Behind The Blue Sky Ch 1: Cooper The Running Man!

"I have to run."

I don't even know why I say it out loud anymore. Like it helps. Like it'll make my legs move faster, or stop my lungs from burning. But the words just slip out, raw and desperate, bouncing around the echoing metal walls of the pipes as if mocking me.

My bare feet slap against the floor with wet metallic cracks. I stopped feeling the pain a long time ago—my soles are practically leather by now. When I first started running these corridors, it was hell. Every step left streaks of blood. Now? Now it's just rhythm. A steady drumbeat keeping me alive.

The pipes twist and turn like some madman's idea of a maze. Left, right, right again, another left. I don't have to think about it anymore; my body knows where to go. I mapped this place in my head years ago. Every bend, every echo, every patch of rust I could trip over—it's all burned into me. My little kingdom of metal tubes.

I take another sharp corner and there it is: the grate. Thin, lined bars slicing the darkness into neat strips of light. I stop, chest heaving, and press myself against it.

Beyond, the world opens up. Wide. Empty. Silent. A room so huge it makes me feel like an insect—and that's not just my imagination. It was built for giants. If I had to cross it on foot, it'd take me half a day at least. Just looking at it makes my stomach twist, the scale of it too much to swallow.

I press my face against the bars, peering out. My eyes sweep the floor, the walls, the corners. Nothing. No movement. No shadows shifting. I wait longer than I want to—minutes drag on, every heartbeat telling me to move before something notices I'm here. Finally, I let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

All clear.

I squeeze through the grate, my shoulders scraping hard against the cold metal. Then I drop down onto the floor, landing in a crouch. For a second, I just freeze. The emptiness of the chamber weighs down on me, like I'm a trespasser in a god's hall.

But I know where I'm going.

I bolt across the floor, darting into the dark. My feet don't hesitate. I've done this before, more times than I want to admit.

And there—there it is.

A lump of purple, glossy skin glinting faintly under the dim light. My prize. The locals call it zunora. I think. Hard to tell with their slurred, growling language, but I like the sound of it. Zunora. Kind of elegant for what's basically a big alien fruit.

Not that I'm complaining. The stuff isn't bad. Sweet, with a bite like citrus. Keeps me alive. And honestly, compared to some of the gray mush the giants eat, it's practically gourmet.

I drop to my knees and dig my fingers into it, tearing through the skin. Thick juice spills out, sticky against my hands, but I don't care. I rip chunks free, stuffing them into my brown leather bag as fast as I can. Every piece is a day of survival. Maybe two if I'm careful.

I find another piece half-squashed nearby, then another, and soon my bag is getting heavy. I'm breathing hard, but for once not from running. For a heartbeat, I actually feel good. Like maybe this time, I'll get back safe.

Then the ground shakes.

Not much at first. Just a faint tremor. But I know that tremor. I hate that tremor.

My head snaps up, eyes cutting toward the far wall. And there it is—the doors. The ones that are always locked. The ones with the red lights above them.

Except the lights aren't red anymore.

They're green.

And the doors are opening.

"Shit!" I yell, my voice cracking against the vast walls.

I don't wait. I sprint, bag thumping against my back, juice dripping down my wrists. My chest burns, my lungs begging for mercy, but I don't stop. I can't.

Then the lights explode to life.

Blinding white, burning into my eyes. For a second I'm stumbling, practically blind, tripping over myself. I blink furiously, vision swimming, until the shapes of the pipes come back into focus.

And I run. Harder than before. My legs feel like they'll snap under me, but I keep going.

Because I know what's coming through those doors.

And I know what I wish I'd learned a long time ago:

The Xelvari can't be trusted.

I bolt for the pipes, bag smacking my back, heart jackhammering in my chest. The lights behind me burn like suns, and for a second I risk a glance over my shoulder.

And that's when I see her.

The monolith.

She towers over me like some skyscraper had decided to grow legs and wander in here. The glare of the lights frames her silhouette, but as my eyes adjust I can make out the details. Short black hair. Sharp jawline. An orange suit that clings to her in ways that make it impossible not to notice her curves.

But it's what's in her hands that chills me most: a thin metal pole, long as a tower, humming faintly as she drags it across the floor. A faint suction sound rises up—vacuuming.

Vacuuming away my crumbs.

I groan under my breath. I know exactly who I'm looking at. The new janitor. Fifth one I've seen. They send them in to keep the floors spotless, to erase any sign of pests like me. And no matter how many of them cycle through, I always end up being the one who nearly gets caught.

"Great. Just great," I mutter.

Of course, this one has to be a girl. And of course, the suit they gave her looks more like a painted-on orange skin than anything practical. My brain stutters for a second, a traitor as my eyes linger.

I clench my teeth, shaking my head hard. "No. Snap out of it, Cooper. They can't be trusted."

I grab my bag tighter, knuckles white around the strap, and push into the dark mouth of a side pipe, the shadows wrapping around me like a cloak.

"Not one of them," I hiss, forcing the words out through clenched teeth.

Not this one. Not any of them.

And still... her towering figure burns in my mind as I disappear into the dark.