Winning a race against Minho did more for my reputation in the Glade than a month of backbreaking labor ever could. Overnight, I went from "that weird Greenie who talks too much" to "that freakishly fast Greenie who still talks too much."
Progress, I guess.
I woke up to a lot of sideways glances and not-so-subtle whispers. Gladers weren't exactly subtle creatures—stealth didn't rank high when your entire survival plan involved yelling at people to run away from biomechanical spider nightmares.
By breakfast, I'd been patted on the back, challenged to arm-wrestling matches (lost one, won three), and asked if I could teach people how to "do that lightning move" like I was a Pokémon trainer.
"Sorry, lads," I told them with a straight face. "It's a hereditary condition. Called 'Too Awesome Syndrome.' Highly contagious. Symptoms include envy and second-degree admiration."
They laughed, though one Builder looked like he was considering whether the condition could be fatal.
I spent the morning helping Frypan butcher a pig, which was significantly more traumatizing than advertised. Well, helping might be a strong word—I mostly acted as emotional support and made sure he didn't stab anyone when they made fun of his cooking.
"I swear to God, Samuel," Frypan growled, waving a blood-slick knife at a snickering Glader. "One more crack about 'mystery meat' and I'm gonna julienne someone's face."
I stepped in smoothly, catching his wrist mid-swing with a grin. "Easy, Gordon Ramsay. We need him alive."
"Why?"
"Who else is going to test whether your stew causes hallucinations or just mild vomiting?"
Frypan flipped me off but went back to hacking up pork like the pig owed him money. He muttered something about ungrateful shanks. I blew him a kiss and stole a slice of fried bacon when he wasn't looking.
By midday, I was ankle-deep in dirt and self-doubt in the gardens with Zart. He handed me a small trowel like he was trusting me with a holy relic.
"Don't screw it up."
"Zart," I said seriously, holding the tool aloft. "I once beat a guy in dodgeball using nothing but a spoon and a dream. This is nothing."
Ten minutes later, I had somehow mistaken three weeds for carrots and nearly pulled an actual onion out by the roots.
"That's a carrot?" I squinted at a leafy green sprout.
"No, that's a weed," Zart said flatly.
"Same thing if you're desperate enough."
He groaned and chucked a clump of dirt at me. I dodged like a pro, laughing.
Eventually, I wandered toward the forest that rimmed the Glade. It was quieter there. Cooler. The air smelled like damp leaves and moss and secrets.
I let my fingers brush along the bark of an old tree. It was rough and real—unlike everything else about this place. Some part of me expected to find a hidden logo stamped on the trunk. WCKD Property – Do Not Remove.
Memories stirred—blurry flashes of white lab coats, needles, pain, screaming. "Subject A7." My own voice reciting coordinates. My hand, holding a syringe.
I clenched my jaw, forcing the thoughts back.
They'd thrown us in here like lab rats. "Find the cure," they said. More like "see how long you can last before going feral or dying." WCKD, the benevolent puppetmasters. Scientists playing God with kids like we were notes in a damn experiment.
And the worst part? I'd been one of them.
"Hey, Greenie. You gonna hug that tree all day or what?"
I turned. Minho stood nearby, arms crossed, watching me like I might start singing to the squirrels.
"Depends," I said. "You offering to join?"
"Hard pass." He pushed off the tree. "Just checking if you're still alive. Maze training starts tomorrow. Would hate to break in another newbie."
"Aww. You do care."
"I care about not wasting my time," he corrected—but there was no heat in it. Just Minho being Minho.
We walked in silence for a while, the hum of the Glade fading behind us. Birds chirped. Somewhere far off, someone yelled about shovels and lost shoes.
"Why'd you volunteer to be a Runner?" Minho asked suddenly.
I shrugged. "Figured it beats shoveling klunk all day."
"Try again."
I glanced at him. "You really wanna know?"
"Yeah. I do."
I stopped near the Maze wall. Its sheer height still made my neck ache. "Because sitting around waiting to die isn't my style. If there's a way out, I'm gonna find it."
Minho studied me for a beat, then nodded. "Good answer."
We didn't need more words.
Back by the firepit, Alby was sharpening a knife. Sparks flew with each drag of the blade. He didn't look up as I approached.
"Heard you're joining the Runners."
"Yep."
"Minho's the best we got. Listen to him."
I sat beside him. "How'd you do it? Being the first one here?"
His hands stilled. For a second, I thought I'd asked too much. Then—
"Screamed a lot. Cried some. Nearly went crazy." He smirked. "Then the Box brought Newt. Realized going crazy would've been the easy way out."
I laughed. "Sounds about right."
"You're different, though." He looked at me, his gaze hard. "Most Greenies are scared shitless. You? You're angry."
I didn't deny it.
"Just don't let it get you killed," he said, standing. "We've lost enough shanks already."
No pressure.
Later, near the Homestead, Newt flagged me down with Chuck in tow.
"Alright, Greenie," Newt said, arms crossed. "You've officially survived two whole days. Congrats."
"Do I get a medal?"
"How about not getting stabbed by Gally?"
"Tempting, but I think I'll hold out for the medal."
Chuck giggled. "I like you. You're funny."
I ruffled his hair. "Finally, someone with taste."
Newt rolled his eyes. "Just don't get too comfortable. Tomorrow's your first day in the—"
DING.
I froze.
[New Mission Commencing.][Objective: Steal the Death Note before Light Yagami uses it.][Difficulty: Easy.][Time Limit: 1 Hour.]
Oh, for the love of—
"Samuel?" Newt frowned. "You alright?"
I opened my mouth.
The world dissolved.
One second, I was in the Glade. The next—I was standing in a pristine Japanese high school hallway, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, rows of lockers gleaming like teeth.
Still barefoot. Still in my Glade clothes.
"System," I hissed. "A little warning next time?!"
[Warning would decrease mission efficiency.]
"So would me kicking your digital ass!"
A girl walking past gave me a wide berth like I might explode. Fair.
Then I saw it. Outside a classroom window, fluttering down like an ominous black feather—a notebook. It landed in the grass.
The Death Note.
Showtime.
I bolted through the halls, students gasping as I shoved past. I burst out the side doors just as another figure rounded the corner—tall, school uniform sharp, eyes cold.
Light Yagami.
He saw the notebook at the same time I did.
We both lunged.
But I was faster.
I snatched it from the ground just as Light reached out. Our fingers brushed the cover at the same time.
He froze.
"That's—" he started, voice tight.
"Yours? Nah." I tucked it into my waistband. "Finders keepers."
His polite mask cracked for half a second—just long enough for panic to flash across his face.
"You don't understand what that is."
"Oh, I do." I leaned close. "Ryuk says hi."
His face went ghost-white.
DING.
[Mission Complete.][Reward: ??? (Pending Return to Primary World)]
The world blinked again.
Back in the Glade. Knees weak, heart pounding.
Newt was still mid-sentence.
"—Maze," he said, blinking. "You good, mate?"
I adjusted the Death Note now hidden under my shirt and smiled.
"Never better."
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