Your inspections are cut short as the earpiece communicator that you're wearing crackles into life. It only has a short range, you've been told, but it allows Miss Hensley to communicate with you freely enough despite the discrepencies in size between the two of you.
"Approaching the target now. He's in sight - get ready."
"Ready to be held in your hand? I think that I'm prepared to make that sacrifice."
"Good."
There's no more warning before the hand-wall moves, at a speed blindingly fast for something so vast. It is upon you, enwrapping and enclosing you, in the time it takes you to blink. The heat is all around you, accompanied by a mild pressure that isn't overly uncomfortable, as you wait in the dark.
Sudden movements can only be the withdrawal of the hand from the pocket, and the swing of the arm to impact with the target at a moment of 'accidental' collison, subtle enough that your transference will not be noticed. She's practiced enough times that it should go off without a hitch.
Should. There are no guarantees in the espionage game, and you know that better than most. When the shock and the fury has ended, when you come to terms with your separation from Miss Hensley's adorable hand (you left it one final kiss as it opened up), you check your new surroundings. Echoes from outside your new cloth prison tell of giants apologising to each other for stumbling upon each other, and soon motion returns as you unwitting mule continues about their business.
Then the radio crackles open again, only now the signal is strained, as you get further and further from its source. This will be your last communication before mission's end, so you listen carefully to what she has to say.
"... Wrong! ... others... before I could... hold on in there... get help..."
The babble continues for a few seconds before abruptly cutting off. You get the gist of it. Turns out that in a mix-up you've been planted on the wrong person; not the enemy agent at all, but instead:
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