“They’re quite durable, these nuts,” Martin mumbled to himself, rolling the metallic spheres between his fingers. The cold, smooth surface felt oddly comforting against his skin.

His office had been getting smaller lately. Not in the metaphorical sense—the walls were literally closing in, inch by inch, day by day. Nobody else seemed to notice or care.

“Have you seen the walls?” he asked Sarah from accounting during their coffee break.

She stirred her coffee methodically, her movements eerily mechanical. “What walls, Martin?”

“The ones that are—never mind.” He clutched the metal nuts tighter in his pocket. They had appeared on his desk three weeks ago, around the same time the walls started moving.

That evening, Martin discovered his desk had transformed into a giant nutcracker. His computer monitor displayed an endless loop of nuts being crushed, their shells splintering in high definition.

“Fascinating craftsmanship,” his boss remarked, admiring the nutcracker-desk. “Very efficient. Very durable.”

“But sir, my work—”

“Your productivity has increased 300% since the installation,” his boss interrupted, his smile stretching unnaturally wide. “Keep it up.”

Martin noticed his colleagues’ faces becoming more angular, their movements more rigid. During meetings, they would click and whir, their joints rotating like well-oiled machinery.

“Are we still human?” he asked during a team huddle.

“Define human,” they responded in perfect unison, their voices harmonizing in metallic overtones.

The metal nuts in his pocket grew warmer each day. Sometimes, late at night, he could hear them whispering:

“Join us, Martin. Become durable. Become eternal.”

His fingers were the first to change, turning silver and segmented. He watched in horror as the transformation crept up his arms.

“It’s perfectly normal,” the company psychiatrist assured him. Her head rotated 180 degrees as she spoke. “Everyone adapts differently to corporate culture.”

Yesterday, Martin found a small door in the corner of his increasingly tiny office. Through its keyhole, he could see an endless factory floor where giant nutcrackers processed human-shaped nuts on conveyor belts.

Today, as he sits at his nutcracker-desk, Martin contemplates the metal spheres that were once his constant companions. His now-mechanical hands hover over them hesitantly.

“Ready for your final transformation?” Sarah asks from the doorway, her titanium smile glinting under the fluorescent lights.

Martin looks at the small door in the corner, then back at the nuts. They feel heavier than ever.

“I just have one question,” he says, his voice already taking on a metallic timbre.

“Yes?”

“When the last human turns to metal, who will be left to crack the nuts?”

Sarah’s smile widens impossibly further, gears grinding beneath her chrome-plated skin. The walls continue their relentless advance as Martin awaits her answer, the whirring of machinery growing louder in the distance.