Tim didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Scott noticed him and nearly jumped out of his skin. Now he knew what a spider must feel like . . . something so small able to have such an overwhelming effect on something so large.
He knew that he had to keep jumping and shouting so Scott would know he was a real person and not some sort of toy or weird animal. He did so, fighting the urge to run as the colossal man squatted down to get a closer look at what had startled him.
"OH MY GOD! TIM!" Scott's exclamation sounded like thunder to the six-inch man.
"Scott! You've got to help me! And don't touch that chest!"
Scott began to lower his stocky body even further, thought better of it, and reached for his tiny, naked employer. Before Tim could move, the meaty hand, as big as he was, encircled him and swept him off the ground, lifting him like a freight elevator toward the blimp-sized face.
"Jesus Christ, it IS you. What the hell happened?"
The giant's breath smelled of stale coffee and washed over the little man like a humid gale. Tim had the sudden, whimsical impression that he had been captured by Paul Bunyan and forced himself to concentrate on the situation at hand. "I'm not sure. It had something to do with that . . . chest." He had been about to say "little chest," but it made no sense whatsover to use that adjective about a structure he could now easily live in.
Scott's massive eyes turned toward the chest on the table and then back to tiny Tim, focusing on him with an inscrutable expression. "Who knows about this?"
"Uh . . . no one but me. And you. Uh . . . why?"
Scott didn't answer, instead climbing to his feet. Tim's stomach churned as he saw how far he was from the ground, and he clung to the giant's thumb for support. "Scott, what are you--"
Suddenly, the hand with Tim in it plunged downward, the fingers curling slightly to support the small figure. Tim screamed as he felt himself swinging both downward to to the side, and when he opened his eyes again, the gigantic, rounded ass of Scott hovered before him. Scott was wearing his customary tight jeans (all jeans would likely be tight on such an impressive figure), and their faded blue color filled Tim's vision as the massive hand brought him closer and closer.
"Scott!" screamed Tim, at a loss for what else to say. He was given no chance to continue, in any case, as the other hand came around, pulled out the seemingly painted-on back pocket as far as it would go, and facilitated Tim's entrance into the cloth prison.
The pressure of the giant's back pocket was immense. The blue fabric, worn thin enough to almost see through, plastered him into the warm, beefy buttocks of his employee. Curled in an uncomfortable position, Tim could not move at all, not even enough to wipe away the tears that now flowed freely down his miniature cheeks. A moment later, the pressure increased tenfold--almost enough to crack his bones--as Scott apparently bent over for some reason. Tim heard the unbearable scrape of wood against wood and realized that his captor was also taking the chest that he had left on the table.
"Scott, don't do this! Please help me!" he tried to yell, but it sounded muffled even to him. His world rocked as the giant started to walk, the massive footsteps sending shockwaves through Tim's minuscule body, magnified by the seismic vibrations in what little fat was stored in the giant's ass. Then the footsteps changed as Scott left his little house and crossed the salvage yard.