace, rough and thick in your tiny hands, and start to climb. It’s slow going, your sore arms trembling, but you haul yourself up, inching along the side of her shoe. The fabric’s warm from her foot, and you can feel the faint thud of her pulse through it.

You’re halfway up, clinging to the edge of the tongue, when the world lurches. She moves, her leg lifting slightly, and you nearly lose your grip. “What the—” Her voice cuts off, and a shadow falls over you. You look up—her face, your face, peers down, hazel eyes widening behind glasses. She’s seen you. “Oh my god, there you are!” Her hand swoops down, fingers pinching you off her shoe like you’re a bug. The pressure’s gentle but firm, your ribs aching as she lifts you up, up, up. The room spins—a blur of lab gear and shelves—until you’re dangling before her face. Her eyes, magnified and gleaming, lock onto you, and she smirks. It’s your smirk, smug and triumphant, the one you’d flash when you cracked a tough puzzle. “Well, look at you,” she says, her breath a humid blast that ruffles your hair. “Climbing my shoe? That’s bold. Guess you’re not as dumb as I thought.” She tilts her head, studying you like a lab rat. “You’re tinier than I planned, though—still shrinking, huh? Oops.” Her giggle’s light, but it sends ice down your spine. She’s enjoying this—your struggle, your size. You kick at her fingers, squeaking in protest, but it’s futile; your voice is too small, and her grin just grows.

“Let’s check you out,” she says, lowering you to the workbench. You spot a ruler, a beaker, scattered papers—all giant now—and she sets you beside the ruler’s edge. The inch marks tower like billboards, and you’re barely past the quarter-inch line, shrinking slower but still dwindling. She taps the ruler with a nail, the clack vibrating through you. “Science time. How small can you get before it stops? You’re curious too, right?” You’re not. You’re terrified. This isn’t science—it’s a sick game, and you’re the plaything. You back away, searching for an escape, but her hand slams down, fingers curling around you like a cage. “Nope,” she says, voice playful. “No more running—or climbing. You’re mine now, and you actually have some spunk, some gusto in you. I like that. I think you deserve a nickname.. how about.. Rylette? Now don't let that name get into your head, you are still just a test subject, but you will have a good, purposeful life, and now, a good name.” That word—mine—hits like a punch. Possessive, final. You’re not a person to her; you’re a possession. A clone, maybe, but one she made to own. You glare up at her, at that familiar face twisted with obsession, every dark impulse you’ve ever buried now staring back at you. She reaches for a magnifying glass, her shadow swallowing you as she leans in. “Let’s see you up close,” she says, her voice dripping with glee. You stumble, shrinking still, and wonder—how small can you get before she decides you’re small enough? Are you the only clone? How many more are out there?