The speakers blasted the soldier through the tunnel. Hyper-warfare, the papers were calling it.

Sound crushed his helmet like tinfoil, ripped through his uniform like it was Kleenex, and disintegrated his boots like the particle-beam weapon he was carrying would, given the chance.

His skin stayed intact, though riddled with bloody cuts from stretching. This was brutal, inhuman, unreal. But the world was long gone. The Sun itself was censored, suicide bombers were brought back to life with nanomachines and then sentenced to death, and militaries fought for no goal, no purpose, merely a want of rank, money, and empty power.

So the sonic tunnels were developed. Designed for effectiveness, not safety. And they were used millions of times per week.

“Next!” the officer commanded.

And the soldier, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, jumped into the flow, exploding into shards of flesh-colored goo.

“Collect the shards,” the officer said. “I want him court-martialed for inadequate exit procedures.”