Panam frowns as she feels something under her toes. She gives you a soft squeeze to see what you are. You let out a painful cry, as her socked toes press your fragile little body beyond its limits. Feeling it’s something malleable, Panam keeps kneading her toes, squeezing you between them repeatedly. You scream for mercy, but your words are muffled by the sock that keeps forcing feeding you your friend’s sweat. The nomad woman taps her steering wheel and smiles, enjoying her drive through the open desert, while she plays with whatever is between her toes. You get beaten and bruised for twenty minutes, her sock rubbing burns onto your skin, while your wounds get salted by her sweat.
At this point it’s probably for the best that Panam doesn’t know it’s you, she has put you through torture, even the worst of Night City can’t compete with, and she isn’t done yet. The nomad focuses on the feeling between her toes, and decides to go for a real hard squeeze. Her toes clench together and you scream in agony as your bones break and your skin rips, until you body’s shape perfectly fits in to the free space under her toes. As you start to bleed out, Panam feels something wet gush between her toes, she frowns. The woman takes her foot off the gas and starts twisting her boot onto the car floor. You get to scream one last time, smell your friend’s foot one last time, taste her sweat one last time, and think of her beautiful face one last time, before your head bursts under the pressure of Panam’s toes.
Satisfied, the Panam pulls over to the side of the road, to check the mess she made. She places her leg on her knee and slips off her boot. She checks between the toes of her wet dirty sock, and notices the blood. At first she assumes it’s a bug, but then she notices the tiny clothes, and what looks like a cybernetic limb. Her eyes widen and a smile creeps across her face.
“Wow, those city folks do some insane body modification.” She says. “Well, this is one logical outcome to turning yourself into a bug.”
Panam laughs and shakes her head. Not knowing it’s her friend, the nomad girl leaves the batter decoration under her socked toes, and lowers her foot back into her boot. Panam starts the car, and continues her way through the badlands. She will never hear from you again, and your friend will never find out how she caused and laughed at your demise.
“How did you even end up in my boot?” She mumbles to herself with a wide smile.
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