IT STARTED WITH A MAZE - Newt x Reader (F)

- PROLOGUE -

A hard, cold surface kisses the side of my cheek.

I blink once. Twice. The dull ache pounding at the back of my skull doesn't go away. Neither does the weight in my chest - a tight, panicked pressure, coiled like a spring. I shift slightly, and the stone floor beneath me bites at my skin, unforgiving and rough. It's cold, but not from shade. It's the kind of cold that feels ancient.

Where the hell am I?

I groan softly and try to sit up, but the movement sends nausea washing over me. The air is thick with the earthy scent of damp stone and something metallic - blood. Something wet and sticky drips down my left arm. I flinch, turn to inspect it. Crimson. My blood.

I'm bleeding?

I cover the gash instinctively with my other hand. It's not deep, but fresh - still oozing. I clench my jaw, willing myself to breathe through the stinging. As I shift again, something else catches my eye. A bracelet. Woven, handmade. Simple, fraying a little on the edges. I lift my wrist. There, tangled in the threads, is a small white bead with a faintly scratched "C."

It feels important. It looks like it should mean something.

But my mind is blank.

The light is low - a hazy gray-blue glow spreading across the ground like spilled milk. It's early. Morning, I think. The sun is just beginning to wake the sky, soft rays filtering in from somewhere behind me. I glance up.

The stone walls stretch impossibly high above my head. Tall. Towering. Like the alleyway of a forgotten fortress. Their surfaces are perfectly uneven - as if carved by hands, not time - and covered in snaking vines that crawl like fingers across every ridge and groove, as if clinging on for dear life. The walls don't just end here; they continue. I twist where I sit, noting the structure around me. To my left, the path cuts off sharply into a solid dead end. To my right, the passage stretches out into a longer corridor, the edges fading into soft shadow before it splits again.

I'm boxed in. Trapped in a giant stone trench. A place too quiet for comfort.

What's happening?

The silence breaks like a glass shattering. A low groaning hum fills the air. Mechanical. Grinding. Metal against stone. Loud. Too loud.

I jolt, scrambling back until my spine presses against the damp wall. My hand darts out, gripping something smooth and cold on the ground beside me. I yank it up without thinking - it's small, silver, glinting faintly.

A scalpel?

I stare at it, stunned.

Why the hell would there be a scalpel here?

I don't remember holding it. I don't remember anything. The source of the sound becomes clear. The wall to my left - the one I thought was solid - begins to shift. A crack of light spills through the seam as the stone splits open, groaning with resistance. My pulse spikes.

A door.

A stone door.

Opening.

I clutch the scalpel tighter, my knuckles whitening, and back away into the shadows, the farthest I can press myself from the widening gap. My breaths come shorter now, sharper. I don't want to be seen. Not yet. Not until I know who or what is coming. Two figures appear from behind the wall; silhouetted by the light.

They're boys.

They converse easily, too easily, like this is routine.

I hold my breath. Maybe if I'm quiet enough, still enough, they'll leave. Maybe they're not here for me. Maybe I can wait it out, figure this out. Or maybe... maybe they're the ones who put me here.

I study them carefully, desperate for recognition. The one on the left has scruffy, sandy blond hair and a focused expression. He leans his body weight on his right side like it's habit. He has a limp. Not a painful one I don't think - more like a constant.

The other boy, slightly shorter, is dark-haired and buzzing with energy. He wears gear - a vest, straps, something that suggests utility. His body shifts restlessly from foot to foot like a runner before a race, and his grin is far too casual for someone standing at the mouth of a stone fortress.

A loose stone shifts under my hand. I cringe as there is a resounding sharp clink. Both heads snap toward me. "What the-?" the dark-haired one blurts, already stepping forward.

The blond stiffens, brows furrowed, like he's solving a puzzle. "It's only been a week since the last Box," he mutters, voice tinged with disbelief.

Last what?

They don't recognize me. That much is clear. I'm not supposed to be here. And neither of them expected me. The dark-haired one squints, looking me over, and then speaks to the blonde boy - a word that sends a jolt through me. Not a question, just a name. It rings somewhere in my skull, like a distant bell. Familiar. And yet nothing. "I think you're missing the point," he continues. "This is a girl." The word lands strangely in the air.

Girl.

Why does my gender matter?

The blond boy jerks his head toward the clearing behind him. "Alby!" he shouts, loud and clear. I don't wait.

I run.

I push off the ground with everything I have, legs pumping, muscles burning. I grip the scalpel in one hand and use the other to balance as I take off into the stone corridor, dodging cracks and slipping on dew-slick moss. They yell behind me. Its all a chorus of "Hey!" and "Wait!"

No chance in hell I'm falling for it.

I hit the junction and turn left. The ground tilts slightly, leading me deeper into... into something that my brain pieces together mid-sprint. I'm running through winding passageways.

I'm in a maze.

A gigantic maze made of stone and shadow and confusion.

My breath saws in and out of my lungs. I take another turn, veering right, then another - no time to process, no time to plan. The voices are still behind me, chasing. I take a wrong turn. A long corridor stretches ahead - and its a dead-end.

Shit.

I whirl around just as a body slams into mine from the side, tackling me hard against the stone floor. The impact knocks the breath from my chest. My scalpels skitters away. "Shit," the boy huffs, and I realise it was an accident. Still, his weight pins me down.

I thrash under him. "Get off me!" I snap, squirming relentlessly beneath him

"Calm down!" he laughs, winded but weirdly ease, like he's been through this exact scene a dozen times before, too. Then he grins. Actually grins. "Frypan'll probably want you in the kitchen - but that may be sexist, and Clint's been looking to train up some more Med-Jacks." His rambling makes my body stiffen. My head swirls - not from the run or the fall but my utter lack of knowledge. "But holy crap - you're a natural born runner, Speedy little Greenie."

~