➊ 𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 - 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨, ᵗᵐʳ

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟗: 𝐊𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐧

"I guess I talked too loud," laughed a familiar voice—Simon.

"You said I was gonna kill animals, I'm not doing that!" I snapped, looking between him and Winston.

"Sorry, Greenie, but everyone's gotta try it," Alby called from nearby, clearly overhearing us.

"Oh yeah, sure. Nothing says 'welcome to the Glade' like murdering livestock." I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly saw my brain.

"C'mon," someone chuckled behind me, "killing a pig's no harder than kicking Gally's and Minho's junk."

I turned, recognizing one of the Builders from yesterday.

Is it just me, or do Gladers spawn out of thin air?

"Oh? Want me to kick yours next?" I stepped forward, narrowing my eyes.

Before I could make contact, a firm hand landed on my shoulder.

"Evelyn." Alby had appeared—again, without warning. "You're already going to the Slammer tonight. Don't make it worse."

He let me go and the Builder walked away looking at me weirdly like I had just scared him.

"I love that attitude." Smirked Simon, leaving for a small hut that was probably where the Medjacks worked. Where I first woke up.

At least he isn't scared of me.

Winston started walking, and I had no choice but to follow him toward a hut ominously labelled Blood House.

"We don't just kill animals," he said as we neared the pen. "We raise and feed 'em too. Pigs, cows, chickens, turkeys... they're all here."

He pointed to a fenced-off enclosure behind the building, full of plump, unsuspecting animals.

"Yeah. And then you kill them," I muttered.

Winston shrugged. "If you don't eat meat, good luck trying out as a Runner."

My eyes narrowed. "What makes you think I want to be a Runner?"

"I heard the rumor." He smirked. "Chuck's not great at keeping secrets."

Of course. Chuck.

"What exactly did he say?" I asked, arms crossed.

"That you wanted to prove to Minho that you're not just some random girl. And that he's a pillock—whatever that means."

I blinked. Great. Just great.

"Why are you laughing?" I asked, noticing his smirk.

"It's just... You wanting to be a Runner. That's ambitious."

"And yet, I'm sure I could do better than half of them," I shot back confidently.

"If you say so, coming from Chuck, I bet it's you who told him that?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, hum-" I laughed nervously, what would he think of me? He didn't seem like he wanted to discipline me, most likely taking it friendly.

He chuckled. "That's what I figured. Look, since you nearly had a meltdown over killing animals, I'll give you something else."

"Which is?"

He pointed to a brown, steaming pile behind the pen. "See that Klunk? Shovel it."

I stared. "Klunk? It's called shit."

"Same thing," he said with a grin. "Shank means dumbass, shuck means—well, you know. Slim it means shut up. Greenie means newbie. You'll catch on."

"Why would you create such words? Why not use the normal one? That created so much trouble." I sighed and took the shovel to walk towards the animals, carefully not walking in poop—well Klunk.