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

- SECTION 7 -

We stand slowly, the shirt still in my hands. I stare down at it for a beat longer, then let it fall. The wind doesn't even pick it up. The silence around us sharpens. Then I hear it.

A mechanical whirring sound. It cuts through the stillness like a knife. Not loud, but unmistakable. Rhythmic. Rotating. Something not alive. Thomas and Minho freeze, too. I sling Minho's pack off his shoulder and unzip it without asking for permission. I know what I'm looking for.

The device.

I hold it up. Inspect it. The frequency is quick, steady. Almost... anxious. "Why is it beeping?" Thomas asks. His voice is tight.

I twist the device in my hand. The beeping shifts - slows when I turn it one way, quickens when I rotate it back. I turn in a slow circle, watching the red lights blink faster the more I turn toward one direction. "It's a compass," I murmur. "It's showing us the way."

And as we start to move, that previous silence is gone - replaced by the steady beep-beep-beep. A metronome of purpose. Of warning.

The device beeps so fast it's nearly a solid tone now. I clutch it tighter, the red "7" on its face flickering with urgency as we jog through the outskirts of Section Seven. The concrete floor is smoother here, older somehow, like this place has been untouched longer than the rest. The walls aren't overgrown with ivy or cracked from weather like the ones closer to the Glade. They're clean. Bare. Cold.

We've just left the Blades - the metal field still fresh in my mind, all jagged steel and mechanical silence. The air back there had tasted metallic. Wrong. Out here, it's different. Still tense, but the atmosphere feels different, like we've crossed an invisible threshold.

The beeping continues as we approach what appears to be a wall. Another dead end. Another tease. "What the hell?" Thomas says, skidding to a stop beside me. His breath fogs the air. We've been running hard. We're sweating, breathing fast, eyes scanning everything like prey animals in the dark.

I raise the device again. It's still going - urgent and insistent. "Wait," I mutter, stepping closer to the wall. Then I notice it: a narrow crease. Not a wall. A turn. My heart skips. "It's a corner."

We all glance at each other, and then without a word, we move as one. The turn opens into a wide stone walkway. A long, flat plank of concrete, just about four meteres wide, stretching across a vast drop. Below is... nothing. Blackness. I don't want to look down again.

On either side, towering metal walls rise like cliffs, harsh and seamless, slick with condensation and darkness. They lean in slightly, like they're pressing us inward. Ahead is another massive wall, so smooth it looks poured from a mold. Just staring at it makes my stomach twist. We step forward, shoes scuffing against the cold, unworn stone. Each footstep echoes off the steel like a threat. The deeper we go, the quieter the world becomes - like it's holding its breath.

"Have you been here before?" I ask Minho quietly, eyes flicking toward him.

He doesn't answer right away. His eyes are fixed forward. "No," he says, voice low. "Never."

I glance up and instantly regret it. A metal roof stretches overhead, dotted with cutouts that let in narrow shafts of daylight. Harsh white beams slice down onto the bridge like searchlights. It's not natural. It's deliberate. Painted in huge, blocky black letters across the metal above is a word:

W.C.K.D

My chest tightens. It feels like we're being watched. Like it's branding us from above.

The boys walk a few feet ahead of me, Minho still holding onto some desperate hope this is something useful. Thomas keeps glancing over his shoulder, checking that I'm still there. At the far end of the bridge, the walkway slams directly into the wall. Smooth. Seamless. Like all the others.