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

- NO MORE HARMONY -

The Grievers.

They're coming.

Not just lurking at the edges, not just trapped within the Maze's twisting walls, but here - flooding into the Glade itself. The place that felt like a fragile sanctuary is about to be overrun by the nightmare we all feared.

My heart slams wildly against my ribs, each beat echoing like a war drum. My breath catches in my throat, thick and ragged. Panic floods through me, a wildfire spreading faster than I can control. The shadows of the Glade stretch and twist as if mocking us, and the dark thrum of the Grievers' approaching presence vibrates in my bones.

"Everybody hide!!" Thomas's voice slices through the chaos - urgent, fierce, raw with desperation.

The air is thick with screams and shouts - orders and pleas tangled together in a deafening storm. The Glade erupts into pure, chaotic pandemonium. Boys are scattering in every direction like startled animals, limbs flailing, breath heaving. There's no time for hesitation, no room for second-guessing. Every second counts.

"Come on, Newt!" I yell, grabbing his arm and dragging him forward, my heart pounding so hard I swear he can hear it too.

We're sprinting, feet pounding against the earth, adrenaline surging through every muscle. The ground blurs beneath me, but my eyes scan for anything - a shadow, a shape, a place to disappear. The unmistakable clanking, clattering sound of the Grievers follows us, relentless and haunting, echoing through the maze walls behind us.

Around us, the Glade is a whirlwind of frantic motion. Some boys dash for the cornfield - it's smart, instinctual. The tall stalks promise cover, a chance to disappear from the terrifying mechanical hunters. The rustling leaves and the quick-footed rustle of bodies blend into the chaos like whispers of hope.

Others bolt toward the Box, seeking refuge inside the cramped metal container. Gally's already there, the door sliding shut behind him. It's a wise move - tight spaces might confuse the Grievers or at least buy some time.

Newt and I veer sharply toward the Med-Tent, lungs burning, legs shaking with exertion and fear. Inside, Alby is still there, crouched low with Clint and Jeff. Their faces are pale, eyes wide with confusion and dread. "What the hell is going on?" Clint asks, voice trembling as he looks between us.

"The Grievers are here," I say, my voice barely steady. It feels like the words are too huge, too terrible to hold. I watch Alby's face crumble in a way I've never seen before - a flicker of raw, unmasked fear, like the kind that only lives in nightmares.

"Newt," Alby murmurs, his voice thick with worry. His expression tells me that this... this has only ever happened in his nightmares.

The Glade is descending into chaos, pure, heart-stopping nightmare.

And one by one, the boys are falling.

I hear the screams before I see the bodies - sharp, piercing cries of pain and terror that slice through the night air and reverberate off the maze walls like a sick echo. Each scream is a crack in the fragile safety we thought we had here. The sound is unbearable, a relentless chorus of agony and desperation.

Some boys don't even get a chance to scream. One moment they're running, and the next, a grotesque shadow lunges out from the darkness, metallic claws raking through flesh, grinding bone. The sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground sends a cold shiver down my spine. I see one boy stumble, clutching a bleeding arm before collapsing into the dirt. Another is dragged screaming into the shadows, disappearing like he was swallowed whole by the night itself.

The Grievers are methodical and merciless, their grotesque forms flickering like twisted silhouettes beneath the moonlight. Their glowing eyes cut through the dark, scanning relentlessly for prey. The hiss of their venomous tails, the clanking of their spiked limbs - it's like the very air is vibrating with death.