Flattened Surviving on Short Notice chapter 5 by deleted_user

You scrambled up the scorching asphalt, the muddy coating on your limbs cracking under the relentless heat as you crested the edge of the path. The world thundered around you—distant laughter from families on the grass, the squeak of playground swings like metallic giants clashing, and the rhythmic slap of sneakers growing louder. The jogger approached from your right, her neon-pink running shoes pounding the ground with earth-shaking force. Each step sent tremors through the pavement, her toned legs pumping steadily, earbuds blasting music that drowned out the world. You waved your arms frantically, screaming at the top of your lungs, “Hey! Down here! Please!” But your voice was a pathetic squeak lost in the summer breeze.
She didn’t see you. Of course she didn’t. To her, you were less than a speck on the trail.
The shadow fell first—a massive, treaded sole descending like a falling building, the waffle-patterned rubber caked with dried mud, grass clippings, and faint reddish stains from previous runs. You froze in terror as the enormous shoe blotted out the sun, the heat radiating from it like a furnace. Time slowed. You tried to dive aside, but it was too late. The sole slammed down with catastrophic force, the impact exploding through your body like a meteor strike.

Bones shattered instantly—ribs caving inward, legs pulverizing into pulp, your spine cracking under the immense pressure. Blood burst from your mouth and nose in a hot spray, mixing with the grime embedded in the tread. The rubber compressed you flat against the pavement for a split second before lifting again, but not cleanly. You were embedded in the sticky residue on the sole, a mangled smear of flesh, blood, and crushed limbs glued amid bits of gravel and old gum. Pain beyond description ripped through what remained of you—agonizing, white-hot fire from every ruined nerve ending. You weren’t dead yet; the supplements’ “durability” setting kept your vital organs barely functioning, turning your end into prolonged torment. Stuck like a squashed bug, you dangled upside down as the jogger continued her run, oblivious, each subsequent footfall grinding you deeper into the tread, smearing your remains further with sweat and dirt.
The journey home was hell. Every stride jolted you violently, the sole flexing and slapping the pavement, pressing fresh bruises into your broken form. The world blurred past in nauseating flashes—park grass whipping by far below, then sidewalks, crosswalks, apartment stairs. Finally, the pounding stopped. The jogger reached her apartment, kicking the door shut behind her with a sigh of relief. She bent down, unlacing the neon shoes one by one. The right shoe—the one carrying you—slipped off her damp socked foot. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed it aside toward the shoe rack by the door.
The shoe tumbled through the air, rotating end over end. It landed hard on its side with the opening facing directly toward you, the cavernous interior yawning like a humid cave just inches from your pinned body. The impact jarred your broken frame again, eliciting a wet gurgle of agony from your throat. Hot, thick air wafted out immediately—the noxious foot odor hitting you like a toxic cloud. It was overwhelming: acrid sweat from hours of running, sharp vinegar tang mixed with cheesy fungal notes, stale rubber, and the faint metallic bite of blood from old blisters. The stench poured over you in waves, thick enough to taste, burning your lungs with every shallow, ragged breath.

You choked, gasping for air that wasn’t there, your crushed chest heaving uselessly as the fumes invaded your nostrils and throat. Vision fading, pinned helplessly to the sole with the shoe’s maw staring back at you like a predator’s mouth, you wheezed your final breaths amid the suffocating reek. The last thing you registered was the distant sound of the jogger humming in the kitchen, utterly unaware that she’d just ended the life of subject 015 beneath her feet…