The whistle cuts through the early morning mist.

You stand on the cracked asphalt of an endless road, the world still half-asleep around you. A hundred boys—no, a hundred Walkers—line up beside you, each shifting on sore feet, eyes darting, faces pale with fear and something sharper: determination.

A voice booms from the loudspeakers on the armored halftrack that crawls alongside you:

“Walkers, this is your Final Warning. Step out of line, and you’re out of the game. Forever.”

You know the rules. Keep walking. Maintain the pace. Three warnings, and you’re done. No food, no breaks, no rest—just the road stretching on and on, through small towns, forests, highways, and deserts. The crowd will cheer, the soldiers will watch, and the world will wait for one name: the one who walks longest.

The prize? Anything you desire. The price? Everything else.

Your sneakers are laced. Your breath fogs in the dawn air. The Major raises his hand.

A gunshot echoes.

The Walk begins.