Breaking The Code (Part one)

Fractures and Fragments

The Med-jacks' hut buzzed with tension as Newt, Minho, and Clint debated over the glowing blue vials. Alby lay on the cot, barely conscious, his face pale and glistening with sweat. She stood in the corner, her arms crossed tightly, watching the argument unfold.

"It's too risky," Clint said, holding one of the vials up to the light. "We have no idea what this stuff does. What if it makes him worse?"

"And what if it saves his life?" Minho countered, his tone sharp. "We've seen what happens when someone gets stung. You really want to sit back and let that happen to him?"

"I don't like this, either," Newt said, his voice steady but strained. "But standing here arguing isn't going to help Alby."

She took a deep breath and stepped forward. "We don't have time to second-guess this. If there's even a chance this could help him, we have to try."

Thomas, standing beside her, nodded. "She's right. We can't just do nothing."

Clint hesitated, glancing at Jeff, who gave a reluctant nod. "Fine," Clint said, his shoulders sagging. "But if this goes south, it's on all of us."

Carefully, Clint drew the blue liquid into a syringe. The room fell silent as he knelt beside Alby, the needle poised above his arm.

"Here goes nothing," Clint murmured. He pressed the needle into Alby's skin and pushed the plunger.

The moment the liquid entered Alby's bloodstream, his body convulsed violently. His back arched off the cot, his hands clawing at the air. She gasped, stepping back as Thomas grabbed her arm to steady her.

"What's happening?" Minho shouted.

"I don't know!" Clint said, his voice panicked. "Hold him down!"

Newt and Jeff rushed forward, pinning Alby to the cot as his spasms intensified. His eyes snapped open, glowing faintly blue for a brief moment before rolling back into his head.

Then, just as suddenly as it started, the convulsions stopped. Alby's body went limp, his breathing shallow but steady.

The room was deathly quiet as everyone stared at him, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

"He's alive," Clint finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

A collective exhale swept through the room.

"We'll keep an eye on him," Jeff said, wiping his brow. "But whatever that stuff did... it's not normal."

Minho let out a shaky breath and turned to her and Thomas. "Let's get out of here. We've done all we can."

As they stepped out of the hut, the usual hum of the Glade was interrupted by the metallic groan of the Box.

"It's going back down," Frypan called out from across the Glade, waving his arms.

Except it wasn't.

The Box, instead of descending as it always did, sat unmoving in the center of the Glade. The grinding sound of its mechanisms echoed unnaturally, like a machine straining against something unseen.

"What the hell?" Minho muttered, jogging toward the Box.

The other Gladers gathered around, murmurs of confusion rippling through the crowd.

"It's stuck," Newt said, his brow furrowed as he inspected the hatch.

"Why?" she asked, the unease in her chest growing.

Thomas stared at the Box, his jaw tight. "Something's different. The Creators are trying to tell us something."

"Or they're just screwing with us," Gally said, pushing through the crowd with a scowl. "This is their game. Don't forget that."

"Whatever it is, we're not going to figure it out standing here," Minho said, turning to her and Thomas. "Let's run the Maze. Maybe we'll find something that makes sense."

The air in the Maze felt heavier than usual, as if the walls themselves were watching them. She ran alongside Minho and Thomas, her footsteps echoing against the stone corridors.

"Anything look different to you guys?" she asked, scanning the walls for changes.

"Not yet," Minho replied, glancing over his shoulder. "But we'll check the outer sections. If the Creators are messing with the Box, there's gotta be something going on out here."

As they pushed deeper into the Maze, the familiar pathways began to feel alien. The air grew colder, and the faint hum of the Maze's shifting walls sounded distorted, like a melody out of tune.

Then they found it.

A door.

It was massive, set into the wall of the Maze, and unlike anything they'd ever seen. The surface was smooth and black, with no visible handle or seams. Strange symbols were etched into the stone, glowing faintly blue—the same shade as the liquid in the vials.

"What is that?" Thomas whispered, his voice filled with awe and trepidation.

Minho stepped closer, running a hand over the smooth surface. "I've never seen this before. It's like it was hidden until now."

She approached the door, her heart pounding. The symbols seemed to pulse faintly, drawing her in.

"Don't touch it," Minho warned, but his voice sounded distant, muffled.

She couldn't stop herself. Her hand reached out, fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface.

The moment her skin made contact, a jolt of energy shot through her body. Her vision blurred, and images flooded her mind—flashes of white coats, cold steel, and a voice whispering her name.

"Zara."

She stumbled back, gasping for air as the memories faded.

"What the hell just happened?" Minho asked, catching her before she fell.

She stared at him, her chest heaving. "I... I remembered something. My name. It's Zara."

Thomas's eyes widened. "You're sure?"

She nodded, her voice trembling. "Yes. I don't know how, but... touching that door brought it back."

Minho stared at the door, his jaw tightening. "Whatever's behind this thing, it's not just a door. It's connected to us. To the Maze. To everything."

Thomas looked back down the corridor. "We need to get back and tell the others."

Reluctantly, they turned away from the door and began the long run back to the Glade. But as they moved, she couldn't shake the feeling that the Maze was alive, shifting around them, and that the door had only just begun to reveal its secrets.

And for the first time, she had a name—a piece of herself to hold onto in the chaos. Eleanor.