Metallic Threshold

The long carpeted corridor offered only one true ascent: the brass sliding doors of the elevator. At their base lay a sunken metal track filled with deep ridges and gritty dust. I marched straight to the edge. The silver chasm looked wide enough to swallow a boot, but retreat is never considered. Bracing my heels on the carpet fiber, I placed the flat of my blade across the parallel grooves to gauge the depth. It held firm. With one decisive leap across the metallic divide, I landed square on the cold stainless threshold. The lift station is claimed.