Breaching the Perimeter

The bunker was secure, but the house felt too quiet. I marched out from beneath the sofa, claws clicking hard across the floorboards. Ahead stood an unyielding monolith—a tall, ribbed running shoe parked by the entrance. It blocked the direct route to the front door mat. I lowered my snout, locked my hips, and rammed my skull straight into the thick rubber heel. It skidded two inches with a sharp squeak, clearing a narrow trench. The path forward is breached.