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

- CONSEQUENCES OF CHANGING -

"I'm fine," I tell Newt. He looks at me. At Clint still wiping grime from my face. Then he simply nods and darts back away. I stare past Clint at the fabric walls of the entrance, right where Newt just disappeared from. "I thought those things only came out at night," I digress, my voice small.

"So did we." Clint's jaw is tight. "That's the part that's got everyone on edge."

"So... what now?" I whisper. "If we don't have an answer to the Grievers, what happens to Ben?"

He's silent for a long time. His hands still. He finishes wiping my cheek with the gauze, then leans back and studies me for a moment. "You'll see," he finally says.

It's not meant to sound ominous, but it sends a chill down my spine anyway.

~~~

Dusk comes fast, swallowing the Glade in shades of orange and grey. The warmth drains from the air. The long, jagged shadows of the ivy-covered walls stretch across the ground like they're reaching for something - or someone.

Minho made it back before the doors started moving. He looked fine. Covered in sweat, dust coating his legs, but otherwise... okay. He caught my eye as he was downing water like he'd just crossed a desert. "Good thing you didn't come with us today," he said between gulps, his tone flat. I thought that maybe if I did go, they wouldn't have split up, and Ben wouldn't have been stung. Yet I didn't say that. Then he looked me dead in the eye. "You shouldn't come anymore, Speedy," Minho told me. Something inside me sank. I didn't argue. Not because I agreed - but because I could tell he meant it.

And now, the sky darkens above us, and the Gladers begin to gather.

I stand with Thomas near the stone path, the one that leads straight to the Maze's entrance. Neither of us speaks. There's no point. This isn't the first time the Gladers have done this. Everyone around us moves like they've done it before. Practiced. Rehearsed. Emotionless.

"It's not brutal," Alby had told us earlier, when we asked. "But it's necessary. It's the only way we keep order."

I didn't understand then. I do now.

From the Pit, Minho hauls Ben up by the arm like he's nothing more than a sack of grain. Ben can barely stand. His shirt hangs off him in strips. His wrists are tied together behind his head - tight. A sharp contrast to how loose the rest of him looks, like he's unraveling.

The boys wait at the edge of the Maze. A line of them. They hold long sticks in their hands, each with sharpened ends. The tips are crude and splintered, but they'll do the job.

I don't need anyone to explain further. I already know what this is.

My chest tightens as Ben is shoved forward, stumbling toward the Maze. He collapses in the dirt just before the threshold, sobbing so loudly I feel it in my teeth. His voice is raw, broken. Not the voice of someone who wants forgiveness-but of someone who's already lost everything. Thomas stiffens beside me. Ben tries to crawl backward, but his hands are bound too tightly. He chokes on his own breath as he pleads. "Please," he gasps. "Please, I didn't mean it. I was sick. You saw- I was sick!"

I can't take my eyes off him.

His body shakes with each breath. He coughs - hard - and a thick line of blood spatters the grass beneath him. No one reacts. Minho steps forward, jaw set. From his shoulder, he tosses something small and wrapped into the Maze. It lands with a dull thud beyond the threshold. A bag. Supplies.

Hope, if you can call it that.

Then the gears start turning. That grinding, mechanical shriek fills the air - the same noise I hear every evening as the Maze shifts and seals itself for the night. But now, the sound feels heavier. Final.

Ben's head snaps up. Panic floods his face as the walls begin to move, slow and groaning. He knows what's coming. "Poles!" Alby shouts. The boys snap forward like a machine. They march toward Ben with their sharpened sticks, forcing him to retreat - right into the Maze's mouth. "Move in!"

Ben thrashes. Screams.

Chuck, who's been standing beside us, turns and bolts away. "I can't- I can't watch this," he mutters, stumbling as he goes. I want to follow him. But my legs won't move.

Ben screams again, and this time it's aimed at us. At everyone. "LISTEN TO ME!" he howls. "Please! I didn't ask for this! I didn't- DON'T DO THIS-!" His voice breaks into sobs. "I'm not myself," he chokes. "Please- please stop- please-"

I flinch. My face twists with a cringe. I don't even try to hide it.

The walls continue to close, creaking, heavy, slow. Each second ticks louder than the last. Ben has to choose between being crushed in the doors, or risking the Maze. Crying. Still begging. He makes his choice, and the walls snap shut behind him.

Gone.

Just like that.

There's silence. No cheers. No murmurs. No movement. Everyone stands there for a few seconds, staring at the stone. Staring at the place where he was. I realize my fists are clenched so tight my nails have broken skin. Thomas turns toward me, face pale. "That wasn't right."

"It's the rules," I say, but it comes out weak.

"Yeah," he says hollowly. "Maybe that's the problem." Neither of us says anything after that. We don't need to. The rules in the Glade are meant to keep us alive.

But tonight, they felt like something else entirely.

~