The invitation came late, a cryptic ping on a dark web thread I’d nearly scrubbed from my memory. A string of numbers, a time, a command: Your skills are noted. Prove your worth. Relief washed over me first—months of dodging dead ends, scraping by in the shadows, and they’d finally noticed. I’d clawed my way into their radar, this circle so buried maybe a dozen souls worldwide knew they existed. But the relief curdled fast, souring into apprehension. What did “prove your worth” mean? My fingers hovered over the keys, pulse quickening. These weren’t hackers trading exploits for clout—they were phantoms, tied to secrets that could choke nations. I’d heard whispers—tests that bent people, broke them, left them hollow. A wondering dread crept in, coiling tight. What had I signed up for?

They came at midnight, a van growling up the cracked road outside my bolt-hole. Hooded figures, silent as graves, bound my hands—loose enough to move, tight enough to feel. The door slammed, and we rolled into the night, hours bleeding into a haze of jolts and turns. The air shifted—thinner, colder—as we climbed into what felt like forsaken stretches. The distance traveled, the cooling of the air, lent to my imagination that we were headed north. Northern Nevada, I thought. I imagined mountains looming, valleys sprawling empty. Old mines riddled lands like this, their husks forgotten, and I wondered if that’s where they were taking me. My mind spun, picking at “prove your worth” like a scab. A code to crack? A betrayal to swear against? Or something worse—something physical, something that’d test more than my wits? The dread deepened, a cold weight in my gut, half thrill, half terror at the abyss I’d leapt into.

The van stopped, a metal clang echoing as they hauled me out. The hood lifted, and damp stone hit my senses—air thick with earth and chill, walls rough-hewn and shadowed. I stood in a chamber, vast and dim, a mile-long track of black rubber looping around a shallow pool that glinted like ice. A faint shimmer hung in the air—an odd hum I couldn’t place. Then I saw her. She stood at the track’s edge, statuesque, a figure carved from nightmare and awe. Four stories tall, a mature woman’s form—barefoot, her skin smooth and human, her face serene yet blank as marble. Her sheer size stole my breath—towering, immovable, a colossus that defied reason. Disbelief surged, my mind scrambling to make sense of her. A machine? A trick? But her presence was no illusion; it pressed the air, heavy and real.

A voice crackled from hidden speakers: “Endure her. Prove you belong.” My eyes snapped back to her, and the dread sank deeper, a sick lurch in my chest. She wasn’t decoration—she was the test. That towering frame, those bare feet, that unyielding stillness—it clicked, and the realization clawed at me. Whatever “proving” meant, it involved her, and the thought twisted my awe into something darker, something that whispered of unspeakable pain.

The voice—“Endure her.  Prove you belong”—still hung in the air, sharp and final, as I stood frozen in the chamber’s damp gloom. She towered there, four stories of statuesque impossibility, her blank gaze fixed nowhere, her barefoot form a silent colossus against the rough-hewn stone. The track stretched around her, black rubber gleaming faintly, the pool a cold shimmer at its heart. My chest tightened, fear and wonder twisting together, a coil of dread and fascination knotting my gut. What was she? What did they want me to do? I’d clawed my way to this invitation, eager, even desperate to join their circle—ghosts wielding secrets I’d only glimpsed in coded whispers. Whatever this was, however unsettling, however fantastical, I wouldn’t turn back. Not now.

I stepped forward, hesitant, boots scuffing the stone floor. The air thickened, her presence pressing against me like a towering cliff face about to sheer off and fall toward me. Each inch closer sharpened the details—her skin smooth and human, her frame unyielding, her sheer size dwarfing any sense of reason. My breath hitched, resolve warring with the instinct to flee. I wanted this—needed it—whatever “proving” meant. The circle’s eyes, unseen but felt, bore into me, and that drove me on. One step, then another, my heart thudding loud enough to rival the faint hum in the air. She didn’t move, didn’t blink, just stood there, a monument to something I couldn’t grasp.

Until she did move.

Her right foot lifted, slow and deliberate, a motion so vast it stole the light. I froze, eyes locked on her sole as it hovered—smooth, tough, pristine, the skin faintly lined like a human’s but magnified to nightmare scale. High arch curved above a shadowed hollow, the ball a broad, unblemished expanse, the heel a slab of flesh that could crush my whole world. It gleamed faintly, warm and alive, yet cold in its indifference—a living anvil poised above the track. Awe surged, then buckled under a sinking dread. That foot—it was part of this. It had to be. The realization clawed up my spine, heavy and certain: proving myself meant facing that.

Before I could flinch, strands lashed from that foot's edges—thin, glistening, whip-fast. They struck like vipers, snaring my arms, my legs, my torso in a heartbeat. I gasped, yanked off my feet, the world tilting as they reeled me upward. Panic flared—no, no, no—but the strands were relentless, pinning me to her sole in a flash: face mashed under the ball, torso stretched beneath the arch, legs trapped under the heel. The texture hit me—warm, soft, impossibly real—before the full weight of it landed. Her foot dropped, heel crashing first into the rubber, a jolt of fire searing through my thighs and shins, rattling my bones to the marrow. The arch rolled down, flattening my chest, crushing my breath to a thin, desperate wheeze. The ball struck last, grinding my face up into its smooth, unyielding expanse—nose flattening, cheeks scraping raw, eyes half-forced shut.

Her first step began. The heel shifted, a subtle flex that tightened the strands, and then it dropped—crashing into the rubber with a thud that jolted through me like a hammer blow. My legs took the brunt, thighs and shins flattening under her heel’s warm, tough slab. Pain erupted, a deep, searing fire that pulsed up my spine, sharp and unrelenting, as if my bones were going to splinter under the force. The rubber compressed beneath, a faint give that mocked relief, and her weight—four stories of it—settled, grinding my flesh into the mat. My knees locked, muscles twitching, the heat of her skin grinding down into me, a living press that pinned me helpless.

The arch came next, rolling down slow and merciless. My chest caved under its curve, ribs straining as the air squeezed out in a choked rasp. The pressure was a vise rolling forward, steady and crushing, my lungs fighting for every thin sip of breath. Her arch hovered just high enough to spare my sternum, but low enough to make every inhale burn, my heart thudding against the unyielding warmth above. The strands pulled my arms taut, shoulders aching, and the rubber’s faint bounce beneath did nothing to dull the ache radiating through my core. It was intimate, suffocating—the texture of her skin, smooth and alive, pressing me flat wholly beneath it.

Then the ball landed, deliberate and final. My face squashed up into its breadth, nose flattening painfully, cheeks scraping against the magnified ridges of her sole. The pain spiked—a white-hot lance through my skull, jaw trembling as the weight bore down. My eyes watered, half-forced shut, the warmth of her flesh smothering me, its faint scent—clean, nearly-human, inescapable—flooding my senses. The ball flexed slightly, toes curling just enough to dig deeper, and my head tilted back, neck screaming under the strain. It was a crush that consumed—soft yet unyielding, grinding me into pain so complete, it consumed all, the chamber, my whole world pressed to nothing but this massive sole atop me.

She lifted again, and the cycle repeated. The heel struck—another thunderous jolt, my legs igniting anew, the fire sharper now as the rubber thudded beneath. My thighs pulsed, a deep ache blooming where her heel ground them flat, the warmth sinking bone-deep, relentless. The arch followed, flattening my chest once more, a slow squeeze that crushed my breath to a wheeze, ribs groaning, lungs straining for air. My torso stretched, the strands biting my wrists, and the pressure built—a dull, throbbing torment that made my pulse roar in my ears. The ball crashed last, smashing my face up into its broad expanse, nose bending, cheeks rasping raw, a fresh wave of agony lancing through my skull. The weight pressed, unhurried, her sole’s texture etching itself into my skin.

A third step—heel slamming, a brutal echo that rattled my teeth, my legs numb yet screaming, the pain a constant blaze. The arch pressed, my chest buckling, breath a shallow thread, heart pounding against her warmth. The ball ground down, flattening my face, eyes stinging, jaw locked as the crush intensified, her toes flexing to pin me tighter. She walked, steady and even, each step a measured torment—heel, arch, ball—as she started around the track, and I felt every inch of her foot's indifference in the fire, the squeeze, the grind, of every body-squashing step.

Her steps didn’t falter—heel, arch, ball, a relentless, rolling, squashing rhythm pounding me into the track. The fourth struck: heel crashing, my legs flaring with fresh fire, a deep, grinding ache that swallowed my shins and thighs whole. The arch rolled down, flattening my chest, a slow crush that squeezed my breath to a ragged thread, ribs groaning under her warmth. The ball slammed last, grinding my face into its smooth expanse, nose bending, cheeks scraping, pain lancing through my skull like a blade. She walked on, steady and even, around the track, each step a hammer blow—heel, arch, ball—and my body burned, screamed, pleaded for it to not be real!

But my mind—my mind buckled. The pain was a tide, relentless, drowning, and I couldn’t hold it. How was I alive? Her heel hit again, a jolt that should’ve snapped my legs like twigs, pulverized my bones to dust. Four stories of her, a mountain of flesh, and I felt every crushing ton—yet I wasn’t dead. Panic clawed up, raw and wild, my heart slamming against the arch’s press. No one survives this. No one could. Her ball ground my face, and a flash of wonder pierced the terror—how? Something unnatural, impossible, kept me whole, but the thought drowned fast in a surge of dread. Was it worse to live through this? To feel it all, unbroken but breaking?

Time warped, stretched thin. Heel crashed—five steps? Ten? The track blurred, a black smear beneath her stride, and my mind spun, fraying at the edges. Each thud of her heel jolted my sanity, a hammer on glass—my legs shouldn’t work, couldn’t work, yet they burned alive. The arch squeezed, and I gasped, a wheeze that echoed in my skull, my chest a cage too tight, too wrong. The ball pressed, and faces flickered in its lines—mine, warped, screaming—hallucinations born of the crush. I wasn’t me anymore. I was a thing, a sandal, worn and walked on, and that truth bore as deep as the pain.

Panic flared again—get out, get free—but her sole swallowed the scream, the strands tightening as her heel struck once more. My thoughts splintered: rage at the circle, terror of her weight, despair at my helplessness. How long? Minutes? Hours? The rubber’s slow, returning thuds were my clock, my prison, and I clawed for sense—I’m alive, I’m alive—but it slipped, slick with sweat and fear. Her arch pressed, and I hallucinated giants, a thousand feet descending, flattening me to bloody bone and gore. The ball ground, and the chamber pulsed—walls flickering in and out of my awareness, track turning into an impossible expanse of molten lava—madness pressing in, reason dulling to an impossibility to grasp. No one survives this, my panicked thoughts jumped to again, but I did, which increased reason's absurdity, its impossibility.

She walked on—heel, arch, ball—around the track, and my mind teetered, a razor's edge of sanity, not fallen yet, not knowing down which side it would plummet. Pain was my world, but the why—how I endured—became secondary to what this hell was. I was trampled, impossibly remaining alive, my mind cracking.

Her stride never wavered—heel, arch, ball, an endless march around the track. The rubber thudded beneath her, each step a fresh wound. Her heel crashed again, a searing jolt that turned my legs to fire, thighs and shins pulsing with agony as if they’d burst, though they held—somehow, impossibly. The arch rolled down, flattening my chest, a slow crush that wrung my breath to a thin, desperate wheeze, ribs creaking under her warm weight. The ball struck last, grinding my face into its smooth curve—nose flattening, cheeks rasping raw, a white-hot spike through my skull. Pain was my pulse, my prison, and my mind frayed, beginning to frenziedly teeter on that razor’s edge.

Exhaustion clawed me under. The heel hit—another thunderous blow—and darkness flickered, swallowing me whole. No reprieve, though—nightmares rushed in, vivid and clawing, born of her sole. I was small, a speck on a boundless track, and she loomed—a giantess multiplied, her feet a legion descending. Her heel slammed first, a mountain of flesh that flattened me, my legs dissolving into a wet smear, the pain a scream I couldn’t voice. The arch pressed, a sky of skin crushing my chest to splinters, ribs snapping loud and wet—yet I felt it all, alive in the horror. The ball crashed, a grinning maw of meat and bone, grinding my face to pulp, my eyes melting as it laughed, a low rumble that shook the void. I thrashed, but strands—now serpents—coiled tight, choking me as the feet marched on, an endless trampling doom.

I jolted awake—or thought I did. Her heel struck, real and brutal, fire exploding through my legs, the rubber’s thud yanking me back. My chest heaved under the arch, breath a shallow gasp, and the ball ground my face, pain flaring fresh. But the nightmare clung—her sole pulsed red, the track bled beneath her, and I saw it again: my body flattened, a stain she walked over, reformed only to be crushed anew. Consciousness flickered once more, her stride unrelenting—heel, arch, ball—and I slipped under again.

This time, I ran—legs free, heart pounding—across a track that stretched to nowhere. Her shadow swallowed me, vast and inevitable. Her heel descended, slow and mocking, and I couldn’t outrun it—crushing me flat, my bones a chorus of cracks, my flesh a puddle she stepped through. The arch loomed, pressing me thinner, a sheet of skin under her warmth, and the ball—a cackling god—ground my face to nothing, teeth of stone chewing me alive. I screamed, silent, as the strands lashed, pulling me back to her sole—over and over, a loop of squashing death. Darkness spat me out, her real heel slamming down, the fire jolting me awake, my legs trembling, alive, impossibly whole.

Her steps rolled on—heel crashing, arch squeezing, ball grinding—and unconsciousness took me again. Nightmares swarmed: her feet, countless, a storm of trampling flesh flattening me into the track, my body a ribbon, a rag, a smear—reforming each time to feel the crush anew. Faces stared from her sole—mine, theirs, the circle’s—laughing as I broke. I woke to her stride, the real pain a cruel echo, my mind a shattered pane, nightmares crowding in through the shattered hole in my sanity's window, every press, every grind.

Her stride pounded on—heel, arch, ball—a relentless drumbeat that crushed me into the track. Each step blurred into the next: heel slamming, fire swallowing my legs, a deep ache that gnawed my bones; arch pressing, my chest caving, breath a fleeting wisp; ball grinding, my face flattening, pain a constant roar through my skull. Time lost meaning, a thread snapped loose—minutes, hours, days? The rubber thudded beneath her, the track an endless loop, and my mind unraveled. Sanity was a faint echo, a whisper drowned by the crash of her heel, the squeeze of her arch, the grind of her ball. Nightmares bled into waking—giants flattening me, my body a smear, reforming to break again—and I couldn’t tell real from unreal anymore. I was hers, trampled, a thing worn thin.

Then it stopped. Sudden, jarring—the weight lifted, the strands slackened, and I fell. My body hit the track, sprawling limp on the rubber, cold and solid beneath me. She walked off, her towering form receding, each step—heel first—a fading thud that rattled the chamber. I lay there, chest heaving, legs numb yet burning, face throbbing where her sole had pressed. The silence was deafening, a void where her stride had been, but no calm came. Memories invaded—her heel crushing, my legs screaming; the arch squeezing, ribs groaning; the ball grinding, faces laughing in its lines. Nightmares churned on, giants marching, my body flattening endlessly, and the chaos clung, a storm in my skull even as her footsteps faded.

Hands found me—careful, tentative, curling under my arms. They tugged, gentle but insistent, lifting me from the rubber. My legs buckled, useless, and a groan escaped, raw and ragged. Two figures—hooded, silent—steadied me, their grip firm as they hauled me up. My head lolled, eyes darting—her silhouette still loomed, walking the track, indifferent—and the memories pulsed, keeping the terror alive. They pulled me off the track, my boots dragging, the rubber’s edge a blurred line as the chamber tilted. Pain flared with every move—legs trembling, chest aching, face stinging—but their hands held me, guiding me from the abyss she--it--had carved.

They guided me off the track, my body a trembling wreck—legs numb fire, chest a bruised ache, face raw and pulsing. The chamber’s gloom blurred as they pulled me through a shadowed tunnel, stone walls cold and rough brushing my shoulders. An adjoining room opened—smaller, dim, a bare stone box with a single chair. They eased me down, hands careful but steadying, my spine slumping against the backrest. A groan slipped out, weak and cracked, as my head tilted, the ceiling’s flicker swimming in my vision. She still walked out there—heel, arch, ball—her thudding steps a faint pulse through the stone, and the nightmares clung: my legs flattening to gore, my chest crushed to splinters, my face ground to nothing by laughing giants.

A canteen pressed to my lips, cool metal against my skin. “Sips,” one said, voice low, firm. Water trickled in, sharp and clean, and I obeyed—small, shaky gulps, the liquid a lifeline threading through the chaos. The nightmare stayed vivid—her sole pulsing red, my body a smear reforming to break—but reality crept back, slow and stubborn, with each sip. The cold stone under me, the chair’s hard edge, the faint drip of water from the canteen—they anchored me, faint echoes of a world beyond her crush. My breath steadied, shallow but mine, though the pain lingered, a constant throb in my legs, my ribs, my skull.

Three figures faded into focus, standing around me in the dim light—hooded, their shapes sharpening as my mind clawed back. One leaned close, his breath warm against my ear. “You made it,” he intoned, voice rough but steady, a weight behind the words. Another shifted, her tone softer, edged with regret: “We apologize, but it was necessary.” Silence stretched—one moment, then several—thick and heavy, their eyes on me, waiting. They didn’t push, didn’t prod, just stood there, letting me surface from the wreckage. My hands shook, water sloshing in the canteen, and the memories churned—her heel slamming, giants laughing—but their stillness held me, a tether.

Finally, my voice rasped out, cracked and faint: “How did I survive?” The question hung, raw, born of the panic that still flickered—her weight should’ve pulped me, no one walks away from that. They exchanged glances, a silent pact, then the first spoke again, leaning back. “There’s a field,” he said, simple, direct. “Keeps you intact—bones, flesh, all of it. Doesn’t stop the pain, just the breaking.” The woman nodded, adding, “It’s why we use her. You feel it all, but you live.” The third stayed silent, his hooded gaze fixed, and the truth settled—some tech, some trick, kept me whole under her steps, a cruel mercy that fueled the ordeal.

Their hooded shapes sharpened as my vision began to slowly steady. The first leaned close, his breath brushing my ear. “You made it,” he repeated, that same voice, low and rough, like gravel.  Then, silence stretched—moments piling into a heavy quiet—they stood there, watching, waiting. My hands shook, water sloshing, the memories churning—giants trampling, my body a smear—but their patience held me, letting me claw back from the edge.

One spoke again, breaking the stillness. “Had you not been serious, you would’ve been shouting at the top of your lungs to be taken away from her, or running for your life.” His voice carried a grim weight, a truth tested and proven. Another cut in, pride edging his words: “But you didn’t. You showed us your resolve. That’s what we needed to see.” The third nodded, quieter, deliberate: “First. That’s what we needed to see first.”

The explanations flowed, one voice tumbling after the next. “Plus, if you can withstand that, you’ll be able to take any torture without breaking,” the first said, his tone flat, certain. The second added, sharper now: “You knew what we are, or thought you did. Now, you know. We cannot risk someone weak coming into our ranks. One weak link could find all of us killed within a week.” Their words landed heavy, each a stone sinking into the chaos of my mind—her heel crashing, nightmares howling—but they pinned me here, to this room, to their purpose.

My voice rasped out, faint and cracked, cutting through their rhythm: “What is she?” The question hung, raw and jagged, born of the panic and wonder that still gnawed at me—her weight should’ve crushed me dead, no one survives that.  But a wonder at what she was, what she could be, stoked an almost child-like curiosity.

They paused, a shared glance passing between them, then the first leaned back, his hood shadowing all but his mouth and eyes. “She’s a machine,” he said, simple, blunt. “Built by a tech billionaire—some genius who knows what he wanted to build her for. Decades back, he converted this place, her, for reasons no one’s sure of. Died before he could say why, left her buried here with a helper who spilled it to us, when he became a part of us.” The third stayed silent, his gaze fixed, but the answers settled—cold, strange, real. A billionaire’s relic, a walking forge, and I’d been its steel.

The first fell silent, his words about the billionaire’s machine lingering—her field, her purpose, a cold truth that anchored my survival but not my sanity. My hands shook, the canteen trembling, water sloshing as the nightmare pulsed—her heel flattening me, giants laughing, my face ground to dust. The stone room held me—cold walls, a chair, the dim bulb flickering—but her steps thudded faintly through the stone, a ghost in my bones. Then a fourth man entered, quiet, his presence a shift in the air. He carried a gravitas, understated but undeniable—broad shoulders, steady stride—marking him as their leader without a word. He nodded at the three, a single tilt of his head, and their hoods came off in unison, revealing faces etched with shadow and resolve.

“Welcome to our group,” he said, his voice deep, measured, turning to me with a brief nod and a grim smile—tight, knowing, a scar of shared suffering, a strength of shared resolve. He wore a wet suit, black and sleek, adjusting its gloves as he’d stepped in. His eyes flicked over me—my legs still trembling, chest heaving, face raw—and softened, just a fraction. “Get him cleaned up,” he told the others, tone firm but not harsh. “Get some pain meds into him.” His gaze locked on mine again. “And rest. You’ve earned it.”

Soft “Yes, sirs” chorused from the three, a quiet but obvious respect in their voices. Hands found me again—gentle, steady—lifting me from the chair. My legs buckled, a groan rasping out, but they held firm, guiding me up. One spoke, his voice low as we moved: “We’ve got living quarters deeper in the mine—food, beds, and lots of rest.” The promise hung, a lifeline through the chaos—her arch crushing, my ribs screaming—but my mind still churned, her sole a shadow I couldn’t shake.

The leader turned toward the chamber door, steps deliberate, the wet suit gleaming faintly. The others exchanged glances—knowing, getting something if not understanding it—but no words passed. He paused at the threshold, glancing back, and a slight smirk tugged one corner of his lip, a glint of something dark in his eyes. “I enjoy being under her,” he said, the confession casual, heavy, landing like a stone in the silence. Then he stepped out, the door grinding shut behind him, her distant thud—heel, arch, ball—swallowing his fading steps toward her.

They guided me away, hands steady, the nightmare still clawing—giants trampling, my body a smear—but the promise of rest pulled me forward, a grim welcome after the enormity of what I went through to be forged enough to be counted among them.

But most of all, I was among them.