Andy lifted one leg. It hovered above the field of spikes. The metal glinted beneath him, endless and patient.
His body swayed.
Everything in him hesitated. Muscles locking. Nerves screaming retreat before contact was even made.
But beneath that hesitation was something sharper. The ache in his stomach.
A deep, twisting emptiness that had grown claws. He lowered his foot. The sole touched first. Then the weight shifted.
The nails punched upward.
A strangled sound tore from his throat as one spike pierced through the thinning fabric and into skin.
His jaw clenched so tight a vein stood out along his neck.
He did not lift it. He pressed down. The second foot came forward.
It landed. Another cluster drove upward.
This time the sound that escaped him was slower. Dragged. Almost like a sob caught halfway.
By the time he tried to lift his third step, blood had already begun to bloom beneath him. Dark at first. Then brighter as it spread.
It dripped between the spikes and smeared across the metal tips.
Andy cried out. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a broken sound pulled from somewhere deep in his chest.
But he kept moving.
Each step required effort that seemed impossible to gather.
His hands flailed for balance, fingers scraping the wall beside him. His shoulders shook. His breathing turned into sharp, staccato gasps.
Halfway across, his legs buckled. He caught himself at the last second, palms slamming into the spikes ahead of him.
A scream ripped free. He jerked his hands back instantly. Tiny punctures welled across his skin.
Going back would mean stepping into the same field again. Going forward meant more of it.
There was no safe direction.
He closed his eyes. And stepped again.
Blood splashed.
His shoes were no longer absorbing it. It seeped through, dripping with every movement.
The corridor filled with the smell of iron. Students pressed against the entrance, unable to look away.
Newton's stomach twisted violently. Not from hunger. From the sound. From the sight of Andy's face tightening with every inch gained.
Andy began to scream properly now. The sound bounced down the corridor, raw and animal.
He bit his lips so hard they split.
Still he moved. One step. One pierce.
The nails did not bend. Did not soften. They welcomed each drop of weight with the same brutal consistency.
Finally, the end of the corridor came into view. Three more steps. Andy dragged his last foot instead of lifting it.
The spikes tore deeper. He lurched forward and collapsed onto the clean floor beyond the field of nails.
His body hit the ground with a heavy thud.
Silence fell instantly.
His chest rose, and fell.
Then rose again, but weaker.
Blood pooled beneath his feet, spreading outward in uneven shapes.
His eyes fluttered. The students stared. "He is dying!" Sammy's voice broke the silence.
As if summoned by the word, two robots rolled into view from the far side.
Their movements were smooth. Efficient. They stopped beside Andy. Mechanical arms extended. They lifted him without ceremony.
His head lolled to the side. His blood left a trail as they turned and began to wheel him away.
"Where are they taking him?" Brandom asked, his voice barely more than breath.
No one answered. The robots disappeared down a side passage. The corridor remained. The nails remained.
Andy's blood stained the path he had taken, thick and unmistakable.
Rebecca stepped forward slowly, eyes fixed on the red streak.."I guess we have to do the same," she said. Her voice did not shake.
"We cannot remain here and watch ourselves die." No one responded.
Newton's hands tightened against the wall beside him. He imagined it. The first puncture. The weight shifting. "No," he muttered under his breath. "I am not going to walk through that nail."
The words sounded small even to him. They drifted back to the main hall in silence.
Behind them, robots returned and lifted Phil's body from where it had stiffened overnight. They carried him away without announcement.
The floor where he had lain was empty within seconds.
The next day arrived without fanfare. Morning light filtered in the same way it always had.
But something inside them had changed. The gnawing hunger no longer came in waves.
It stayed.
Constant.
A steady burn that hollowed out thought and replaced it with a single, repeating demand.
They were no longer hungry. They had become hunger in human flesh.
"No," Stella breathed finally, staring at the corridor. "Andy is the weakest among us. Yet he summoned the courage to cross. We have to do the same."
Her face was pale. Her lips dry. But her eyes still held that sharpness. She pushed herself upright. This time no one reached for her.
No one told her to stop.
Death was no longer theoretical..It sat among them. However it came, did not seem to matter anymore.
They followed her to the eastern corridor again. The bloodstains were still there.
Darker now, and sticky.
Stella stopped at the edge. She looked down. The nails gleamed just as sharply as before. She raised her leg.
It hovered above the first row. Her breath hitched. Her jaw tightened.
Everything within her body screamed retreat. Muscles locking. Skin prickling before contact.
For a moment she leaned forward.
Then, her leg jerked back. She staggered two steps away from the corridor and collapsed onto the floor.
A sound broke out of her that none of them had heard before. She began to cry. Not the controlled, silent tears from before.
Not the quiet endurance she had worn like armor. This was different. Her shoulders shook violently. Her hands clawed at her own hair. The sound tore through the hall, raw and desperate.
Brian bit down hard on his lip. His face twisted. "I thought you were tough," he said, the words sharp but hollow. "But it seems you are as weak as the others."
He stepped past her. Past Newton. Past all of them. "You all can stay," he said without turning. "I am crossing to the other side."
He walked toward the corridor. Slow, and deliberate.
The nails waited. And no one tried to stop him.