The dark, sterile hallway ahead of the towering shark seemed to stretch into complete nothingness. There were doors lining the walls, some with lights lit above them, but many were without.

Nigel hesitates. They hadn’t strayed from their routine since the disappearance of their director, but every last food storage bin was empty, and he was running decidedly low on fuel. The indicator repeatedly going off in his mind was unnecessary; he could feel it in his sluggish movements and the low, constant gnawing sensation in his belly. But his olfactory processor told them there was consumable organic matter down this hallway. Nigel had no clue what this part of the facility even held. But then, did they really have any other option?

With that, the luminous cyborg heads down the unlit hallway. It’s not a very long walk before his sensitive nose leads him to the first doorway with a light shining above it, and he stops in front of it. The door was a blank, smooth surface, but next to it was a retina scanner and the room number.

Trailing claws along the edges of the door, the cyborg curiously scratches at the spaces between door and frame, trying to figure out just how to open this one. There was no real space to work a single claw into there. The retina scanner was definitely a no-go, and there was no visible split in the door to pry apart. Furthermore, he didn’t want to use what precious little fuel he had to melt the door.

So the shark proceeds with the only logical solution. He lines one shoulder up with the door, crouches so he doesn’t clothesline himself on the door frame, takes a step back, and slams into it. The sound of metal crunching and denting echoes down the hallway. Nigel stumbles into the newly opened room, managing to catch himself before he tripped on the door he had knocked clean off the hinges.

The room is brightly lit, in contrast to the dark hallway. On a sparse cot in the corner, a bat lays face-up, wings clasped across their chest and very still. Two full seconds after the commotion, the bat sits up abruptly, staring at the shark in disbelief.

“Oh, my god! Did you break out?” he asks, his voice hoarse from disuse. “I haven’t seen the doctor in days! What’s happening?”

Nigel tilts his head slightly, looking over the bat with his glaringly bright eyes. “Insufficient fuel,” is his deadpan response.

“What? Yeah, my food is running low too, but we can escape!” The bat says eagerly.

“Subject… ideal,” Nigel says, completely ignoring the bat’s words. They start walking towards the bat, and cross the small room in a few strides.

“Ideal? What’s that supposed to mean? Look, I’ve got some bad delay in my parts here, this box on my spine has been on the fritz and I wanted to talk to the doctor about it but–Hey!” the bat is grabbed roughly under his arms and lifted up off the cot, his feet dangling just above it. “If you wanna carry me, that’d help, but not like… not… like…”

The vibrant green line that ran along the front of Nigel’s mask has parted, revealing their luminous beartrap teeth. The cyborg didn’t hear a single word the bat was saying. He opens wide, then wider still, his maw not dark but terribly lit by their teeth. Even the back of their throat was illuminated, a noxious glow reflecting on wet black artificial tissue.

“No, no, what are you *doing–*”

“Refuelling,” Nigel replies, bringing the bat closer to their jaws. “Goodbye.”

All at once, they shove the bat’s head as far as they can into their mouth. Tilting their head back and holding the bat up, they continuously swallow, only using their sharp teeth to keep a light grip on their prey. With some persistent shoving, he gets the bat’s shoulders stuffed into his mouth, and from there on out it’s considerably easier. With an audible, heavy gulp, the bat slips further down, and now only his legs are left dangling outside of Nigel’s maw. The upper half of him, meanwhile, has created a large bulge in Nigel’s throat.

The shark’s insides are blindingly bright. The trail of Nigel’s throat is completely illuminated, muscle tissue all around undulating, compressing the bat as he was forced down the bigger cyborg’s gullet. There was an unsettling, somehow *wrong* sort of warmth, more like the heat given off by lightning than actual internal body temperature. There was a lack of organic scent, too, but the one present was sharp, biting, almost citrus-y. Inhaling it was overwhelming, and the bat gagged, but there was nothing else to breathe.

Nostrils, eyes, throat, everything felt like it was burning. He shuts his eyes tight against the glow, but it’s so bright that his eyelids can’t fully block it out. Stinging tears gather and irritate his eyes further, and all the while, he can hear every gulp, every wet flex and squeeze of the throat around him, and the awful, bubbling gurgle of what awaited him.

The bat’s bare feet pass Nigel’s teeth, and their maw snaps shut as if it was spring-loaded. With a heavy, final swallow, Nigel sends the rest of the bat down into their throat. They can keenly feel the bulge and stretch of their gullet, the weak, delayed wiggling from the mammal inside them, how their esophagus expanded to accommodate their large meal, how that briefly shoved aside other inner workings, and soon, the displacement of the green fluid in their gut.

Their developing artificial intellect was intrigued and nigh overwhelmed with how good it all felt. Thier modest paunch, translucent and dim from lack of fuel, became steadily clearer and brighter as their gut was distended and filled. The vinyl-like membrane easily expanded to create room for the bat as he slid from gullet to gut. The hem of their standard-issue black tank top rides up as their belly swells, revealing just how neon their heavy, liquid-filled stomach was.

With a solid *glunk*, the bat is now completely inside the cyborg’s fuel-tank stomach. If he thought the irritation from the shark’s throat was bad, he was now more wrong than he had ever been in his life. Everything burned, the entire surface area of his body felt like it was sizzling, and the tech on his back that was latched onto his spinal cord was quickly dissolved to a state of malfunction. With his movements now unhindered, he flailed. The awful liquid surrounding him was so viscous, his movements were slowed to a crawl, and bizarrely, he thought about how it felt to be food suspended in gelatin. *Food*.

That thought renewed his dwindling struggles. He was not food, not a meal, not something to fill a predator’s belly. With the last of his strength, he tries to stretch out his body, pushing against the inside of the shark’s stomach, trying to pull it tight, hoping to somehow delay the inevitable.

Meanwhile, Nigel is highly amused by the flailing within their gut. The thick sloshing noises coming from their prey’s struggling were loud and clear, hardly muffled by the thin, plasticky skin of their belly. The churning sounds from rapid digestion were accompanied by a multitude of small green bubbles, and Nigel could feel a vaguely familiar pressure in his belly. The bat’s final struggles bulged against the outside of their stomach, but they only served to further satisfy the shark. He wraps his claws around his bloated gut, giving it a tight squeeze as he lifts it, then abruptly letting go. The sudden drop made it slosh anew, and as all the liquid in them churns along with their meal, they can feel the pressure in their stomach building. The bubbles are increasing in size, and the larger ones ponderously float to the top of their belly.

A loud, deep gurgle suddenly emanates from their glowing gut. The tight feeling seems to peak as his stomach swells slightly, and then–

“*Hic-urrrrrrrrhp*.”

The lengthy belch that escapes the shark is a pleasant relief. He gives his ample gut a firm rub, for no other reason than the enjoyment of the sensation it provided. The way it squished and gave was weirdly pleasing, and though technically, he was fuelled, he wanted more. The ache in their belly was gone, but the full, tight feeling that replaced it was equally demanding. The weighty overhang of their gut was cumbersome, and the glow unsubtle, but the need to overfuel outweighed all inconveniences. And logically, it was best to consume as much as he could, since he had no idea when food would be supplied once more.

They manage to pull their shirt halfway down over their bloated gut, but the bright lime hue of the uncovered half only seemed to mock their efforts of concealment. With a shrug that tugs their shirt up even more, they duck under the doorway, and go to find more sustenance.