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

- FAMILIAR FACE -

These guys are speeding.

The van lurches forward, tires screeching against cracked pavement. Every bump and turn jolts us hard enough to make my ribs ache. I exchange quick, uneasy glances with Thomas and Brenda. Their eyes are sharp, scanning the interior, trying to piece together whatever scraps of information we've been denied.

I try asking questions, but the silence presses in heavier than the rattling metal walls. No one answers. The only sound is the low hum of the engine and the occasional thud of something hitting the van's roof as we careen through the dark.

"Where are the others?" I finally say, my voice cracking with desperation. I want to say Newt, Fry, Jorge - those names clawing at the back of my throat - but I hold back, knowing these guys wouldn't know or wouldn't care. The weight of not knowing twists in my gut.

"Shut up," the one in the corner snaps. Dark hair tangled in a mess. The buzz in the middle shoots him a sharp look - like he's the one in charge around here.

Inside the van, confusion reigns. It's thick, like fog that settles on your skin, cold and unwelcome. No one makes a move to speak again. The air feels suffocating, the walls closing in like they want to swallow us whole. Every breath I take tastes stale, and my heart pounds like a warning drum.

We're trapped in this damn vehicle, hurtling toward something unknown.

Then - suddenly - we pull to a stop. The brakes scream against the road. Outside, muffled voices swell into shouts, sharp and urgent, bouncing off the metal walls. The van's interior seems to shrink even further as tension coils tight, every second stretching unbearably long.

The boot is yanked open so suddenly that I nearly lose my balance and stumble backward. A sharp, commanding voice slices through the tense air: "Get out!"

I glance up and see a woman holding a gun, her eyes cold and unwavering. There's no room for argument, no hesitation. We all scramble out, our feet hitting the concrete floor with a harsh echo that bounces off the towering walls around us.

The air here is thick and cold - far different from the cramped van. I take a quick moment to assess my surroundings. We're inside some kind of parking garage. The space stretches out in every direction, dimly lit by harsh fluorescent lights hanging overhead, their buzzing filling the silence. Concrete pillars loom, their chipped surfaces casting long shadows on the ground. I can see through gaps and openings near the ceiling that it's daytime outside, but the sky is a distant, pale wash of blue. The place is enormous - big enough to hide a dozen trucks, maybe more.

Before I can gather my thoughts, another van screeches into the garage, tires squealing on the cold concrete.

My heart races. It has to be them.

Before another girl can go open up the vehicle, the back doors slam open from the inside with a metallic clang. A masked man tumbles out, stumbling forward. My bewilderment onto lasts a second. Newt is already on the soldier - his fists flying in a flurry of furious punches. The raw desperation in Newt's movements makes my chest tighten. "Where is she?!" Newt shouts, voice rough with anger and fear. The violent fit momentarily stuns me.

Jorge is the next to jump out, his face a mix of scolding frustration and determination as he moves to back Newt up. Thomas, Brenda, and I break into a run toward the chaos. "Hey, hey!" I call out, my voice cracking just a little from adrenaline. "I'm here!" For a split second, I think its rude of me to assume Newt's words were meant for me. But when his eyes snap up and lock onto mine, every doubt vanishes. He's been worried for me- not just anyone.

Before I can even breathe relief, rough hands grab us from behind. Guns are suddenly pressed into our backs, cold metal against my skin, and I freeze. The buzz-cut guy clamps his grip on my arm with a strength that makes me wince. "Everyone relax," he says in a low, measured voice that somehow demands obedience. Relax? I want to shout at him. How am I supposed to relax when my friends have guns trained on them? The tension in the air is suffocating. "We're all on the same side here," he adds, trying to sound reassuring, but his tone is unreadable.