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

- CHANGE OF PLANS -

I barely have time to register before I see her - the girl from earlier - stepping out from behind the fallen guard, a gun in her hand, her eyes fierce. "Okay, come on!" She commands sharply. We exchange bewildered glances, confusion and relief tangled in our expressions. "Hurry!" She urges, her tone no longer just an order, but a saviour.

The guard's body lays still on the ground, his hand splayed out toward his fallen weapon like he'd been reaching for it even in his last breath.

I don't hesitate.

I stoop quickly and snatch the gun off the floor, my fingers wrapping tightly around the cold metal. The weight of it anchors reality back into my hands. The radio is still on the ground beside him, the tiny speaker crackling with faint static. I stare at it for half a second - at the open line, my father's voice possibly waiting on the other end - and for a wild, vindictive second, I want to snatch it up and scream into it.

Tell Janson to go screw himself.

But I don't.

Instead, I lift the gun, hold it steady, and glance back at my friends. Their faces are taut with nerves and confusion, Thomas eyeing the weapon in my grip. "Just in case," I say. And that's all the explanation I offer. There's no time for anything more.

Then we run.

Our feet thunder against the floor as we chase after the girl through a narrow hall and up the staircase. I barely feel my legs under me. Just motion. Just escape. The building around us seems older now that we're sprinting through it, like the corners are peeling and every pipe overhead groans under its own age. There are overhead lights, but they flicker in and out, casting us in strange strobe flashes as we climb higher.

I hear music.

At first, I think I'm imagining it - some strange auditory echo in my panicked brain - but it gets clearer as we rise: a deep, rhythmic bass, thudding like a heartbeat. It's coming from somewhere above, some kind of speaker system turned way up. The beat becomes a pulse under our feet. We round another corner, and there's Jorge, standing like he's been waiting for us all along. He grins when he sees the girl lead us in.

"Brenda, perfect," Jorge says. "Right this way." So that's her name. Brenda. He turns to face us more directly, and there's something different about him now - not the interrogator from before, not the man with all the power. He's moving fast, almost manic with urgency. "Change of plans," he says, almost too casually.

"Whoa-" I skid to a stop, shoes screeching on the cement floor, and the others nearly crash into me from behind. There's a chaotic shuffle as we all try to halt without tumbling.

"You kids wanna get to the Right Arm?" Jorge says, his grin wide, too wide. "I'll lead you to them. But you're gonna owe me."

Behind us, I hear footsteps - heavy ones, descending somewhere behind - and my head whips around just in time to see Teresa rounding the bend on the stairwell, her breathing sharp and uneven. She's lagging behind. Face pale. But she's still coming. Jorge doesn't wait for questions. He walks toward the far end of the room and throws open a set of massive windows. Cold wind slams into the space like a punch, rushing around us, making our clothes ripple and flap.

I peer over the edge, heart lurching.

We're high.

The window opens out to the jagged shell of another building, smaller, maybe five or six stories shorter than ours. It sits about seventy meters across a black, open drop. Between us and it, is a cable. Just one thick steel wire, strung tight. It dips slightly in the middle, a dizzying slope that vanishes into the shadows below. A pulley rope system is attached to it - small handles slung onto wheeled rigs.