The First Runner

Why'd they have to go and make things so complicated?

Jess POV

The next morning, I woke to the now-familiar sound of grinding metal and groaning hinges — the doors opening again, right on schedule. Comforting. In a post-apocalyptic, possibly-abandoned-by-humans kind of way. I stayed in bed a moment longer, staring at the wooden slats above me, listening to the echoes fade into the distance like the world's worst morning alarm.

I knew today was the day. Curiosity had been chewing on my insides like a rat — small, persistent, and impossible to ignore. Whatever was outside those walls, it was calling. Or mocking. Hard to tell.

I rolled out of bed and stretched, my muscles stiff from the previous day's impromptu farming attempt. My arms ached, my back was sore, and I had a blister on one finger that definitely wasn't there before. "Maybe I was a farmer in a past life," I muttered to myself. "If so, I'm suing reincarnation for emotional damage."

Bark was already up, wagging his tail and looking at me like I was about to toss a tennis ball into the abyss. "Big day," I told him. "We're going to go see what the universe is hiding behind Door Number One." He tilted his head, probably wondering why humans voluntarily go toward creepy grinding noises.

I threw on my most practical outfit: cargo pants, tank top, scuffed boots. Hair up in a ponytail — if I was going to get murdered by a monster, at least it wouldn't be with hair in my eyes. I packed some bread, a wedge of cheese, and an apple into the battered canvas backpack I'd found in one of the crates, then filled a canteen with water and slung it over my shoulder. No sign of any new supplies in the Box today, which made me... nervous. If this place decided to stop providing things, I had no plan B. Hence, the whole maybe don't starve by understanding your environment idea.

Bark trotted beside me as we crossed the Glade. The sun was just beginning to rise, drenching everything in soft gold and casting long shadows across the grass. Birds chirped like nothing was wrong in the world — which was bold of them, considering I'd woken up in an overgrown prison with no memory and no Wi-Fi.

We reached the open doors, and I stopped. It was strange, standing right at the edge. The wall loomed behind me, solid and certain. Ahead? Just... space. Overgrown paths, scattered stone, and a silence that didn't feel quite natural. I squinted into the hazy morning light. It didn't look evil, exactly. Just unknown. Like the edge of a dream you couldn't quite remember.

Bark stopped, too. And then sat. Not his usual chill sit, either. This was tail-tucked, ears-down, full "no thanks" mode.

"What?" I frowned, kneeling beside him. "What's wrong, buddy?"

He didn't move. Just stared into the opening like it owed him money. I tried coaxing him. "C'mon, it's just an adventure. Some overgrown weeds and probably some squirrels. You love squirrels."

Nothing. He stayed put, shoulders tense, gaze locked on the space ahead.

My stomach did a small, annoying flip.

"I swear," I said softly, ruffling the fur behind his ears, "if the dog's not going, that might be a sign from the universe that this is a terrible idea."

I stood, suddenly less sure of myself. Bark had followed me into the Box. He'd curled up beside me every night. He'd stuck with me when I tried digging up half the Glade with a shovel and almost took out my own toe. And now, for the first time, he was saying no.

My sarcastic brain, ever helpful, offered: Great. Even the dog thinks you're an idiot.

Still, I couldn't just wait here forever. If I was stuck in this place, I needed to know it. All of it. I had to survive without relying on the Box or some invisible supply chain that might just stop one day without warning.