We were ready for the fight.

Everyone stretched like they were auditioning for a yoga class taught by a demon. The warm-up alone was the most exercise half of these prisoners had done in their entire sentence. You could practically hear their bones file for divorce.

For combat training, I thought we'd fight each other — y'know, man vs. man, sweat, pride, testicles and dramatic background music.

But no. Apparently, we were fighting robots.

Because nothing screams "learning experience" like getting bullied by a microwave with legs.

Stronges called these robots Nano Bites — which sounds like a failed cereal brand, but trust me, they bite.

Each of us got one robot. They came walking toward us on their own, like overconfident toddlers looking for a lawsuit and nipples.

The basement was massive, the kind of place where you could hide both your dreams and your shame comfortably. Everyone had space.

Every robot looked the same — sleek, metallic, and soulless — like corporate employees at 9 a.m.

The one in front of me had glowing yellow square eyes that scanned me up and down like I was an expired penis size increasing product. His head rotated 360 degrees.

He was the final boss of the cuckold genre. Bro could literally catch his wife cheating in HD and surround sound.

And he was short — knee-high at best.

Cute, I thought. Adorable little death machine. How bad could he be?

Stronges raised her hand to signal the start.

She stood like a goddess forged from protein powder and violence. With eight hundred prisoners and a thousand aliens in front of her, she somehow kept track of everyone.

If she'd been on Earth, she'd have solved world peace by now — through the raw power of squats.

The next second, her hand dropped.

The fight began.

I locked eyes with my Nano.

Or I would've, if the little bastard hadn't disappeared.

"Where the hell—"

PLUCK!

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

A pain so sharp it made my ancestors wince shot through my foot.

I looked down — and froze.

There, stabbed into my toe, was a toothpick.

Not just poking — pierced through.

Toe. Shish kebabed.

My toe got railed by a toothpick.

A metal toothpick. By a tiny robot.

I didn't know whether to scream, cry, or apply for medical leave from existence.

Then I heard mechanical giggling behind me.

I turned — and there it was.

The metal gremlin himself.

His yellow eyes curved upward like he was smiling, proud of his work.

Congratulations, you've just ruined sandals for me forever.

"You!" I yelled. "You piece of electric trash!"

I lunged forward.

He vanished again.

A blink later—

PLUCK! PLUCK! PLUCK! PLUCK!

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!"

He'd gone full berserker on my feet.

All ten toes. All pierced.

The damn robot made my feet look like voodoo dolls used by someone with a foot fetish and rage issues.

And the worst part?

He pinned me down. The toothpicks went so deep they nailed me to the concrete floor like a cheap Jesus impersonator.

I tried to move — agony. My legs screamed like Wi-Fi users in a power cut.

Then came the slaps.

The robot climbed behind me and started beating my back with his metal fists.

Each hit rattled my skeleton like he was typing Morse code on my spine.

I tried to lift my legs, but it felt like dragging my soul through sandpaper.

So I changed tactics.

Bent my knees and decided to yank the toothpicks out manually.

Big mistake.

Because bending over put me in doggy position.

And the robot…

Oh, he knew.

If sentience existed, that toaster just had an awakening.

He paused — tilted his head like, "So that's how it's gonna be?" — and then started spanking me.

Hard.

Like he was punishing me for existing.

Each clang echoed through the basement like a perverted drumbeat.

Stronges was laughing from the sidelines.

Thank all the galaxies the other prisoners were too busy being violated by their own Nanos to notice me being treated like a malfunctioning printer.

The robot was trying his best to make me cry, but I was too confused to even pick an emotion.

Between the stabbing, spanking, and existential crisis, my body didn't know what pain to prioritize.

It was a buffet of suffering, and I was the main course.

Still, I stayed focused.

One by one, I yanked those toothpicks out — screaming, sweating, and promising revenge that would make history books flinch.

When the last one came free, I whispered to myself, "Now it's personal."

I waited, letting him get a few more "disciplinary taps" in, just to bait him.

Then, like a wild animal in heat and fury, I spun around and grabbed his tiny metallic arm mid-spank.

My back cracked like an old door, but I didn't care.

I had him.

Finally.

I lifted him to eye level — my little tormentor, dangling helplessly like a caught rat.

I raised my fist. "Say your prayers, you short-circuited hemorrhoid."

He raised his tiny hand back, like he was challenging me to a fair duel.

Cute.

I didn't wait. I swung.

My fist slammed into his metal face — it was like punching a car door. Pain shot through my knuckles, but the satisfaction was pure heroin.

Then the Nano's arm moved.

It was his turn.

BAAM!

He punched me square in the face.

Instant blackout.

I swear I saw my life flash — and it was mostly me getting bullied by inanimate objects.

———

I woke up staring at the basement ceiling.

For a brief, shining moment, I thought maybe I'd died and gone to a world without robots.

Then I heard Stronges' voice.

"You went unconscious. So did everyone else. None of you survived even the easy mode of the Nano Bites. As expected."

I blinked.

I looked around.

Hundreds of prisoners sprawled on the floor like victims of a silent disco gone wrong.

I sighed. "So basically... the robots fcuked us all."

Stronges grinned. "Exactly."

And that's how I learned the true meaning of teamwork—getting collectively violated by science.

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