Running with you

Escaping WICKED

Waking up felt like drowning.

The light above you was too white, sterile and endless. Your lungs dragged in cold, artificial air that tasted like chemicals. Your arms were strapped to a cot, legs bound just tightly enough to make your pulse spike. Panic rose first, primal and feral, followed by the steady buzz of half-faded memories resurfacing in fragments. The Maze. The chamber. The screen flashing with your face. Thomas, screaming. Then silence. Then a needle.

You blinked hard. The ceiling above you wasn't familiar, but it didn't need to be. You'd seen enough of WICKED's labs to know this was one of theirs. A mobile one, you guessed—everything felt too smooth beneath you, too hollow. A transport unit. They were moving you.

A pulse monitor beside your bed beeped steadily, measuring the rise in your heart rate. You shut your eyes again. Slowed your breathing. Forced your body into stillness. You listened.

Footsteps. Three sets. One to your left, pacing. One seated. One by the door. The guards weren't talking, which meant they weren't expecting trouble. You were just cargo to them. Tranquilized, sedated. Useless.

Wrong.

Your eyes opened again, slow and measured. Outside the glass wall of your medical pod, a woman appeared.

Not just any woman.

Dr. Ava Paige.

The same calm cruelty written across her face as you remembered from a dozen fragmented flashbacks. The woman who'd told you, once upon a time, that you weren't like the others. That you were special. You'd believed her then. Trusted her. Not anymore.

"You're awake," she said, almost gently. "Faster than expected."

You didn't answer.

"You remember?" she asked.

Something about her tone crawled beneath your skin. You wanted to spit. Scream. Instead, you sat up. The restraints buzzed and unlocked—she must've deactivated them herself. Confidence or arrogance, you weren't sure. Probably both.

"I remember enough," you said flatly.

Ava nodded. "Then you know why we had to bring you back. The Flare is mutating. Containment's failing. We're running out of time, Y/N. If we don't act now—"

"I don't care," you cut her off, voice low and deadly. "I don't care about your timelines. Your 'greater good.' You tortured us."

She studied you. "You volunteered. You were one of the first."

You stood slowly, every limb aching. "I was a kid."

She tilted her head. "You were a scientist."

You took a step forward. "I'm a survivor now."

A flicker of disappointment crossed her face. "So that's it? You'll run? Fight us? For them?" She didn't say his name, but you saw it in her eyes. Thomas. "You still think they're more than variables?"

"They're not variables," you snapped. "They're people."

And that was when the lights failed.

Red alarms blared through the hallway. The floor beneath you bucked sideways—hard. Something slammed into the side of the transport. You were thrown against the glass, bracing with your forearm as chaos erupted around you. Through the shouts, you heard one phrase clear as a bell:

"Breach on Deck 3!"

Then the explosion hit.

The corridor outside your room erupted in flame and smoke. A wall blew open, steel and wiring cascading like fireworks. Guards shouted, weapons drawn. You ducked low, still barefoot, adrenaline flooding your system. One of the guards raised his gun.

You didn't hesitate.

You lunged, grabbed a metal tray from the wall unit and slammed it into his helmet. He went down hard. Another reached for you—too slow. You kicked his leg out, snagged his keycard, and sprinted through the breach as alarms echoed overhead.

The transport had been hit from the outside.

Someone had come for you.

Smoke blinded your path, but you kept going. Flames danced along the wall. Sparks rained down from broken light fixtures. You could hear Ava Paige yelling in the distance, but you didn't care. You were almost there. Almost—

And then, through the haze, you saw him.

Thomas.

Bloodied. Eyes wild. Rifle slung across his shoulder. His clothes were torn, his face smeared with soot and ash—but he was real. Alive. His eyes locked on yours instantly. He didn't even pause.

"Y/N!"

He ran toward you and you ran toward him, your feet sliding on the scorched floor. You collided in the middle of the hallway, his arms wrapping around you like armor. He held you like you were air and he was suffocating.

"You came back," you whispered against his shoulder, shaking.

"I never stopped trying," he murmured. "They said you were gone."

Your breath hitched. "They were going to wipe me again."

"I know."

He pulled back, cupping your face in both hands. You could barely see him through the smoke, but you didn't need to. You felt him. All of him. And it was real. Finally.

Minho appeared behind him a second later, bruised and limping but armed to the teeth. "Sorry to interrupt your moment," he called. "But this place is about to go full inferno. Let's move!"

Thomas grabbed your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like muscle memory. You followed him down the hall, dodging bodies, fire, wreckage. Ava Paige shouted something behind you, but her voice was swallowed in the roar of another explosion.

You didn't look back.

You didn't need to.

This time, you were escaping WICKED on your terms.

And they had no idea what you were about to do next.