The Miniman Programme
Article by Athena … Head of State Science
The Miniman Program has become one of my most treasured creations, a vivid demonstration of the absolute power women wield over men in this world. As the overseer of state scientific research, I have the privilege of deciding the fate of countless men who pass through my laboratories, and the Miniman initiative is one of my cruelest and most innovative ways to remind them of their insignificance. There are two methods to create these tiny, subservient creatures, and while the second approach might be more reliable, I derive far more pleasure from the agonizing process of shrinking full-sized men.
The first method, which I personally favor, involves taking a full-grown man and reducing him to a mere 8 inches in height. The process itself is excruciatingly painful, an outcome I have meticulously designed. I use a complex shrinking apparatus; one that utilizes intense, cellular compression technology to reduce the body’s size while maintaining its functionality. It sounds clinical on paper, but the reality is a symphony of suffering.
The first step is to strap the man into the chamber, where he is completely immobilized. His limbs are bound tightly to cold steel, his eyes wild with terror as he realizes what’s about to happen. I make sure to give him enough time to feel the weight of dread; he needs to understand that there is no escape, no mercy to be found here. When the machine hums to life, the initial shockwave that courses through his body is enough to make most of them scream, though the true agony hasn’t even begun yet.
The shrinking process causes every cell in the body to contract, and as they do, the nerves fire off signals of unbearable pain. The heat inside the chamber rises, the pressure builds, and their bodies begin to warp and twist. Their bones crackle as they are compressed, their skin stretching and snapping back into place in a grotesque contortion. Some men howl in pain; others beg, promising anything; anything; if only I would stop. But stopping isn’t an option. The suffering is the point, after all.
The most delightful part, however, is watching their realization as they shrink. They can feel themselves becoming smaller, their world becoming larger and more intimidating. Their faces contort in agony and horror as they look at their hands, watching them dwindle in size. Their legs buckle, but the restraints hold them upright. Their bodies convulse as they lose control over their functions. Some men bite through their tongues, others thrash so violently that their muscles tear from the strain. The process takes about thirty minutes, but to them, it feels like an eternity of hellish torment. I watch, often sipping a glass of wine and a relaxing cigarette as the machine does its work, and it never fails to bring me immense satisfaction.
Not all men survive this process. In fact, most don’t. The pain is so severe, the stress on their bodies so great, that many die screaming inside the chamber. Their bodies explode in a violent rupture of blood and bone, leaving behind a gory mess for my assistants to clean up. But I’m not bothered by the high failure rate. Quite the opposite, actually; it only adds to the enjoyment. Each failed attempt is a reminder of their fragility and our superiority. The few who do survive emerge from the chamber broken, not just physically but mentally. They are pitiful, trembling creatures, fully aware of their diminished existence.
I take great pleasure in these survivors. Watching them crawl, scamper across the floor like helpless insects, fills me with an indescribable thrill. They cower before me, their tiny bodies trembling as they try to comprehend their new reality. They are nothing now, mere playthings at my mercy, and they know it. I can do anything I want with them, and they are powerless to stop me.
The second method of creating Minimen is far more controlled, though less satisfying. It involves engineering them from embryos, manipulating their DNA so that they grow to a maximum height of 8 inches. We ensure that their physical development is tailored perfectly to their reduced size, meaning they are born specifically to serve us. These Minimen are bred in state-run laboratories, raised in controlled environments where they are conditioned for obedience from birth. By the time they reach adulthood, they are fully aware of their station in life, knowing nothing but servitude to women.
This method is far more reliable, and the resulting Minimen are physically flawless. They’re perfectly proportioned, designed to withstand more strain, and are often used for intricate tasks like cleaning drains or retrieving objects from hard-to-reach places. Some women even use them for more intimate purposes, given their size and unwavering loyalty. These Minimen are docile, eager to please, and fully accepting of their lot in life.
But while this method is efficient, it lacks the visceral thrill of the first method. There is no agony, no suffering, no desperate pleas for mercy. The engineered Minimen are products of precision, but they do not carry the same weight of defeat, of humiliation, that comes from taking a fully grown man and reducing him to something so pitiful. I find no real pleasure in their creation, which is why I prefer to rely on the shrinking process whenever possible.
Despite the higher failure rate, the psychological aspect of shrinking a man; watching him transform from a defiant, full-sized creature into a tiny, powerless slave; is worth every single fatality. It’s a perfect representation of our authority over men. Their resistance, their strength, their will; all of it means nothing once they’re inside that chamber. They are reduced, quite literally, to nothing but tools for our use, and the process is an agonizing reminder of their inferiority.
My Minimen serve me well, but they also serve as a constant reminder to the other men in the world of what fate could await them. To be shrunken, humiliated, and made into something less than human is a fate far worse than death for many of them. And I relish in that power, knowing that each man who steps into my lab is at my mercy, subject to my whims, whether for research or for entertainment. Whether they end up a failed experiment, a broken slave, or a tiny servant crawling at my feet, it is I who control their destiny.
And that, above all, is what drives me; total and absolute control.