You missed the exact moment the ray struck you. One second you were darting through the collapsing warehouse where Giganta had been tearing through armored guards like tissue paper, her laughter booming as her enormous limbs crushed steel crates and splintered concrete. The next, a beam of experimental energy flashed across the gloom, ricocheted off broken glass, and lanced into you.

And now, the world is wrong.

The ceiling that once loomed high over your head is suddenly below your shoulders. The catwalks creak like toy bridges under your glances. The guards that moments ago seemed menacing now scatter below, no larger than ants scrambling in panic. Your heartbeat rattles against your ribs, each pulse echoing louder than explosions, and your breath comes out as a trembling gust of wind that knocks papers and debris across the ground.

Giganta sees you. Her eyes widen with surprise, then narrow in amusement. She plants one massive hand against her hip, her copper hair a flowing banner in the dim light. “Looks like the little brat decided to play at my level. How adorable.” Her voice is thunder, carrying smug warmth beneath its cruelty.

You stumble back. The ground beneath your heels buckles, tiles snapping like eggshells. Balance is an alien thing now—every movement, even the slightest shift of weight, sends tremors racing through the building. The scale of your body betrays you; your legs feel too long, your arms too heavy, your own shadow stretching monstrously across walls you can barely comprehend. For a terrifying second, you nearly topple into a support beam, and the structure screams in protest.

The fear coils sharp and cold in your chest. You’ve fought villains with claws, powers, armies—but never the terror of your own body turning against you. Giganta doesn’t hesitate. She lunges forward, her hands curling like wrecking balls. You barely manage to lift your arm, and when you do, the motion sends a shockwave of displaced air through the warehouse, scattering men and machinery like toys.

She laughs at your clumsiness. “First time in big-girl shoes? Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ve had years to master this form.”