Scotty lay on the ground, trembling. He looked small again, his pants worn and his sweatshirt missing, having been shredded by the liquid armor which was now nowhere to be seen.

Sprite stood up and drew a gun, carefully approaching.

He was breathing hard, his small chest moving up and down with each pant. His eyes were wide open, and he appeared terrified, staring out into space.

“Scotty, it’s ok,” Sprite said, putting away her gun after verifying the armor was indeed gone and seeing Scotty posed no threat. “Are you injured, Scotty?”

He didn’t notice her, still staring off.