It was the year 3333 and people were now shrunk down to minuscule sizes to meet the constantly shrinking technology. That doesn't mean that everybody was shrunk though. Some people were in fact quite big. However, size now had more to do with your place in society than actual genetics. The president of a country for example would probably be between 9 and 10 feet tall whereas the regular assembly worker, as depending on what he assembled, would most likely be between a quarter of an inch to 2 and a half inches tall.

        This all had to do with regulation. An assembly worker needed to be small because, as he usually dealt with handling small technologies, he had to be quick and dexterous and not hampered down by the difficulties a normal sized body could bring. As speed was usually required and the objects a regular assembly worker handled would be about the size of a mustard seed, it was evident that changes (somewhere) had to occur.

        Nicholas Firebrand was an assembly worker for Corporate Corporation Factories and Medications Inc. International. It was a small division of a large international conglomerate which made factories that constructed nanotechnologies or natii's as they were called. Nicholas was maybe no more than two inches tall. Placing factories, that were no bigger than over-the-counter sleeping pills, in small boxes that would be shipped across the country and to foreign lands. He considered his job a living.

        It was on a crisp day, just about the middle of February, that Nicholas Firebrand heard this from his good friend and colleague Brian Bigthroat. Brian was head to Nicholas' assembly team but that didn't really matter to either of them. They had been good friends for about three years now. "Lousy, piece of fungus, slime, wretch, faggot, turd eater, maggot," he said in a sputtering rapid succession that caused large pellets of spit to fly from his mouth.

        "Why are you gett’n so hung up about this, Bri" said Nick "You and I both knew Brad wasn't going to stay here for any amount of time anyhow. He’s a rocket man! And he’ll fall back to Earth just like the rest of ‘em. Watch."

        "That position was mine and he knew it! He stole it from me!!" spat Brian. Brian had planned to make his promotion attempt that Friday, however, Brad made his move on Wednesday.

        Who Brian and Nicholas were talking about was their former colleague Brad Pitt. It was common gossip that he had changed his last name to that of the classic 20th and 21st century heart throb movie actor whose name was still famous to the day. It was even concurrently taken by present actors, as a sign of respect, for whom they considered their hero and inspiration. It was obvious to everyone that Brad was seeking the fast track. From day one you could already see him pulling schemes to move up in the corporation, sometimes it reminded you of the Wyley Coyote and Roadrunner cartoons. It wasn’t difficult for people to envision Brad chasing his next big opportunity at a hundred miles per hour with his tongue sticking out and a fork and knife in either hand. He hated his job though, and doing any amount of work, as could be seen by a distinct, lopsided grimace as he so pitched his factories unceremoniously into their boxes. But as soon as a superior would tower on by he would almost instinctively brush back his short, dirt blonde hair and instantly engage him in an amusing animated discussion and his ravenous, nearly black eyes and thin, wide mouth would shine with a strange unwavering radiance. As this would happen people would watch out of the corners of their eyes. If you listened hard you could almost hear a stifled snigger from somewhere off in the crowd. Brad’s antics were contrived and, to all popular opinion, possessive of a certain disgusting hilarity.

        "Yeah, total butt munch, man" said another of Nicholas and Brian's assembly mates from just an inch away at the other side of the conveyor belt, "I can't believe they put the litt’le fudge picker here of all places. I mean, right here, man, Christ!" and he pointed to a spot not six centimeters to the right of Brian which just a day before was Brad’s spot on the line, "And everyone knew you were the one going for that promotion, man, everyone!" he said to Brian with a somewhat familiar fire in his eyes, "the little bastard stole it man! He betrayed us all!"

        "Cool yer jets, for Christ's sake," said Nicholas in a half-fake, soothing voice, "have you been taking your medication recently?"

        All assembly workers and employees under three feet tall had to take medications. This was in compliance with the company's Napoleonic Syndrome Policy. Napoleonic Syndrome is a sensation that affects you when you become small in stature. The effect is trying to make up for size with attitude, which is usually being domineering of others and uncharacteristically violent. It essentially happens to everyone who is shrunk below their average birth height. Which is basically to say every job thirsty working man over eighteen. Thus medications were created to thwart and control this aftereffect. Corporations wouldn’t spring for the cash immediately, however, and so for a long time now employees have had to pay for their own necessary medicines. To this day workers haven’t fully accepted the details of this policy, and it is still being fought over in global labor unions.

        It’s safe to say that the entire Napoleonic Syndrome Policy began with the beginning of working shrinkage. Thirty-one years ago, when the prospect of shrinking became viably marketable, the first factory making factory was built. As usual when something is built there is a grand opening ceremony. It was this first day of the new corporate worker that hailed the Three-Quarter’s Foot Massacre. Newly shrunken factory workers all piled into the field at once, and it was within that instant that fights began to break out immediately. People that were no closer than two inches away (which, when a person is only an inch and a half tall, isn’t very close) began screaming red faced at others who in turn yelled back. Arms were raised in show of dominance by all, and people soon yelled at other people who they claimed had stepped on their foot but who quite clearly hadn’t. The fighting continued at this pace for two minutes until the grand ceremonial cake was brought out, and one of it’s carriers all of a sudden grabbed the cutting knife and brutally slaughtered his partner. Mass rioting broke out, and all the employees grabbed weapons. Some went to miniaturized company cars and obtained all manner of wrenches and cables; others simply dived onto the plastic silverware. Security was only able to come at the last moment to phone the police and even then their presence didn’t do much good. The end result of all this was twenty-five dead and one hundred wounded.

        “Yeah,” said Nick and Brian’s co-worker, “Yeah, I’ve been tak’n my medication recently. Why, why do you ask me?” he said with a hint of nervous fervor.

        “I don’t know,” said Nicholas with a hesitant skepticism as he plopped factories into their boxes absentmindedly, “Why? Should I be asking you?”

         “Why, should you?” returned the co-worker along with a menacing glare, which he held for some time.

        “Okay, this conversation is going nowhere,” interrupted Brian with an air of exhaustion “So did you see that game last night guy’s?”

        Brian had managed to quell the volatile co-worker, and quietly they both returned focus to their work. Nicholas breathed easy. The factory capsules that were being shipped were for making nitrogen oxygen natii’s. The type usually used to go scuba diving. Nicholas wasn’t all that fond of scuba diving but as he chanced a look up and glanced at the seemingly endless rows of assembly workers he imagined a good vacation, as soon as possible.

        It’s important to note that Napoleonic Syndrome is the result of unstable chemicals in the brain. To control this from causing incredibly erratic behavior, medication is given to reestablish the body and mind to its new state. However, for the medication to work properly, an entire week must be taken off at home for it to take effect and readjust the individual. Brad made his move to climb the ladder during the middle of the working week and was hired on the spot, due to his seemingly abundant enthusiasm. Why is this important? Because on Thursday Brad was enlarged to fit his new position. That day is now, and Brad hasn’t had time to readjust. Against Company Factory’s policy Brad has decided to commence the new position immediately after his vertical enhancement.

         It was a few minutes to lunch when he burst into the assembly lines. The glimmer of madness, that for a fleeting second had shone on the face of Nicholas’ assembly neighbor, was now in full force on the face of Brad. He stepped in and, as he smashed a conveyor, laughed maniacally as if he were Victor Frankenstein having created his monster in the ancient, black and white 20 th century film. The people, not more than two inches tall, dashed from the gigantic one foot and a quarter body and quivered. Brad Pitt seemed to enjoy his effect and was soon dancing and smashing the first conveyor and the next. He squealed delightedly as everyone ran and huddled in the corners and under piles of boxes. Then he seemed to perk up and his face revealed that of an epiphany. With his hand near his face he let out a resounding, deep “HUUUUUUMM” and slowly and anxiously waded his way towards the place where Brian and Nicholas were. Getting there within a few seconds and turning back, making sure he hadn’t missed a conveyor on the way, and then forward again, he stooped over Brian and Nick and scooped them both up with his left hand.

        Nicholas had watched, and so had Brian, as Brad Pitt crashed in and began to wreck havoc. They were stunned as he obliterated the conveyors and began to thunder their way. The screams of those nearby gave them shivers. Brad couldn’t hear their screams because they were so high pitched but Nick and Brian could. As he scooped them up Nicholas was still holding one of his boxes with the factory in them with a bone marked, kung fu grip. They didn’t try to escape as Brad came for them because all in all it felt too futile, but their neighbor had yelped as the procession of destruction arrived and swiftly dived under a nearby pile of thrown boxes that were then scattered as another conveyor near by was destroyed. He could still be seen by Nicholas huddled and quivering to himself, rolled in a ball, as Brad Pitt lifted him and Brian into the air.

        “HELLO SUCK’AHS!!!” Brad bellowed as he addressed the tiny assembly workers in his hand.

        “Hey,” said both Nicholas and Brian in near unison, still trying to act casual. They didn’t want to excite the situation anymore if they could handle it.

        “Don’t you mean,” said Brad in a relatively soft mocking voice until he erupted, “HEY SIR!!!!!”

        They were both thrown back by Brad’s words. Brian was dazed as he took his hands from his ears. Nicholas was still holding his box and had hid his face behind it. He appeared frazzled as he began to set it down. Brian looked at the box for a second, then at Nicholas’ worn face.

        “You know,” bellowed Brad Pitt once again in a seemingly very deep voice, “I never really liked you,” he seemed to be directing toward Brian, “You never helped me at all. You”

        “Well I never meant to!” exclaimed Brian in a quick retort.

        “SHUT UP!!!!” shouted Brad once again, “YOU WERE NEVER EVEN NICE TO ME!” He seemed to calm down a bit “You snubbed me all the time. and I heard you laughing at me too, YOU MOTHERLESS, CUD CHEWING BASTARD. YOU…….”

        As he had talked and continued, Brian made slight motions to Nicholas to hand him the factory.

        “AND JUST SO YOU KNOW!……” continued Brad. As Brad Pitt ranted on, Nicholas passed Brian the factory. Brian stuffed it under his shirt on top of his shoulder blades. He seemed to have the look of being prepared for something. Nicholas was by now extremely nervous and could feel his whole body shake from both the inside and out as Brad continued to shout.

        All of a sudden Brian stood up and retorted, “WELL, SO WHAT IF I HURT YOUR GOD DAMN FEELINGS!! YOU’RE A FREAK’N SPAZ! YOU’RE A PLASTIC BUTT MUNCH!! I SHOULD HAVE THE RIGHT TO PLAY OFF YOUR FAKE ASS!!! LOOK AT YOU!! YOU’RE A BRAINFRIED LOSER AND ALL THIS MESS PROVES IT!!”

        Brad squeezed down on Brian. Nicholas swiped past Brad’s fingers and fell with a breaking thud onto a ground that was surrounded with boxes. He looked up in an unsteady, aching daze at Brad and a clutched hand that contained Brian. He would have felt fear and sorrow if he could get over his own pain and confusion.

        “PROVES WHAT,” yelled Brad Pitt furiously at his hand, “HUH, WHAT! DO YOU THINK YOU CAN TALK TO ME LIKE THAT!!!” he shook his hand and his face creaked into an imperious sneer. Nicholas could see Brian’s head now sprouting from the top of Brad’s giant fist. Brian bent and jerked like a limp noodle on a rising fork. “I’m bigger than you now midget,” he grimaced in a proud piercing smirk, “YOU BUTTHOLE!!”

        Almost as he said it he opened up his hand and thrust his palm to his mouth. He engulfed Brian in a rather ceremonious chomp as he managed to packed him. He gave a great, scathing gulp of satisfaction. Prior to this, no one would have thought such an incident was possible. The idea of a larger person eating a smaller person was a myth told as a joke during lunch. It had spread like near folklore for years that if you went off your medication, and caused too much trouble for the higher ups, that they would dangle you by your ankles and plop you in, but no one actually believed this. Brian hadn’t expected it. As Brad yelled ‘BUTTHOLE’ Brian had managed to get his arm free and switch on the factory, which he had hidden in his shirt, on top of his shoulder blades. He had meant to pop it out and hopefully toss it into Brad’s wide open mouth when he was yelling. He hadn’t even had time to realize the ghastly and inhuman method that would to be used as his instrument of death, until it finally closed on him. His last thoughts were quite gruesome.

        As any scuba diving instructor will tell you right away, you should never come to the surface of the water, after deep sea diving, before getting reacclimated to average nitrogen levels first. If you do, what happens is the nitrogen that is in your system expands within your body until it reaches critical mass. In basic terms you explode from the inside out. This is essentially what began to happen to Brad after he swilled Brian. He looked around proudly like a Roman soldier expecting praise from a roaring crowd due to his triumph against the now fallen enemy. And then Brad didn’t look so good. He grabbed his stomach and then waveringly clutched his head. Everyone who watched thought it must’ve been poisoning, and he was simply going to get sick. He swayed and gave out a great weary moan followed by a low rasping noise. In an instant there was a large cracking convulsion, and he crumpled to the ground in a crashing, lifeless mass.

        Nicholas had to jump in order to get away from Brad’s plummeting head. When Nicholas rose up he imagined he had been clobbered by something because everything was blurry. He later realized though, it was just dust from the crash. As he moved forward to the sight of the impact he felt a great swell in the pit of his chest and stomach, half in disgust at the filthy gore at the scene and half for mourning both of them. Nicholas didn’t much care for Brad at all, this is true. However as he got nearer and nearer Brad’s face, with big black circles around the eyes and a trickle of blood sprinkling out due to the pressure that had swollen them, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sadness and even guilt. Brad was still a rather handsome gent and no matter how much you may not want to admit it, it's still hard not to cry for the death of a physically beautiful person, even if they are trash. Brian wasn’t forgotten for a second; Nicholas had mourned him since he first witnessed the thrust into Brad’s mouth. His death would be hard for Nicholas to bare.

        It was within a few seconds of then, that security burst in. They immediately began to put what they considered their hold on the situation. The police weren’t too far behind. A group of other factory workers had ran for help. They had actually ran to the nearest intercom on the outside that was in the world of the bigger people. This had notably taken a while. Usually to get to the outside a person either went to a manager for help to bring them there or cruised to their hover crafts and zipped on over. But, since it was almost lunch time when Brad burst in, the manager had already skipped out of the building. It also unfortunately occurred that, while Brad had obliterated the first two conveyors, all the hover crafts were covered in debris. There were many injuries. People would say it was fortunate there was only two dead out of the whole incident. But really. How is death ever fortunate.