Weapons hovered midair. Breaths stalled halfway in their lungs. Eyes shifted, slowly, from the floating screen, to the person standing closest to them.
Neighbor.
It sounded harmless. Domestic. Almost friendly. But here, it meant target.
Andy barked a laugh that broke too sharply. "Are these people crazy? Now they want us to kill ourselves?"
No one answered him.
They were measuring distances now. Shoulder width. Arm reach. Who looked weaker. Who looked desperate. Who looked hungry enough to cross the line.
"Fifty Ninja Coin is life," Brian said quietly. And then he swung.
The wooden chair leg smashed into Brandom's face with a wet crack.
Brandom collapsed before he could even shout. Blood sprayed across the tile in a thin arc. The sight of it snapped something invisible inside the hall.
The eruption was instant. Bodies collided. Fists drove forward. Someone screamed. Someone laughed. Someone sobbed.
The robots rolled backward, clearing space.
Theo chose quickly, he needed a soft landing and there was only one face that came to his mind:
Andy.
He was thinner now. Slower. An easier win.
Theo lunged and drove his fist into Andy's cheek. Once. Twice. The third blow snapped Andy's head sideways and sent him crashing to the ground.
Theo didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees, raising his arm to hammer down again.
Andy's hand shot up. His teeth sank into Theo's fingers.
A raw, animal scream tore from Theo's throat.
"Aaaahhhsss!"
The sound barely traveled before it was swallowed by a dozen other screams.
Andy didn't let go. He twisted.
Theo thrashed wildly, punching downward with his free hand, but Andy had already rolled, climbing on top of him like something feral. Teeth found skin again. Shoulder. Neck. Anywhere flesh showed.
Theo's screams cracked into pleas. "Please! Please! Please! You are killing me!"
Andy's jaw worked harder. Blood smeared across both of them.
Across the hall, another student swung a tray like a blade. It bent on impact but kept moving. A girl clawed at someone's eyes. Someone slipped in blood and was trampled before they could stand.
Newton stood in the middle of it.
Frozen.
The world had turned into noise. Bone against bone. Breath against breath. Desperation given fists.
"Oh my God," he whispered. "They are all becoming monsters."
Before he could finish those words, a body slammed into him from the side, nearly knocking him over.
Inside his skull, a whisper rose. You have to fight.
He squeezed his eyes shut. "No!" He screamed
"Else you will have no coin to eat," the voice added.
"No way," he muttered. "I would rather starve than commit violence."
Then, he felt an impact:
A fist crashed into his left eye. White exploded behind his vision. He staggered backward and hit the floor hard.
"Aaahhhsssshhh!"
Phil stood over him. No apology. No speech. Just hunger.
Phil's foot drove into Newton's stomach. Air fled his lungs in a violent rush. Newton curled instinctively, arms wrapping around his ribs.
Another kick. And another.
Each one deeper than the last. Newton tried to crawl, but a hand grabbed his shirt and yanked him flat. A fist slammed into his mouth. Something split. Warm liquid filled his tongue.
He coughed. Red splattered across the tile.
"Fight back." The voice inside him grew louder.
He pushed it away. His mother's voice came instead.
"Never involve yourself in violence. Violence leads to murder. And the Bible commands: Thou shall not kill."
Another punch landed on his stomach. He gasped and spit blood.
Phil's knuckles smashed into Newton's nose. A crunch. Stars burst behind his eyelids.
Phil mounted him fully now, knees pinning Newton's arms. His shadow swallowed Newton's vision as his fists kept falling.
Newton's chest tightened. Breath would not come properly anymore. The hall blurred at the edges.
Then a voice echoed in his mind:
"Jesus does not exist here."
The memory of Stella's voice cut through the haze.
"The only God that exists here is the system."
A fist cracked against his cheekbone.
"In this world, violence is survival. It is either you are the one doing it.."
Another blow landed.
Phil's hand drew back again.
"..or the one it is being done to."
The next punch hovered for half a second longer than the others. Maybe Phil was tiring. Maybe Newton's mind was slowing. Or maybe something inside Newton finally snapped.
"Fine," Newton whispered. "You speak violence, I will respond with violence."
He did not think. He moved.
Whatever strength remained in him, whatever breath had not yet been beaten out of his lungs, he gathered it like a final offering. His knees dug into the slippery floor. His vision swam red and white.
Newton rose. Not steady. Not graceful.
But fast.
His fist cut through the air and crashed into Phil's face with everything he had left.
The sound was thick. A blunt crack. Phil's head snapped backward. His body followed. He fell hard, hands flying to his face.
"My nose! My nose! My nose!"
The scream tore out of him, high and panicked. Blood poured between his fingers, bright and sudden, dripping down his wrist, splashing onto the tiles.
Newton stood over him, chest jerking, lungs dragging air like broken machinery.
He could have stepped back. But he didn't.
Something inside him had shifted. Not cleanly. Not nobly. It felt jagged. Feverish.
He lunged.
His knees hit the ground on either side of Phil's ribs. The impact sent a jolt up his spine, but he barely felt it. His hands grabbed at Phil's shirt, bunching fabric, pulling him up just enough.
And then the blows came. One. Two. Three.
His knuckles smashed into Phil's cheek. His own skin split on impact. Pain shot up his arm, but it blurred into the larger storm roaring inside him.
Phil screamed.
Newton kept hitting. The world narrowed to a single point. To the memory of a fist slamming into his eye. To the taste of blood flooding his mouth minutes ago. To the suffocating weight of Phil's body pinning him down.