The next room I ended up in was an art room, though there was no one in it. Despite having less than twenty minutes left on the timer, I had a quick look around the room, nabbing various items and shoving them into my inventory. I figured the more stuff I had, the more of an advantage I would have later if I ever finished this Trial. Into the inventory went things like pallet knives, rolls of wire, gesso, spray paint, rubber cement, scissors, charcoal, even a smock and easel, because hey, you never know, right?

Leaving the art room, I moved quickly down another hallway toward the only door that was there, which brought me into the cafeteria. Claire Standish was there, but not as I remembered her from the movie.

She had transformed into a grotesque parody of her former self—her hair a writhing mass of snakes, her eyes glowing with demonic yellow light. She stood atop a table, surrounded by a group of mutated students who seemed to hang on her every word.

“Well,” Claire’s voice dripped with disdain, “look what the janitor dragged in. You’re certainly not popular enough to be in here. I’ve seen better looking bums.”

I tensed, ready for a fight. “Sorry, Claire. I didn’t realize the cafeteria had such strict admission standards.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Everything has standards. You just don’t meet them.” She snapped her fingers, and her minions started to advance. “Let’s see if we can make you a bit more... presentable.”

I dodged as one of the mutated students lunged at me, using a lunch tray as a makeshift shield against another’s attack. Claire’s laughter echoed through the room as I fought off her lackeys, punching and kicking with all my might.

“You can’t win,” she taunted. “In this world, popularity is power. And you’re nothing but a loser.”

I gritted my teeth, searching for an escape route. The kitchen—that was my best bet. I made a break for it, ducking under grasping hands and leaping over upturned tables.

As I reached the kitchen doors, I heard Claire shriek in frustration. “Don’t let him get away! He hasn’t even tried our special of the day!”

I slammed the door behind me, using a mop to barricade it. Claire’s muffled voice came through the door: “This isn’t over. In this school, you’ll always be an outcast!”

Panting, I looked around the kitchen for another exit, soon finding another door. On the way to the door, I grabbed several knives and put them away in my inventory. A guy can never have too many knives.

Checking my screen for a second, I swallowed when I saw the timer was down to 13:47. Not much time to make it past the next two rejects so I could reach the gym in time. Hopefully, the criminal and athlete wouldn’t give me too much trouble. If I’m honest, none of the Breakfast Club kids had posed me much of a problem, which made me think they were just here to slow me down more than anything else, to keep me from making it to the gym on time. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. I was going to make it to the gym, and then I was gonna deal with Principal Vernon.

Leaving the kitchen, I navigated a few quiet hallways before ending up in another room that smelled like metal and engine grease. As I stepped into what looked like a twisted version of the school’s workshop, I saw him—John Bender. Only he was now a nightmarish fusion of man and machine, his body a patchwork of rusted metal and scarred flesh. A flamethrower was grafted onto one arm, and his eyes glowed with a manic, fiery light.

“Well shit.” Bender’s voice crackled with static and malice. “If it isn’t another one of Vernon’s little puppets. Come to join the criminal element?”

I tensed, eyeing the flamethrower warily. “Not exactly, Bender. Just passing through.”

He laughed, a harsh, metallic sound. “Passing through? Oh, that’s rich. Nobody just ‘passes through’ my domain. This isn’t a fucking highway, cherry.”

Suddenly, he aimed his flamethrower at me. “Let’s see how you handle the heat, sporto!”

I dove behind a workbench just as a jet of flame scorched the air where I’d been standing. The acrid smell of burning metal filled the room.

“Come on out and play!” Bender taunted. “Or are you gonna cry to your daddy?”

I gritted my teeth, looking around for anything I could use. My eyes landed on a large drum labeled “Engine Coolant.”

“What’s the matter, Bender?” I called out, inching toward the drum. “Daddy issues still got you all hot and bothered?”

“You don’t know anything about me!” he roared, unleashing another burst of flame.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I grabbed the drum and heaved it toward Bender, the liquid inside sloshing heavily. As it sailed through the air, I snatched a wrench from a nearby table and hurled it at the drum.

Thanks to my increased strength, the wrench punctured the container just as it reached Bender. A spray of coolant doused his flamethrower arm, causing steam to hiss and metal to contract violently.

“No!” Bender yelled, his arm seizing up. “You think this’ll stop me? I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands!”

But as he struggled with his malfunctioning limb, I noticed the puddle of coolant spreading around his feet, reaching dangerously close to some exposed wiring.

“Hey, Bender,” I shouted, backing toward the exit. “Looks like you’re all washed up!”

With that, I grabbed a length of metal pipe and swung it at the nearest electrical box. Sparks flew, igniting the coolant fumes and creating a wall of flame between me and Bender.

As I raced out of the room, I heard Bender’s voice, distorted by the crackling flames. “Not bad, sport... not bad at all. Maybe you’ve got some criminal in you after all.”

I didn’t stick around to chat. With the path now clear, I sprinted down the hallway, the smell of burning coolant and ozone following me. The gymnasium had to be close now, and with it, Principal Vernon.

Another hallway took me into a locker room, at the end of which was another door with a sign saying WRESTLING ROOM. Not hard to guess who’d be waiting for me there.

As I stepped into the wrestling room, I saw him—Andrew Clark, but twisted into a monstrous version of his former self. His muscles had grotesquely expanded, ripping through his letterman jacket. His face was contorted into a permanent snarl, eyes blazing with an inhuman intensity.

“Fresh meat!” Andrew’s voice boomed with excitement and and an overload of aggression. “Time to see what you’re made of, new blood!”

I raised my hands, trying to reason with him. “Look, Andrew, bro, I’m not here to fight—”

“Fight?” he interrupted, cracking his knuckles. “This isn’t a fight. This is domination. This is proving who’s the alpha, motherfucker!”

Before I could react, he lunged at me with surprising speed. I barely managed to dodge, feeling the wind from his massive arm as it swung past my head.

“Come on!” Andrew taunted, circling me. “Don’t be a pussy! Your old man watching? Gonna make him proud?”

His words struck a nerve, and I found myself slipping into a fighting stance. “Alright, big guy. You want a match? Let’s go.”

We grappled, and immediately I felt his overwhelming strength. He was like a bear, all raw power and aggression. But as we wrestled, I noticed something—his movements were predictable, all brute force and not much finesse.

I remembered my jujitsu training. Against a stronger opponent, use their strength against them.

As Andrew charged again, I sidestepped, using his momentum to send him crashing into the wall. He roared in frustration, “Stand still and fight like a man!”

“Sorry,” I panted, “I prefer to fight smart.”

I kept moving, avoiding his powerful but clumsy attacks. Each time he lunged, I redirected him, letting him tire himself out. His frustration grew with each failed attempt.

“This isn’t wrestling!” he bellowed. “This is dancing!”

“Maybe you should learn some new moves,” I retorted, ducking under another wild swing.

Finally, I saw my opening. As Andrew charged yet again, I dropped low, using his own weight to flip him over my shoulder. He crashed to the ground with a thunderous impact, momentarily stunned.

Not wasting a second, I sprinted for the exit. Behind me, I heard Andrew’s enraged roar: “This isn’t over! You hear me? I’m the champion! I’m the goddamn champion!”

As I burst through the doors, leaving the wrestling room behind, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for Andrew. Even in this twisted form, he was still trying to live up to someone else’s expectations, just like in the movie. He was always my favorite character, but oh well. I had less than a minute left to get to where I had to go.

The hallway outside the wrestling room was ridiculously long, and I realized that even sprinting down it, I still might not make it in time. “Bastards!” I cried as I broke into a run, the hallway seeming miles long.

But then I remembered my Nikes. “Ha!” I shouted, jumping into the air. “Just do it, motherfuckers!”

The sneakers activated and I charged at superhuman speed up the hallway, the walls either side a blur as I hoped there’d be a door coming up soon. And there was, I could see it. Double doors that I knew would lead me directly into the gym.

But before I got there, something shot out from an air vent above, wrapping around my neck with lightning speed. I was yanked off my feet, choking as I dangled in the air. How my neck didn’t break, I’ll never know. Guess I was stronger than I thought now.

“Thought you could escape that easily?” Brian’s nasally voice echoed from the vent. An amalgamation of eyes and tentacles peeked out, fixing me with a manic stare. “I told you, I’m the powerhouse of this school! Time for your final exam, and I’m afraid you’re going to fail... permanently!”

The tentacle tightened, spots dancing in my vision as I struggled for air. With my remaining strength, I reached into my inventory, fingers closing around the handle of one of the kitchen knives I’d snagged earlier.

“Here’s... my... answer...” I rasped, slashing wildly at the tentacle.

The blade connected, slicing through with a sickening squelch. Brian’s scream of pain reverberated through the air duct as I fell to the floor, gasping and coughing.

“You’ll pay for that!” Brian shrieked, more tentacles emerging from the vent. “I’ll dissect you molecule by molecule!”

But I was already moving. Ignoring the burning in my lungs and the throbbing in my neck, I sprinted toward the gym doors.

“Sorry, Brian,” I wheezed, “I’ve got a date with the principal!”

I could hear the tentacles slithering behind me, feel the rush of air as they grasped for my ankles. With a final burst of speed, I hurled myself at the double doors.

They burst open with a resounding crash as I tumbled into the gymnasium. The tentacles recoiled at the threshold, unable or unwilling to follow.

As I lay on the floor, gulping in air, I heard a slow, mocking clap echoing through the vast space.

“Well, well,” a sinister voice drawled, “look who finally decided to join us.”

I looked up, my blood running cold as I saw the monstrous form of Principal Vernon looming over me.

“Welcome to detention,” he sneered. “I hope you’re ready for some... extra credit.”