The sky was turning amber, streaked with fading light as the sun dipped behind the city's edge. From the balcony of a modest apartment on the third floor, the world looked almost peaceful—traffic murmured below, birds passed overhead, and far beyond the buildings, a thick wall of green shimmered under the fading glow.
Jack leaned against the railing, sipping a glass of cold soda. He was clean-shaven, sharp-jawed, with messy black hair that always looked like it had just survived a storm. He wore a half-zipped jacket over a grey T-shirt and had the chill, half-amused attitude of someone who rarely took anything seriously.
Beside him stood Brock—broader, calmer, his hands in the pockets of his joggers. He was staring off into the distance, eyes fixed on the tree line just beyond their old college campus.
"You ever wonder about that jungle?" Brock asked, nodding toward the green mass in the distance.
Jack squinted. "You mean the one people keep calling 'the cursed woods' like we're in some fantasy novel?"
"I'm not joking," Brock said. "That place is weird. Real weird. No trails, no maps. No one who goes in ever comes out."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Come on. That's gotta be exaggerated. This isn't an episode of Unsolved Mysteries: Leaf Edition."
Brock didn't smile. "Remember that wildlife student who disappeared last year? Priyansh? He was writing his thesis on the ecosystem around that jungle. Went to explore the edge of it one afternoon—gone. Vanished."
Jack shrugged. "Or he just decided to drop out and become a monk. The world's weird."
"You always do this," Brock said. "I'm serious. The place is not normal. No birds ever fly over it. The trees don't move with the wind. People say it's always misty inside, even during the dry season."
Jack sipped his drink. "Cool. So we've got a budget Narnia next door."
Brock looked at him. "What if it's more than that? Like... time moves differently in there. Or space. What if it's not even part of our world completely?"
Jack turned to face him. "Okay, first of all, you've definitely been reading Reddit conspiracy threads again. Second—why do you care so much?"
"Because I want to know," Brock said simply. "We've lived next to this mystery for years. I'm tired of pretending it's not there."
Jack tilted his head. "So what, you're gonna go in there with a flashlight and bug spray and come back with a selfie next to a time rift?"
Brock smirked. "If I find a time rift, you're the first person I'm pushing into it."
Jack laughed. "Great. Maybe I'll meet my past self and convince him not to trust your jungle theories."
They both stood quietly for a few seconds. A cool breeze rustled their shirts. Far away, the jungle stood still—too still.
"You're really planning to go, aren't you?" Jack finally said.
Brock nodded slowly. "Not now. But soon. I want to see what's inside."
Jack sighed, finishing his drink. "Well, if you disappear, I'm taking your Bluetooth speaker."
"And if I find something... you're coming with me next time."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you don't end up married to a tree nymph or something."
As they laughed, the sun fully vanished behind the horizon, and for a brief second... a faint, distant echo seemed to rise from the jungle.
Neither of them noticed.
It had been months since that lazy evening on the balcony. Jack had almost forgotten the conversation. Brock hadn't. He kept researching, asking locals, even flying a drone over the jungle—which, disturbingly, went offline halfway in and never returned.
But for Jack, life had gone on. He'd picked up a freelance tech job, paid rent, and ignored his laundry pile like a seasoned adult. Then, one rainy afternoon, everything changed.
There was a knock on Jack's door.
Not the casual kind—no buzzing from the gate, no doorbell. Just a slow, firm knock-knock-knock.
Jack opened the door, eyebrows already raised. A man stood there, tall, lean, wearing a sleek black suit that looked too expensive for this neighborhood. His face was hidden behind a smooth black mask, the kind you'd see in dystopian movies. No expression, no visible eyes. Just a blank, featureless surface.
"...Can I help you?" Jack asked, half-expecting to be robbed or recruited for a cult.
The man spoke in a low, calm voice. "You are Jack. Correct?"
Jack hesitated. "...Yeah?"
The man reached into his coat and pulled out a small, flat black case. He opened it. Inside was a document with a red wax seal, a pen, and—Jack blinked—what looked like a check.
A check for $100,000,000.00.
"Wha—Okay, either this is a prank, or I'm about to wake up with no kidneys," Jack said.
"You are being offered an opportunity," the man continued, ignoring the sarcasm. "Go into the jungle behind your old campus. Conduct basic research. Observe what lies within. Return alive. That is all."
Jack stared at him. "That's it? Go into the jungle and come back? For this much money?"
"Yes. You may take one other person with you. If you both return, each of you will receive the full amount. One hundred million dollars. No tricks. No taxes."
Jack couldn't help but let out a short, stunned laugh. "And who exactly are you, Mr... Batman-in-a-business-suit?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he handed over the document and a small black device—almost like a tracker or a high-tech USB.
"All the instructions you need are inside this," he said. "You have 48 hours to respond. After that, the offer is off the table."
Then he turned and walked down the stairs. No goodbye. No name.
Jack stood there in the doorway, rain dripping off the railing, staring down at a hundred million reasons to make a terrible decision.
Later That Evening…
Brock arrived at Jack's place a few hours later, wearing gym clothes and carrying two smoothies.
Jack was sitting on the couch, still staring at the sealed folder.
"You look like someone just told you your parents were aliens," Brock said, handing him a smoothie.
Jack didn't respond.
Brock raised an eyebrow. "Okay… What happened?"
Jack looked at him. "You're not gonna believe me."
"Try me. You once believed I was dating an actual ghost because I didn't text you for two days."
Jack tossed him the document folder. "A guy came. Mask, black suit, sounded like he eats secrets for breakfast. He offered me a hundred million dollars to go into the jungle."
Brock blinked. "Come again?"
"One hundred million. For each person. All we have to do is go into the jungle, do some research, and come back alive."
Brock opened the folder, scanned the papers, and went pale. "Jack... this looks legit."
"I know."
"Is this a prank? Are we on camera?"
"Nope. I'm 99% sure this is real."
Brock sat down slowly, his eyes never leaving the papers. "...So when do we leave?"
Jack smirked. "You didn't even hesitate."
Brock leaned back, the ghost of a smile forming. "You know I've been waiting for this."
Jack's smile faded just slightly as he glanced back at the black device on the table. "Yeah. But now I'm starting to wonder if we should've been careful what we wished for."
Outside, thunder rolled. Far away, past the buildings and across the empty lands, the jungle swayed—still untouched, still waiting.