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

- A MAN BUILT ON LIES -

The hallway outside the mess hall is chilled and eerily sterile. My father walks a step ahead of me, hands folded behind his back with military precision, like he's leading a tour of some secure facility rather than about to answer to his daughter.

He glances over his shoulder. "Just down here," he says, calm as ever.

His voice makes my skin crawl. Not because it's cold. Because it's familiar. Once, I used to love that voice. Now it echoes with a tone I don't recognize. He opens a door into a small, clinical office - bright lights, metal edges, and a faint chemical tang in the air.

"Come in. We'll talk here," he says. I hesitate, stepping inside. I take not of the seat but don't use it. "Please," he offers. "Sit."

I ignore him. "Where's Teresa?"

His smile falters, just briefly. "She's in another room. Being monitored separately. It's standard procedure," he says. Then he walks over and closes the door. My father chooses to take a seat.

"For what?" I press. "What procedure are you running on her?"

"She played a different role in the Maze," he says carefully. "We're observing how that may affect her cognitive response post-trial."

I almost laugh. "So now you are calling what we went through a 'trial'? What do you call the ones who didn't make it? Casualties of science?"

He sighs and folds his hands on the desk. "(Y/n), I know you're angry."

I step closer. "I've seen the bodies."

Silence.

He blinks, slow and unreadable. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," I retort. "I saw them. A woman pushed a stretcher into the hallway, and there was a screen - a scan of a body underneath it. I saw the door they go through. And I've seen enough to know they don't come back."

"How did you see that?" His voice tightens.

"It doesn't matter," I snap. "Just tell me the truth."

His jaw works like he's chewing on whether to lie. Then: "We're running diagnostics. Deep neurological scans, long-term monitoring. The Flare's effects are... unpredictable. You know that."

"You still haven't answered my question," I say. "What happens to them after that door?"

"They're moved to another facility," he says, too quickly.

I narrow my eyes. "Do you hear yourself?"

He leans forward slightly. "(Y/n), what you're doing is dangerous. Spreading panic, even just among your friends, it disrupts everything we're trying to rebuild."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?" I ask. "Panicking?" He doesn't answer. I take a breath and lower my voice. "Dad-" The word slips out before I can stop it, bitter and unfamiliar in my mouth. "You looked me in the eyes when I got here and pretended like none of this was strange. Like this was normal."

"This is as close to normal as you'll get now," he says softly. "The world is gone, (Y/n). The cities, the governments - all ash and sickness. WICKED is what's left. And we're what's left."

"You keep saying we, but none of us chose this," I say. "You put my friends in a Maze. You put all of us in Mazes."

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You were chosen for a reason. You're immune. You can survive what's coming. Your mind-"

"I don't care what my mind is capable of," I cut in. "I want to know if the people taken through that door every night are alive. I want to know if Mikey is okay. If Teresa is safe."