The First Runner

Where the hell am I?

Jess POV:

I jolted awake taking in a deep breath of the stale, dusty air. I could feel my heart thrashing around my ribcage, as if desperate to break out.

The sound of metal grinding against metal reached my ears; a lurching shudder shook the floor beneath me. I fell down at the suddenmovement and shuffled backward on my hands and feet, drops of sweat beading on my forehead despitethe cool air. My back struck a hard metal wall; I slid along it until I hit the corner of the room. Sinkingto the floor, I pulled my legs up tight against my body, hoping my eyes would soon adjust to thedarkness. 

With another jolt, the room jerked upward like an old lift in a mine shaft.Harsh sounds of chains and pulleys, like the workings of an ancient steel factory, echoed through theroom, bouncing off the walls with a hollow, tinny whine. The lightless elevator swayed back and forth asit ascended, turning my stomach sour with nausea; a smell like burnt oil invaded my senses, makingme feel worse.

Panic clawed at my throat as I tried to make sense of it all. Where was I? How did I get here? Who was I? My pulse quickened as I realised I had no idea what my name was, how old I was or literally anything about myself. My mind was an empty void, a terrifying blank slate where memories should have been. The grinding noise grew louder, reverberating through my bones, and with it came a growing sense of dread.

The box I was in continued its relentless ascent, the air growing colder and more oppressive with each passing second. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the nausea and panic to subside, but it was no use. The darkness was suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides. 

I didn't understand how it could be possible. My mind was functioning without flaw, trying to calculatemy surroundings and predicament. Knowledge flooded my thoughts, facts and images, memories anddetails of the world and how it works. I pictured snow on trees, running down a leaf-strewn road,eating an ice cream, the sun casting a warm glow on a grassy meadow, swimming in a lake, a busy citysquare with hundreds of people bustling about their business.

 And despite all of this I had no idea where I came from, or how I'd gotten inside the dark lift, or who my parentswere, if I had any siblings. I didn't even know my own last name. Images of people flashed across my mind, but there was norecognition, their faces replaced with haunted smears of color. I couldn't think of one person I knew,or recall a single conversation. 

The room continued its ascent, swaying and I soon grew immune to the ceaseless rattling of the chainsthat were pulling me upward. A long time passed. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, although it was impossible toknow for sure because every second seemed an eternity. 

No. Stop panicking. I knew I was smarter than that. Trusting my gut instincts, I  knew I'd been moving for roughly half an hour. 

As the relentless ascent continued, my fear gradually began to dissipate, replaced by an intense curiosity. I wanted to know where I was and what was happening. The swaying and rattling became a background noise, a rhythm I could almost predict. My initial panic subsided, and I focused on the details around me, trying to piece together any clues.

The box I was in was filled with various crates and cages stacked haphazardly. The dim light that seeped through the gaps in the walls revealed their rusty, dented surfaces. Each container looked as though it had been used and discarded, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

I peeked inside one of the cages and was met with the sight of a pig, its dark eyes blinking back at me with a mixture of curiosity and fear. Another cage held several chickens, their feathers ruffled and their beaks pecking nervously at the bars. The sight was unsettling, adding to the sense of dread that had settled over me.

I stood up, the small space of the box making my movements awkward and cramped. As I moved to examine the crates, I noticed their worn and battered appearances. Some were tightly bound with rusted metal straps, while others had gaps and splintered wood that hinted at their age and use.

One crate had a faded label, barely legible but hinting at something once contained within. I couldn't make out the words, but the tattered edges and discolored surface spoke of long-term neglect. Another crate was partially open, revealing a few scattered tools and what looked like scraps of fabric.

But then, something caught my eye—something that made my breath catch in my throat. Every single crate and cage was stamped with the letters W.C.K.D. in stark, blocky font. The letters seemed to glow ominously against the grime-covered metal and wood.

My mind raced as I tried to recall where I had seen those letters before. The image of a woman flashed across my mind—a face I couldn't quite recognize, but her presence felt significant. The image was fleeting, vanishing before I could grasp any details. It was as if my memory was a foggy window, with only brief glimpses of clarity.

I tried to push through the fog, searching for the connection. W.C.K.D.—it had to mean something. I could almost hear whispers of familiarity, but nothing concrete emerged. Panic started to claw at me again, but I forced myself to focus on the letters. I needed to remember. I needed to understand why they felt so important. 

But nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing. No ideas. Useless. Empty. Brain. Frustration mounted as I grappled with the sense of uselessness and emptiness that seemed to dominate my thoughts. The more I tried to recall, the more my brain felt like it was spinning in circles, unable to grasp the significance of those damned letters.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I couldn't afford to let this overwhelming sense of failure paralyze me. I had to stay alert, stay focused. There would be time to piece together the puzzle later. For now, I needed to deal with the immediate reality of my situation.

The box came to a sudden stop, jolting me back to the present. The blinding light from above intensified, making it difficult to see. I shielded my eyes as the ceiling began to open revealing a stunning blue sky. 

Blinking against the light, I took one more look around the box before focusing on the bigger problem. How the hell was I supposed to get out?

I looked around the box for anything I could use, and my thoughts immediately drew back to the crate of tools I'd been looking at minutes before. Digging through it, I found what looked to be a small axe. Perfect.

I dug through a few more boxes and found a bundle of rope, frayed but still sturdy enough to be useful. I looped the rope through the hole at the end of the axe, tying a secure knot before tugging on it to ensure it was well and truly secure.

With my makeshift grappling hook ready, I assessed the walls of the box. They were tall, at least two or so metres taller than I was, but I hoped the axe would catch on something sturdy enough to hold my weight. Taking a deep breath, I swung the axe, aiming for the something out of the box. The first few attempts were unsuccessful, the axe clanging back down, but on the fourth try, it caught on something solid.

I gave the rope a few firm tugs, testing its stability. It held. Gripping the rope tightly, I began to climb, using the notches in the crates for extra support. Soon I scaled out of the box and found myself standing in a massive abandoned courtyard. I took in my surroundings. I was in a vast, open area surrounded by towering stone walls covered in thick ivy. The ground was a patchwork of grass and dirt paths, with a few makeshift structures scattered around about a hundred or so metres away. 

There wasn't a soul in sight. 

"Where the hell am I?" I whispered to myself.