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

- BOOK TWO : THE SCORCH -

My mind clicks into reality when gunfire echos. Its dark beyond the helicopter. Minho and Newt are already out, standing on a platform beneath us, their bodies tense, scanning the desert horizon like they expect another Griever to appear any second. The air is now damp but still thick, swirling with dust. The people waiting for us are shouting, their hands beckoning, their weapons raised toward the sandy wasteland behind us.

"It's not safe out here!" Someone yells. "Move!!"

But my friends are waiting. Newt's eyes don't move from mine. Minho's shoulders don't shift until I do. They won't leave without me. Even as guards start to force them away.

Thomas grabs my hand and pulls. I stumble, dragging myself out of the helicopter. My boots hit the metal of the platform and it vibrates with every movement - like it's not meant to hold this much desperation. Then:

"CRANKS!"

The word rips through the air. A bullet cracks off metal and I scream, dropping instinctively, hands flying over my head. Gunshots. Several. Close.

I can't breathe. My legs are jelly, refusing to move.

Someone grabs me - hard arms around my waist, lifting me like I weigh nothing. A man in black armor, his goggles reflecting the glare of the helicopter's lights. "Go, kid!" He shouts. "GO!!"

I don't remember how I move. I just know I'm running.

Me, Thomas, Newt, Minho. Then I spot the others up ahead - Fry, Winston, Teresa, Billy, Mikey, Jack. All of us. Together again but still scattered, fractured, held together only by the string of panic pulling us toward safety.

The men around us are shouting. They speak in codes and commands I don't understand. Their guns fire constantly - sharp cracks that make my ribs quake. Behind us, shapes move in the swirling sand. I don't want to know what they are. Then I see it.

The building.

It rises like a beast out of the desert, grey and cold, the metal covered in bright lights like a beacon. It's not just a building - it's a fortress. Towering walls wrapped in antennae and satellite dishes, reinforced plating layered over a bulk that looks too heavy to exist out here in this endless, sand. The main entrance is a jagged wound in the center, doors yawning open like it's expecting us.

My legs ache with every step. Every grain of sand makes the run harder, like the desert itself wants to swallow us. My breath is shallow. I feel like I'm going to collapse. The helicopter that brought us here lifts off in the distance, blades slicing the air like the final thread of safety is being cut.

We're on our own now.

Bullets keep flying. The others are ducking and dodging. Arms reach out to push one another forward, to keep each other upright. I glance at Thomas, just long enough to see the dried blood still on his shirt. Not his.

Chuck's.

My stomach turns. I feel it on my hands.

The closer we get to the building, the more unreal it becomes. It stretches up into the sky, disappearing into the glare of the sun. There's no glass, no windows - just metal, lights and concrete, the color of dying stars. It doesn't belong in this world, but neither do we anymore.

We reach the doors.

But they start to close.

"GO!" Newt shouts, pushing me forward. His hand hits the small of my back, and I nearly fall.

I trip past the threshold, into shadows and cold steel. I don't even feel the moment we cross into safety - only the weight of the world that we bring with us.