nail bends

“Want to hear something fucked up?” said One-Blade.

I didn’t, but figured he was going to tell me anyway. He stalked toward me. I had to forcibly remove my eyes from the hammer and nails to meet his gaze. What I saw there wasn’t encouraging.

“They got a guy does studies on this shit,” he said, nodding to the bag of nails. “Stuck a heart rate monitor, ecg, blood pressure cuffs on guys while they were being tortured. Recorded stats. Which nail size causes the most pain? Which length induces the most fear on sight? What material works best, galvanized, stainless, or plain old raw iron? In the end, he crunched the numbers and came up with these.”

He hefted the large bag. The veins of his bicep writhed under the weight.

“60D’s,” he said. “Raw iron.”

He dropped the bag to the floor. It landed with a heavy jangling thud.

“Six-inchers,” he said. “The big ones. They were deemed the most painful and the most terrifying on sight. As you’d probably expect. But that’s not the fucked up part.” He shook his head. “It’s the material. Raw iron. Any idea why?”

...

Then he grabbed another nail and pounded it into my right hand. It sunk into the meat of my palm and hit bone. He held it in place and hammered hard one, two, three, four times, then something gave and nail burst through. I jerked and grunted and screamed and clenched my jaw so tight my teeth nearly shattered.

One-Blade pulled back the hammer, looking confused.

“What the fuck?” he said, tilting his head to the side. He knelt down and looked beneath the arm plank.

“The nail bent,” he said. “How?”

“Hard bones,” my throat grunted through clenched teeth. One-Blade’s head emerged from beneath the chair arm. He eyes had opened a little wider.

“File did mention that,” he said, tilting his head. “But it’s another thing to actually see it.” He studied me with renewed interest.

“How’d you do it?” he said.

“Whacked hard stuff,” my lips spat. One-Blade’s brow furrowed, then he laughed to himself and leaned in over the slightly angled nail head sticking out of the back of my right hand.
-Sledge vs. The Labyrinth, pg. 252-255