Those words sealed the fate of millions resting upon Darrel's godly, stinky toe. Horror crossed the streets, flooded with fog from his stink, as the tiny New Yorkers realized he wasn't joking.
"Never!" Rick, the bulkiest member of your team, yelled from the corner of your office. "I'd rather die than give my life up to this kid!"
Tom, meanwhile, kept looking at the footage taken from the helicopter of the swaying, wiggling toes in the distance. "Dude, do you even realize where we are now? I don't want my hometown wiped out by a single toe itching..."
And Sara kept holding her nose. "Can't think straight with all this air around. If we can do anything to help that, I say we should."
"Well," you said through the radio, "we'll have to go through a long process to get the mayor's approval, and mobilize everyone..."
POUND. The other meaty foot fell down with a horrific noise in the distance, loud enough to break many windows on the outskirts of the city. Darrel smiled smugly. "You don't get it? The mayor isn't in charge anymore. I am. Now rub, before I change my mind."
Instantly, the citizens got to their knees, all over. They began worshiping the immense, dark stretches of flesh they rested upon precariously. The malleable texture of the flesh let nearly 40 million hands sink in and rub. People who were deep in the city got out of their apartments in order to reach a small patch of skin, hoping to please the new God of Manhattan and keep him content. Many bits of the subway and streets were filled with people struggling to either escape the endless toe expanse, or find a part that wasn't being rubbed.
"Damn. I can barely feel you dumb bugs..." In discontent, he began tapping his nearby big toe, causing tremors that made people fly out of their houses and knocked traffic all over the streets. "Try putting some effort in it. Don't you care about keeping my toe comfortable after my walk?"
Instantly, the city redoubled their efforts as a whole. Rick communicated with the army to organize tanks to run their treads over the hardest parts of the toe, their cannons blasting through amounts of crust. Even as huge craters of calluses ended up descending, there seemed to be more and more mountains of hardened flesh. Sara used her contacts with engineers to start setting up pumps and dams, in hopes of preventing his droplets of footsweat from completely flooding the streets and making the island sink. It almost worked, though lots of dampness kept building up, and making some foundations of old buildings sink down. Meanwhile, some old roads were carved away by industrial drills Tom set up, in hopes of getting to little bits of skin to massage beneath them. Each blast made the horrid, unearthly stench stronger, as there was less road to block it. Many people started wearing gas masks. With most of the police too occupied with helping to rub, many prisoners were able to escape jails. But knowing what fate awaited them, they, too, started rubbing.
"Aaaaah, that's more like it." His deep voice boomed as he stretched his foot out in satisfaction. "I SO deserve this. You see, I can be a benevolent god."
The whole time, you kept communicating with Darrel through the radio.
He said, "Make them start licking. I want them to taste me."
You mumbled, "But most of them are struggling to even breathe with your smell!"
Darrel crossed his arms. "The flavor of my foot is a gift to you germs. You'll learn to like it."
Soon, the pumps were joined by people given the task of slurping up massive gallons of the sweat. It made them want to vomit, but they continued choking it down. Some were even a little turned on, and began humping the small indents in his toe, or rubbing their breasts in it.
Darrel tapped on his toe, making a tremendous BOOM. He ordered: "My toes are pretty long, aren't they? I want more people at the back, here. And more people under the nail."
Huge amounts of people got in planes and cars to try and reach the far end of the lanky phalanges he pointed to. Miners ended up working hard to carve away the small bits of nail dirt. Even this one small part of his toe stretched out like a mountain.
Many people couldn't take it anymore, and in massive scores, leaped or drove off the end of his foot to escape the stink in any way they could. Unfortunately, a far worse fate awaited them, because his sweat-soaked socks were lying below. The fabric was soft enough to stop their fall, but they essentially doomed themselves to a slow, painful suffocation in his unfathomable stench.
"Mmmmh, you bugs actually make me feel pretty good. Only one thing missing..." His distant face smiled. "You're all on the top of my toe. Nobody's rubbing the bottom."
You choked in the radio: "I'll arrange some planes... Or invent a gravity device..."
Darrel interrupted. "No need, I see one pretty lady's already volunteered."
The whole city was covered in the shadow of his fingers. He plucked Liberty Island out, with surprising gentleness, letting it rest carefully between the ridges of his index and thumb. Slowly, he scratched the Statue of Liberty across the underside of his toe. The city listened in horror to the grinding noises, and his moans of satisfaction, as he rubbed it around the toeprint and the sweaty joints. When he was done, he but the statue back in its place, covered with toe grime and sweat.
Unable to accept this, a massive mob began. With the escaped criminals, police, some of the military, and a lot of the sickened populace joining in, they rushed to a sensitive part of Darrel's toe. They started punching, biting, shooting, doing anything they could to make an impact.
He asked you. "What's that weird feeling around here? A lot of little specks gathered."
You swallowed, wondering what he'd do. "That's, uh, that's a protest... Against your treatment of the city..."
He smirked. "Aw, awesome. I'd just been waiting for something to smash."
Casually, he picked between his toes, getting some soaked, clumped-up sock lint. A single flick and it ran over the whole movement like a boulder. The bodies of those who defied Darrel were kneaded in the dark, disgusting glob that was bigger than the city's tallest buildings.
"Very good. Now, for the rest of you... Do my other toes."
The city groaned as they saw what was already an impossible task become even more arduous.
Partway into massaging, Darrel made another request of you. "Your mite city's honestly pathetic at this rubbing thing. So..."
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